I pace around by my car as the robotic female voice on the phone says, “You’ve reached…,” followed by a male human voice that says, “Eddie’s Garage.” Then the automated voice takes over to finish the voicemail message. “Please leave your message after the beep.”

Damn this small town. I hang up and resist the urge to fling my phone at one of the big tree trunks in the woods that’s divided by this road. I don’t want to be stranded in the middle of nowhere and have nothing I can use to contact anyone.

I know it’s a Sunday, but this is ridiculous. Everything is closed, including the only garage in town. Everyone is either at church or hungover in bed. Some poor bastards are even hungover at church.

I don’t have time to wait for Eddie to get back to me tomorrow. I’m stranded right now. I know for a fact there’s not much traffic here even on weekdays. On a Sunday like today? It would take less time for me to walk the ten miles into town than it would for another soul to pass.

I call another number from the list of recent calls on my phone. I doubt he’s awake at this hour, and even if he is, it’s not like he’s any good at fixing cars. That’s why I tried calling the mechanic first.

“Hi, this is Tony. I can’t pick up your call right now, but leave your number after the beep and I’ll call you right back.”

Heh. I know his “right back” doesn’t mean anything. Tony is the worst at calling people back, but I need someone to pick me up so I wait for the beep.

“Hi Tone, while your ass is still in bed, I’m stuck here on the road to Dewhurst. My piece-of-junk car just died on me, like you always said it would. Yeah, I know. You told me so. Go and do your stupid happy dance. I hate you.

“Serves me right for trying to buy something good for the meeting on Wednesday night. I should stop trying to be nice. It’s bad for me.

“Did you know Eddie’s Garage is closed today? That should be illegal. They’re the only one in town that can fix my car. It’s a monopoly!

“Wait, what was I saying? Yeah, um. In summary, my car broke down. Call me when you wake up and come rescue me.”

I hang up and look around.

Luckily the sun is on its way up, because the woods creep me out when it’s dark. The morning sunlight actually looks really pretty streaming through the gaps between tree trunks and leaves. Birds are starting to wake up and sing, perching on tall branches.

I would’ve missed all of this had I just been driving through. Life’s little detours can be a good thing sometimes, I guess.

It’s not so bad. Worst case scenario, I’ll wait here for a few hours until Tony picks me up in his SUV. No doubt I’ll have to leave my car here, but this area is super safe and I’m sure nobody will damage my car. Plus, nobody in their right mind would steal it. It’s more trouble than it’s worth.

I guess I should try to do something, though. I can’t just sit here and play games on my phone. I’ll use up the battery and Tony won’t be able to reach me. Then I’ll be in real trouble.

I look around to check that there’s no traffic before I open the door. It’s completely unnecessary, of course. The lack of traffic is why I’m in trouble in the first place. But I’m a city girl at heart, and old habits die hard.

I walk to the front of the car and pop the boot open. I rest my hands on my waist while I stare at the engine, or whatever they call these things. Jesus. I have no idea what these black and grey pieces of metal are, much less how to make them work.

I run my fingers through my hair. It’s been a few months, but I’m still not totally used to how much shorter my hair is. I had long hair all my life, but I cut it before I moved here.

It was like a scene out of some action movie. On my last day in the city, I stood in my bathroom with a pair of scissors in my hand.

My plan was to lop off a few inches of hair until it was about shoulder length. I didn’t get it all the same length on the first try, of course. So I kept going until I had a stupid, uneven short hair that could maybe pass for a pixie cut if you didn’t look too closely.

And then I opened the box of hair dye that I’d bought from the drugstore. The picture on the box made it seem like I was going to have a pretty shade of chestnut brown after following the illustrated booklet of instructions. Instead, I ended up with a dull shade of mousy brown. Another sucker roped in by false advertising.

It didn’t matter how pretty the haircut or the hair colour looked, though. Funny. That was the first time in my life when hairstyling wasn’t about looking good.

The new hair was all about laying low. My long red hair would’ve stood out too much. Now that my brown hair has grown to shoulder length and has been coloured by an actual hairstylist, I no longer hate it.

Out of nowhere, I hear the roar of an engine in the distance. I perk up my ears. The sound gradually gets louder and deeper, telling me someone’s probably coming, against all odds.

A tiny Harley-Davidson appears in my line of vision as the motorcycle turns the corner in the distance.

“Yeah!” I punch my fist in the air. Finally, something good happens today.

I face the bike and watch it grow in size as it approaches. The guy riding it wears a black leather jacket and a black helmet. I wave at him and he slows down, pulling over to meet me at the side of the road.

I could tell it was a big bike from a distance, but it looks even bigger up close. It just didn’t seem its size before because the rider is a mountain of a man.

Big, broad chest and shoulders with strong arms that bulge and strain the sleeves of his leather jacket. He reminds me of someone from the past, someone I met years ago, who still visits my naughty dreams every now and again.

He grinds to a halt and turns off his engine. When the loud roar suddenly disappears, my ears take a few seconds to adjust to the relative silence of the woods, with the gentle rustling of the leaves and the birdsong in the background.

The man tilts his head and grabs his helmet with his big, masculine hands. For a moment, I wonder how they’d feel roaming all over my body, those long fingers exploring my curves.

It’s been a while since the last time I invited a man to my bed. I’d been too preoccupied with getting myself to safety, too anxious about flying under the radar, to even remember about my womanly urges, aside from solitary moments in the dark before I go to sleep.

Besides, the men in the small town of Ashbourne are all taken, gay, or so different in age from me that getting together with them in that way would be completely inappropriate.

For example, sometimes even the teenagers in my class would awkwardly flirt with me. I’m not into younger men, and I’m definitely not interested in getting on the sex offender registry.

As the man in front of me removes his helmet, I watch in fascination to see what he looks like underneath. I already like the way his presence seems to fill the space and the confident way that he moves.

When I finally see his face, I almost gasp. Out of surprise, yes. But also, out of fear.

It’s definitely him. His dark hair is a little longer, but otherwise he looks exactly the same as he did three years ago.

Does he recognize me?

What is this man even doing here?

There’s one possible explanation that comes to mind, and I don’t like it.