Leslie stopped at the first hotel, parked, and toted her luggage into the lobby. She waited in a long line until she reached the front counter, only to have a sickeningly perky receptionist inform her that the hotel had no vacancy. A few minutes later, Leslie trudged into the next hotel, her temporary optimism fading. Again, there were absolutely no available rooms this late. Apparently there was some kind of youth convention taking over the entire area.
As she walked back to her car at the last hotel, Leslie saw two buses pull in. A rowdy mass of kids who looked to be about high-school-age piled out, sprinting and jumping and gabbing with one another. Leslie shuddered a bit. She didn’t want to drive longer, but she also knew that she probably wouldn’t have gotten much good sleep with a lot of young students running around all night.
She got back on the highway, and stopped a couple of exits down at a rest stop. A quick bathroom stop and some sort of caffeine ought to give her enough energy to drive on for another half hour, at least. Leslie reluctantly turned the key to her car, and the engine sputtered a moment before dying.
Oh, no, not now, Leslie thought, tired. Don’t do this to me! She tried again, hoping it had just been a fluke.
The car sounded even weaker now, and made one last dying attempt at starting. Leslie sighed. Maybe she should’ve kept her own car, after all. Leslie looked around, surveying the area. At least this rest stop was well-lit.
Leslie popped the hood, and got out of her car. She didn’t know much about cars, really; she always relied on AAA to fix her car problems. Leslie knew she couldn’t exactly call them now, though, so she’d probably have to take care of this on her own.
Leslie glanced down at the mass of tangled metal that most people knew as the engine, and she realized that she didn’t even have a clue where to start.
“Need some help, miss?” a voice called behind her. Leslie jumped, startled, and turned around. She twisted her key between her fingers in case she needed to defend herself.
Leslie found herself facing an attractive man about her age. His light brown hair was a little long, falling in the way of his eyes, and could’ve probably used a haircut. But he was undeniably cute, and he looked friendly, and Leslie returned his grin with caution.
“I’m not sure what the problem is,” she said, “but it won’t start.”
“Want me to take a look?” the man asked in a delightfully Southern accent. Everyone she’d seen lately on her trip had a similar accent, but it was still surprising to her ears every time- and a little endearing.
Leslie smiled gratefully. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Not at all,” he said, grabbing a tall metal flashlight from the bed of his truck. Leslie tightened her grip on the keys. He seemed affable, but she wasn’t about to take any chances. He flicked the light on, and checked and tinkered around with a few things under the hood. Leslie stood back, her hands in her pockets, feeling awkward and unable to help. She also, guiltily, resisted the urge to stand further back and enjoy the view as the man bent over her front bumper.
He shook his head at one point, and looked over at her. “How far you itchin’ to get in this thing?”
“To
His eyes widened. “Is that so.” It was more of a statement than a question, and Leslie felt a little queasy. This car wasn’t that bad, was it?
Finally, he smirked. “A-ha!” He stood up and walked over to his truck to take out something small. As he passed Leslie, tossing the part between his hands, he asked for her name.
“Le-ayla,” she finished. “Layla.”
“Named after Old Slowhand’s song?”
“Yup, I think so,” Leslie accepted. She wasn’t even quite sure she was old enough for that, but she let out a breath, relieved that the bullet had been dodged. She’d nearly slipped and told him her real name. But now, to get the attention off of herself. “And your name?”
“Jim,” he said. He wiped his right hand on his jeans, getting rid of most of the grease, and extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Layla.”
“And you, Jim,” Leslie replied.
Jim leaned over the engine again for just a minute or two. “How about we give ‘er a try?” he asked, motioning for Leslie to get back in the car. “Go ahead and start ‘er.”
Leslie climbed in the driver’s seat and put the key in. Closing her eyes, hopeful, she turned the key.
The engine roared to life, and Jim pumped his fist in the air. “Yesss!”
Leslie left the car running, and got out to thank him. She insisted on giving him some money for his trouble, but Jim wouldn’t take it.
“Ma’am, I’m glad to help.” Her resolves started to weaken when he grinned that lopsided grin. “I see you’re not from around here, but we like to treat the ladies kindly in the South.”
Leslie felt like she’d been thrown into a chick flick. Guys like this really existed? She still loved
“You have a safe trip, Layla.” The man sauntered back to his truck, giving her a casual wave.
Leslie climbed into her car, and sat for just a moment, shaking her head, before she drove away from the rest stop. God bless the South.
Word Count: 6594 (13.1 %)
