She liked watching him, which was a first for her. She didn’t ogle guys. She was engaged. But no harm, no foul. She was only looking, and he was certainly more entertaining than what she’d intended to do during her lunch: plan which item she’d cross off that day on Judy’s Route 66 Bucket List. She also liked the way the man’s shoulders rippled under the thin material of his shirt. She liked the color of his hair, a brown so dark it almost looked black, even under the blazing summer sun. But then he ran his hands through the thick mass and she caught some golden highlights. He wore his hair too long to be called short, where the ends curled up off his neck. He had a nice wave that he finger-combed off his forehead. Indie rocker style, Joy thought. He reminded her of a young Chris Cornell, the way his hair flopped back and he gave his head a shake to move it off his face. She wondered what color his eyes were and almost pouted that she’d never get to find out when he slammed the hood closed, sank into the driver’s seat, and started the car. After a couple of chokes and coughs, the engine finally turned over.

He eased the car forward, pulling more fully into the parking spot he’d aimed for when the car had died the first time. He drove two feet and the engine sputtered and died again. Tall-drink-of-water guy sat there for a good five seconds when he suddenly snapped. He smacked the steering wheel three times. He then got out of the car, slammed the door, kicked the door, then kicked the front tire.

Joy struggled to keep a straight face. Giving up, she grinned and shifted her attention to the list on the table in front of her, musing that he was about to “go ape,” as Judy would have said. Apeshit was more like it. Honestly, she felt sorry for the guy. She’d hate to be stuck out here with a broken-down car. For the first time since she’d decided to take this trip, she silently thanked her dad for insisting on the 2010 Volkswagen New Beetle rather than the 1955 Plymouth Belvedere she’d been researching to purchase for her cross-country trip. But her parents bought her the convertible Bug as a college graduation gift. It was reliable and safer, her father had said, upset she’d consider driving an old car in the first place, especially after what had happened to Judy.

A twinge of guilt rode up her back like a tailgater on the highway. It always did.

Joy munched on a cold fry to rid herself of the sour taste in her mouth and returned her attention to the man outside.

Flustered, he shook his fists at the sky; then, to Joy’s amusement, he flipped off the blazing sun.