“Did I take you away from work?” I said as we cruised along at an easy speed. He had one hand on the wheel and the other dangling out his window, relaxed as he kept his eyes on the road. Another summer storm was rolling in today, the thick gray clouds blocking the sun but not its heat. There was electricity in the air, and lightning flashed in the distant clouds.

“I needed a break anyway,” he said. “Your new engine should be arriving soon. At the end of next week, or possibly the week after. Lucas and I just have to get it installed after that.”

I bounced in my seat. “Yes! Oh my God, finally, my baby is almost home.” I didn’t say anything about the pang of uncertainty that knowledge caused in me. Getting my car back was the entire point of all this, wasn’t it?

Manson turned, pulling off onto a little winding road that led back into the trees. I noticed a sign saying the road was closed, and weeds were growing through the cracked asphalt.

“This is near the old bridge, isn’t it?” I said. Right on cue, I spotted the bridge ahead through the trees. It was built entirely of wood — an old covered bridge that led over Wickeston Creek. It was narrow, only wide enough for one car to drive over at a time, but it certainly wasn’t safe for cars to drive on anymore. A chain with a dangling Caution – Do Not Enter sign was strung across the bridge, preventing us from going any further.

“They say it’s haunted,” Manson said, nodding toward the bridge as he parked and turned off the engine. Birds chirped in the trees, the breeze rustling the leaves as we sat in the shade.

“I heard that rumor,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. “Ashley and I came out here one Halloween with a Ouija board and tried to make contact. Nothing happened, but I definitely don’t recommend coming out here after dark. It’s creepy.”

He smiled. “Did you really? You’re full of surprises, Jess.”

He’d pushed open his door to let the breeze flow through the cab, leaning back in his seat as he sipped his coffee. His hands and arms were blackened with grease stains from work, and he smelled like motor oil and rubber. He was wearing black coveralls, but the top half was unzipped and pushed down so only his undershirt covered his chest.

He looked so damn good I practically salivated.

“So my car is almost done,” I said. “What about my bill?”

His eyes brightened, a crooked smirk tugging the corner of his mouth. “You’ve made good progress with your payments. But you still have a long way to go.”

That smile turned me on even more. “Do I? Damn, I guess I should start trying harder, then.”