Page 17 of For My Finale
Driving in LA had meant wide lanes and drive-through parking spaces and frankly, she hadn’t even needed to parallel park for her driving test. But here she was.
She knew the basics, of course. It was something to do with turning the wheel opposite to something else and… and just sliding into the space. She’d seen it done. It couldn’t be that hard.
The little car beeped in protest as she inched it closer to the curb, opened her door, looked out, gritted her teeth, closed her door, pulled out, and started all over again.
It wasn’t that the space was too small. It was huge. Far bigger than the car.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she growled, backing the car in again and ending up at an almost ninety degree angle to the pavement.
There was a knock at her window, startling her. She looked up to see a tall, middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair andan amused expression on his face. He made the old fashioned gesture for rolling down the window. Lilah obliged.
“Need a bit of help here, love?”
“I’ve got it under control,” Lilah said primly.
He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Right. Course you have. Um, you know that you’re pointing the wrong way and you’re half-way into the street, right?”
She glared at him. “Who even are you?”
“Arthur Foster, Arty to you. Landlord of the local pub and parking expert.” He grinned a bit there.
“I don’t need your help,” said Lilah.
“Of course you don’t.” He sniffed. “You won’t mind if I stand here and watch then? Only that car behind is mine and I’d hate to see it squished.”
“I’m not going to squish anything,” Lilah protested. She scowled, and, out of sheer stubbornness, tried again.
The car lurched back toward the curb at an angle that could only be described as obtuse. Lilah thought she might just get out and abandon the car. She didn’t need the damn thing now, anyway. Maybe she should just walk away.
Arty sighed. “Move over,” he said.
“What?”
“I said, move over. I can’t in good conscience let you leave your car like this.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but, to be honest, the last thing she needed right now was for yet another local to think she was an asshole and/or completely incompetent. With a huff, she undid her seatbelt and climbed out.
Arty slid into the driver’s seat, adjusted the mirrors like a pro, and, without needing to correct even once, parked the car neatly and perfectly in something under ten seconds.
Lilah folded her arms and gave him another glare as he got out. “Show off.”
He smirked. “You know, I spent a decade as a journalist in London, and I was damn good at my job. But this, this is my real talent. I could park for England, I could.”
Against her will, Lilah found that her lips were itching to smile. She swallowed it down. “Congrats then, you’re officially better than me at one thing.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Arty said, as he climbed out of the car and leaned against it. “So, what’s the plan, Paxton?”
Her stomach screwed up into a ball. It was too much to hope for that she wouldn’t be recognized everywhere that she went, she knew that. But some people at least had the courtesy to pretend not to know who she was. “The plan?”
He shrugged. “You’ve been in town, what, a week? What’s next? What’s the plan?”
Lilah stiffened. “I don’t know.”
Arty whistled. “No job, no hobbies, no plan at all? Did you seriously implode your career just to come here and sit around doing nothing?”
“I’ve got a plan,” she snapped. It was a lie, but he didn’t have to know that.
“Uh-huh. And what would that be?”
