Lana stood there, speechless.

‘Our Tune,’ he explained. ‘Now, what were you after?’

It took Lana a while to work out why she was lost for words. Was it simply the shock of witnessing three grown men moved to tears by such sentimental tripe, or had she in fact been stupefied by the gorgeousness of the sight before her – this tall, tanned, smooth-skinned, toned-armed, Our-Tune-loving mechanic? He looked a bit older than her – early twenties, maybe? – with his oil-covered but beautifully shaped hands, thick dark locks and grey eyes. She was mesmerized until he interrupted her reverie.

‘You want me to take a look?’ he said, indicating her car and still wiping oil from his hands.

‘Yes, please,’ she bleated.

I sound like a sheep, she thought, and tried to pull herself together.

But then he smiled. And she wished he hadn’t, because she could feel herself blushing. His was the most bewitching and captivating smile she’d ever encountered.

‘Open her up then,’ he said, heading for the car. ‘I presume you know how to do that?’

‘Umm, no, not really.’

‘Handle under the steering wheel. Pull it towards you.’

‘OK.’ She followed his instructions and heard the satisfying thunk of the hood latch as it opened. She watched him deftly seek the second latch and lift the bonnet, securing it in place with the hood prop. ‘D’you mind if I write stuff down?’ she said, brandishing a notebook and pen.

‘Go ahead,’ he answered, evidently impressed. ‘So, who bought you this then? Present from Mummy and Daddy, is it?’

‘Hah! You’re kiddin’, aren’t you? We’re a family of seven. My birthday, I’d be lucky to get a five-pound Boots voucher!’

‘Oh, right,’ he said, and began checking out the engine. He showed her how to clean the dipstick before measuring the oil – ‘but do it when the engine’s cold, OK?’ – and how to fill the screen wash and the water. He explained the fuse box and how to use the jump leads. And finally, how to change a tyre.

‘Blimey, I hope I never have to do that!’ she said, finishing off drawing a complex set of diagrams.

‘Tell you what, pass us that,’ he said, indicating her pad and pen. She handed them over and he scribbled down some details. ‘That’s the number here at the garage. Keep it somewhere safe – glove compartment maybe – and you can always call us if you ever break down.’

‘Ah thanks.’ And then she watched as he tore out a sheet from the pad and wrote down another number. Next to a name. Gareth.

‘And that’s me.’ He held the pad out to her and she took it, their fingers momentarily touching. ‘If ever you want to take her out for a spin, just give me a call. Play your cards right, I’ll show you how to do a handbrake skid and a jump start!’

Their eyes locked and she smiled.

‘Or we could just skip all that if you like, Gareth,’ she said, ‘and go the cinema tonight?’