have both—but I’m quite capable of changing the flat myself.”
“I’m sure you are, but since I’m here, and since I’m hoping to impress you with my efficiency—not to mention my gallantry—I’d be happy to volunteer my services.”
“But I—”
“No strings,” he added. “You don’t even have to thank me, if you don’t want to. Open the trunk, will you?”
She sighed and shoved her key into the trunk lock. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful for your help. I’m just accustomed to taking care of my own problems.”
“No, really?” He bent into the neat-as-a-pin trunk, thinking she must vacuum it twice a week. He could have a picnic in there, it was so clean.
“Yes. It’s…easier that way.”
“I agree. Hmm. Full-size spare. You don’t see those very often any more. Note the way my muscles flex as I lift it effortlessly from the trunk.”
From the corner of his eye, he watched her struggle against a smile. “Very impressive,” she said dryly.
“Do anything for you?”
“Yes. It makes me glad you’re the one lifting it and not me.”
“Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for,” he replied in a pseudo-grumble, kneeling beside the flat. She stood out of his way as he went to work.
“There’s your problem.” He pointed to a large metal screw gleaming from within the tread. “Looks like you ran over it recently and the air’s been escaping ever since.”
“A screw? That’s what caused the flat?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You were expecting me to say that someone slashed your tires?”
“Of course not,” she said, looking more annoyed than amused by his teasing.
He often seemed to have that effect on her.
After a few moments Teresa conceded almost reluctantly, “You do that very well. You’ll have it finished a lot more quickly than I would have.”
He spun the lug wrench, unable to resist adding a bit of flair to the movement. “When I was a kid, I wanted to be on the pit crew of a NASCAR team.”
“What changed your mind?”
“I found out it was hard work. Involved sweat and dirt and stuff like that. Not for me. I’m content now to just watch the races on TV.”
She looked at him as if she weren’t quite sure whether he was joking. “So you gave up your boyhood dream because of laziness?”
“Exactly,” he answered readily. “Writing’s a lot easier. I hardly ever break a sweat doing that.”
“I would think that being a reporter for the local newspaper is a fairly demanding career.”
Without pausing at his task, he gave a bark of laughter. “Working for the Evening Star? Have you actually seen the local newspaper?”
“Well, no. I just moved here a couple of weeks ago and I…”
“Take my word for it. Real news happens maybe once a month during an exciting year in this town, and there are two of us on staff to cover it. Basically it’s a part-time job for me—which leaves me free to pursue other interests.”
“Yes, I heard you’re writing a novel.”
Riley looked over his shoulder. Had she been asking about him? He rather liked that idea. “Did you?”
“Marjorie told me,” she said with a shrug that instantly deflated his swelling ego. “She tells me about nearly everyone who comes into the diner. She didn’t seem to think you’d mind.”
“Harmless gossip is one of Marjorie’s favorite pastimes. I wouldn’t dream of depriving her of it.” He tightened the last lug nut, then lowered and removed the jack. “Ready to roll.”
“I really do appreciate this, Mr. O’Neal. Thank you.”
“Riley,” he corrected her. “And you’re welcome.”
He loaded the jack and flat in her trunk and closed it with a snap. And then, because he could tell she was expecting him to make another attempt to flirt with her, he moved toward his own car. “Drive carefully, Teresa. See you around.”
She was still blinking in surprise when he closed his door and started his engine. He found himself grinning as he drove away after lingering only long enough to make sure she was safely in her own vehicle.
He had never liked being overly predictable. But he would be flirting with her again eventually. It was too much fun to resist.
Chapter Two
Riley had never dealt well with rejection. It was a facet of his personality that he freely acknowledged and accepted as unalterable. He would even go so far as to admit that he was rather spoiled to having his own way.
An indulged only child of older parents and the only grandson on either side of his family, he’d never had to compete for attention or affection. Grades and friends had come easily to him in school, and he had enough trust money from his late grandparents to allow him to live comfortably, if not lavishly.
His job with the Edstown Evening Star was hardly lucrative, but he enjoyed it for the most part. It forced him to interact with other people on a regular basis, counteracting his natural inclination to hole up alone with his books, his music and his imagination. And yet the undemanding structure of the job gave him plenty of freedom to do just that when he wanted. He’d been known to disappear into the duplex apartment he owned for days at a time without making an appearance unless he was truly needed at the newspaper.
It was probably his aversion to rejection that had kept him from submitting one of his fantasy novels to a publisher. While characteristically confident about his talent, he was realistic enough to accept that most aspiring writers had to deal with at least a few rejections along the road to publication. He wasn’t sure how he would react to anyone turning down his submission. Until he was ready to find out, he told himself he was content writing for his own pleasure.
He’d rarely encountered rejection from women, either. Maybe it was because he didn’t issue invitations without being fairly confident they would be accepted, but his success rate in that area—as in the other parts of his life—was quite high. He had definitely become spoiled.
Teresa Scott was threatening to ruin his impressive record.
Emboldened by their amiable encounter on the side of the road, he’d asked her out three times during the past two weeks. Though she’d been friendlier to him since he’d changed her tire for her, she’d turned him down every time. Politely, even amusingly, but very firmly. She’d made it clear enough that there was no reason for him to keep asking, but that hadn’t stopped him.
So far, he’d asked her to dinner, to a movie and to a high school football game that he had to cover for the paper. Rather
