Just when you thought your day couldn’t get any worse, your car decides to break down in the middle of the damn highway.

Luckily, there are no other cars on the road this time of night. You manage to steer it off the road, your car creaking and groaning until it comes to a full stop. You try to turn your engine on and off, but it only manages to sputter for a second before it dies again. Stupid, old piece of junk, you think irritably to yourself.

With a weary sigh, you step out of your car, rounding it to pop the hood. You immediately cough as smoke emerges. You shut the hood with more force than strictly necessary, the frustration making your chest tighten.

You pull your phone out of your pocket, hoping that roadside assistance is open at this hour. But as you press dial, you realize you have no service. Great. Now you’re truly stranded by the empty, dark road, no idea where you even are, and no other living soul in sight.

Tears quickly prick behind your eyes, panic beginning to settle in your bones and making your hands tremble. You’re left completely helpless and alone, glancing around you for any signs of life.

A few moments later, you’re convinced your mind is playing tricks on you.

But there, further down the road, you see lights approaching. Headlights. Quickly followed by the distant sound of some old truck getting closer.

You blink the tears away, making sure you’re not seeing things. As you straighten up, the truck pulls up, halting just a few feet away from you.

Emerging from the vehicle is a man. Tall. Broad shoulders. You try to make out his face, but the lights coming from behind him—and your blurry vision from the tears—makes it hard to see anything but his silhouette heading towards you.

“Y’alright there, sweetheart?”

You stiffen a little when the man suddenly speaks up, his voice low and gruff—but it carries a kind of warmth that makes you let your guard down slightly.

“Car trouble, I’m guessin?” He steps closer, allowing you to finally look up to see his face. And damn—he’s handsome.

Eyes dark and assessing, but somehow soft despite the faint wrinkles adorning his weathered face. Scruff neatly trimmed. His flannel shirt is worn, sleeves rolled up to expose his thick forearms, yet he doesn’t look unkept. Just manly in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

“I can take a look at it if ya want.” He takes another step forward, close enough now that you can catch the masculine scent of cedar, coffee and sandalwood clinging to him. He points toward your hood, which you’re still half-leaning on. “Name’s Joel. Now, I ain’t no mechanic, but I do know my way ‘round a car.”