A pickup truck glided off the road

and stopped behind her car. The sun’s glare bounced off the windshield, making it impossible to see the driver. She shielded her eyes with one hand and gripped her keys with the other.

A tall male hopped out of the driver’s side. “Do you northerners make it a habit of running out of gas?”

Grace loosened her grip on the keys, but she looked around for a way to escape. Maybe a tornado would appear and suck her up in its funnel. She’d hoped Blaise would never find out about her stupidity.

“Did Beau make you come?” Her voice wobbled.

Blaise swaggered up to her. “Nah. After he was done yelling about women and cars, I offered. Figured I’d save Pete the drive and Beau the call to bark at him.”

“Beau was yelling?”

“Whole neighborhood could hear him. Where were you coming back from anyway?”

She turned and looked toward the woods. That might be a good place to run and hide. “I’m sorry I inconvenienced you. I’m not the kind of person who runs out of gas.”

“Lighten up, Grace. Ain’t no big deal.” He pumped up his southern accent. “Pop open your gas tank. You know where that button is?” He laughed. “You weren’t trying to get out of dinner, were you?”

He poured the gas into the car, and she held her nose. “It would’ve been easier to call and cancel, don’t you think?” she said.

“Depends.”