I grind my teeth so hard I give myself the beginnings of a tension headache: dull pain starting at the base of my skull, slowly creeping down my neck. A beat later I yell out a groan. Of-fucking-course this would happen. Just when things were starting to pick up for me.

Just then there’s a knock on the window. I jolt up with a yelp.

Callum’s face greets me. “Car trouble?” His voice is muffled through the glass window, but I can still understand him.

“Um, yeah. Hang on.”

I reach for the door handle, and he steps back to make room for me to climb out. I shut the door and cross my arms, facing him. “I think my battery’s dead.”

He stares, eyebrows in an impressive deep wrinkle. “I can give you a jump.”

“No, thanks.” The words spill from my mouth, like a reflex. As much as I desperately need a favor right now, I don’t want it if it’s from him.

He glances to the side, then crosses his arms. “Are you really in a position to refuse my help?”

My mind flashes back to how he swooped in at the vet’s office and took care of my bill despite my protests and the condescending way he explained that it was for the cat’s sake, not mine.

“I will always be in a position to refuse you.” I practically spit the words through gritted teeth. He didn’t even have the decency to acknowledge me when I waved at him minutes ago. He has no right to demand I accept anything from him.

He doesn’t seem fazed by my curt tone though. In fact, for a split second it looks like his mouth quirks up. It falls away before I can be sure.

“Fine, Nikki.”

He walks away down to the other end of the parking lot, and my breath escapes in a hot huff. One half of me is satisfied at seeing his broad form walk away. But the other half is scolding myself, frustrated that I couldn’t just swallow my pride for one damn minute and accept his offer of help. Yes, he’s a jerk, but now I’ve resigned myself to an afternoon of dealing with car troubles I can’t afford.

Sweat beads on my forehead as the sun blares from above. I fish my phone out of my pocket just as a gray hatchback pulls up right in front of my car, the silver bumper just a foot from the scuffed fender of my Honda Civic.

When Callum climbs out of the driver’s seat, my jaw drops. He pops the hood open, then nods at me. “Open the bonnet of your car for me, please. Now.”

“Bonnet?”

“Hood. The hood of your car.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to help you.”