Page 7 of Turn My Crank

"I can give you a ride home," I offer before I can think better of it. "And I can have one of the guys from my shop come pick up your car, take it in tonight. I could probably have it ready by tomorrow afternoon."

Lacy looks at me, surprise evident in her expression. "You would do that? You don't even know what I'm like as a passenger. I could be one of those people who control the radio and criticize your driving."

The teasing lilt in her voice makes me smile. "I'll take my chances. Besides, Susie would never forgive me if I left her favorite teacher stranded."

"Her favorite teacher, huh?" Lacy glances over at Susie, who's watching us curiously from beside my truck. "That's quite the endorsement."

"Well," I say, surprising myself with my boldness, "she's not the only Reynolds who thinks highly of you."

A flush colors Lacy's cheeks, and she tucks her hair behind her ear again – a nervous gesture I'm starting to find endearing. "In that case, I accept your offer, Colby Reynolds."

As I help her gather her things from her car, I can't help but think this might be the luckiest car breakdown in history.

four

. . .

Lacy

I grip the door handle of Colby's truck as we take a corner, still not quite believing I'm here. When my car refused to start after school, I'd been prepared to call a tow truck—maybe walk to the nearest coffee shop and wait there while gnawing on my budget and worrying about the cost. Instead, here I am, sitting in the passenger seat of Colby Winters' pickup, with his six-year-old daughter chattering away in the back.

"And then Tommy put glue in his hair, Miss Montgomery! Remember?" Susie's voice is animated behind me, her excitement making me smile despite my embarrassment at the situation.

"I do remember," I say, turning slightly to look at her. Those bright blue eyes—so much like her father's—gleam with mischief. The thought makes my cheeks warm, and I mentally shake myself. I'm Susie's teacher, for heaven's sake. I shouldn't be thinking about her father that way.

"I had to help him wash it out," I add, focusing on Susie. "We were finding glue in his hair all day."

Colby chuckles beside me, his large hands relaxed on the steering wheel. "Sounds like an eventful Friday."

"Never a dull moment with first graders," I reply, trying to ignore how aware I am of him—his broad shoulders in a fitted flannel shirt, the strong profile of his jaw, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. I've only had a handful of conversations with him since the parent-teacher conference at the beginning of the year, but each one has left me thinking about him far more than is appropriate. Single dad, contractor, and possessor of the kind of smile that makes my knees weak. Definitely not the sort of man I should be developing feelings for.

"Miss Montgomery's car made a funny noise!" Susie announces. "Like a robot dying. Zzzzzt. Clunk!"

"That's actually a pretty good impression," I admit with a laugh. I'd been having issues with the starter for weeks but couldn't afford to get it fixed until next month's paycheck. "Thank you again for the ride. I really appreciate it."

"It's no trouble," Colby says, glancing at me briefly. "Couldn't let Susie's favorite teacher get stranded at school all weekend."

I feel a blush creep up my neck. "I'm her only teacher."

"Still her favorite," he says with a wink, and I have to look away before he sees how much that simple gesture affects me.

"Dad can fix anything," Susie says proudly from the back seat. "He can fix your car too. He built our whole house!"

"I didn't build the whole thing, pumpkin," Colby corrects her gently. "Just renovated it." He turns slightly toward me. "But I can take a look at your car tomorrow. I'll have one of the guys from the shop come by with a tow truck, and we'll get it fixed up for you."

"Oh, I couldn't ask you to?—"

"You didn't ask," he interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I offered."

I don't know what to say. It's been a long time since someone offered to help me without expecting anything in return. "Thank you. That's very kind."

The rest of the drive to my house is filled with Susie's chatter about her day at school, the art project we'd done, and the book we'd read about a frog who wanted to be a prince. I catch Colby's eye several times, a smile playing on his lips as he listens to his daughter.

When we pull up to my small bungalow, I'm suddenly self-conscious. It's nothing special—a rental with peeling paint and a yard that could use some attention—but it's home.

"This is a nice place," Colby says, as if reading my thoughts. "Good bones."

"Thanks," I say, gathering my things. "I've tried to make it homey."

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