The road was empty. The sky was clear, and the air felt warm.
And slow music was playing from the radio as the car sputtered one final time before coughing out a plume of smoke and dying on the side of an old county road.
River Hayes slammed the steering wheel in frustration, glaring out at the empty stretch of road ahead.
There wasn't another car in sight. Not even a tree tall enough for decent shade.
"Perfect," he muttered. "Just what I needed."
His phone had already died down to seven percent, and: no signal. After pacing for ten minutes in the morning heat, River grabbed his backpack, locked the car, and began walking. It took him nearly an hour to stumble upon a big rusted welcome sign:
Welcome to Rust Valley – Pop. 2368
"Oh great," he grumbled. Walking down the town square, a quaint, sun-splashed space with an old diner, a general store, a post office that looked abandoned, and a few scattering shops. It was already late afternoon, and the heat burned off the sidewalk.
River stopped in front of the old diner.
"Can I help ya, hon?" asked a woman from a rocking chair outside. She was probably in her sixties, wearing a purple floral apron.
River hesitated. "Uh, yeah. My car broke down up the road. Smoke and all. Any place nearby that could help me out? And maybe a way to charge my phone?"
"That'd be Jesse you're wantin'. Best mechanic in three counties. Smarter than half the lot here and better with engines than the manual I tell ya."
A man sitting nearby chimed in. "He's out at Rourke's Garage, just past the post office. Big red building. Can't miss it."
River frowned. "Jesse? That doesn't sound promising." Already thinking about the extra money, he would need to pay to get it repaired as fast as possible.
"Oh, don't let the name fool ya," the woman laughed.
"That big giant is more than capable, ya'll know him when ya see him."
River sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Let me guess. He's eighty, grumpy, and won't lift a finger without a five-week waitlist."
"Go see for ya'self," she said with a knowing smirk.
The walk to Rourke's Garage was short, and River was standing in front of a large, timeworn barn-like building, painted a bright red sooner than expected.
Inside, the smell of grease, rubber, and metal filled his lungs. A country song hummed low from a radio somewhere. Then came the sound of footsteps.
And when River stepped closer, he froze.
The man walking towards him was not eighty.
He didn't seem grumpy, either.
He was shirtless, tan, and build like someone who used tools for a living. Blonde curls stuck out from beneath a faded ball cap, deep blue eyes like the wide ocean sea. He was wiping his hands on a rag, grease on his biceps and across one cheekbone.
"Can I help ya?" he asked, voice slow and smooth, tinged with a thick country drawl. River blinked, his hands tightening around his bag.
"Uh. You're Jesse?"
"That's what they keep callin' me." he answered with a bright smile.
River swallowed.
"I...Uh..My, my car broke down. Up the road. Bit of smoke. People in town said you were the guy." Jesse grinned.
"They always say that when someone's in trouble. Lucky for you, I like trouble." he said with a wink.
Already gathering a few tools.
River didn't know what stunned him more, how attractive Jesse was, or how casually flirty that last line had sounded to him.
"Name?" Jesse asked while checking different boxes.
"I..I'm River."
"River?" Jesse stepped closer, lifting a brow. "Like a babblin' brook kind of River?"
He flushed. "Yeah, whatever you want- fuck- yes, yeah sure."
"Well, River," Jesse said chuckling, pulling a bag around his broad shoulder, "let's go rescue your city-boy car before it melts into m'road."
River was officially intrigued.And maybe, just maybe, a little doomed.
To be continued...