Chapter 2

The shift caught her completely off guard.

“What? Sorry… I… no, I mean… my car…” She stopped and took a breath. “It’s broken down.”

Up close, he was older than she first thought. Late thirties, forty perhaps. Dark hair slightly too long, stubble across his jaw, sharp but kind eyes.

“Show me.”

She led him through the trees to the Beetle. He stepped into the driver’s seat, turned the key, listened to the engine struggle for a moment, then switched it off again.

Without a word he walked to the front.

Emily smiled slightly. “Er… the engine’s in the back.”

He glanced at her briefly. “Your dad bought this for you, didn’t he?”

She blinked, then nodded.

“Then I’m betting he left some tools in here.”

He lifted the front bonnet and pulled out a small roll of tools Emily had never noticed before. Then he moved to the rear, loosened a hose, blew through it a few times, and pushed it back into place.

“The fuel line had some muck in it. Try it now.”

She slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The engine started cleanly this time, settling into a steady hum.

Relief flooded through her. “Thank you… I mean, I don’t know what I would have done.”

“It’s fine,” he said, already stepping away.

Emily got out again. “Really… thank you.”

He gave her a small nod, then turned back towards the trees, disappearing between them almost as suddenly as he’d appeared. For a moment she simply stood there watching him, the warmth between her legs fading as he disappeared into the trees.

Emily climbed back into the Beetle and pulled away. The engine was running smoothly now, but her thoughts remained rather more chaotic. REM were on the radio, again.

In mid-afternoon, Emily rolled into the village of Lower Barton. It was all honey-coloured stone, low roofs, and narrow streets that seemed to fold in on themselves. She found a small B&B above a tea room, booked one night, and told herself firmly that this was only a stopover.

Don’t linger. See more. Keep moving.

She spent the afternoon wandering, taking notes and photographing the picturesque village. That evening she ate alone in the pub, wrote up the day’s events in her leather notebook, and fell asleep to distant voices drifting up from the street below.

The next morning, the village had changed. Market stalls filled the square with striped awnings bright against the yellow stone. Emily moved between them with her notebook in hand, taking notes at a steady pace.

Then she saw him.

He stood behind a stall of handmade furniture, dressed smarter now, though no less alluring. Chairs, stools, and small tables surrounded him, all clean lines and warm wood. He was speaking to a customer and didn’t see her.

Emily stopped and smiled to herself. This time, she was prepared. She bought two sandwiches and bottles of lemonade, then returned as the customer drifted away.

“So…” she said, placing lunch on the stall. “Does Little Red Riding Hood get lost twice, or is this still technically the same adventure?”

He looked up, amusement spread across his face.

“Different day, same adventure.”

“I brought lunch. Call it payment for the roadside rescue.”

“I’m AJ,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Emily,” she replied, feeling the rough calluses on his palm.

Then a woman stepped up, touching the arm of a chair. “How much is this?”

Emily glanced at AJ, who had a mouthful of sandwich. She spotted the handwritten price tag and smiled at the woman.

“It’s marked at forty,” she said. “But I promised to hold it for someone.”

“I’ll give you fifty and take it now.”

Emily hesitated. “I really shouldn’t…”

“Sixty?”

A small pause. “Alright. But I’m not proud of myself.”

The woman handed over the money and walked off quickly with the chair.

Emily turned back to AJ. “You’re underselling yourself,” she said, handing him the money.

“I don’t do it for the money.”

“Oh? Then what do you do it for?”

“In the hope that a fairy tale princess might wander through my woods.”

His eyes scanned her body without any attempt to hide it. Emily blushed, but didn’t look away.

He picked up the sandwich and took another bite. “Thanks for lunch.”

“Thanks for saving a damsel in distress.”

“You’re good at that.”

“At what, being a damsel, or being in distress?”

“Selling furniture.”

“That was a first for me. I wonder what other hidden talents I may have?”

“Quite a few, I’d wager.”

“Do you have any hidden talents, besides making furniture and repairing cars?”

“I’m a half-decent cook. Come over to mine for dinner tonight and I’ll show you.”

She paused for a second.

Did he just want dinner? Unlikely.

Could she trust him to be a gentleman? She hoped not.

“What time?” she asked.