She exited the car. “It’s getting late. Shouldn’t we call a tow truck?”
“Nah,” he said coolly. “I’ll change the tire and we’ll drive to the next town. See if we can get a new tire. They probably won’t be able to do anything with it till tomorrow morning anyway.”
She sighed. “At this rate, we’re never going to get home.”
“Oh, ye of little faith.” He squinted up at her and winked. “You wanna learn how to change a tire?”
“What makes you think I don’t already know?”
He stopped and looked at her. “Wait. Do you?”
“No, but you assumed I didn’t.”
He held out the wrench. “I’d happily move out of the way and let you take care of this.”
She feigned insult. “Nope. You just assumed I couldn’t because I’m a girl.”
“That’s not true,” he said. Then, after the perfect pause for comedic timing, “I assumed you couldn’t because you’re a woman.” He affixed the wrench to the lug nut and muscled it loose.
Lauren gasped. “That is totally sexist! You won’t even let me drive the car.” She folded her arms over her chest and stared him down.
He stopped cranking and conceded. “That’s a good point.”
“So, I can drive?”
He went back to cranking. “Absolutely not.”
She groaned and shook her head, and he got back to work. About half an hour later, they were driving again. She had to admit, his competence in a crisis made him—（grumble） sexy—which was saying something given her attraction for him was already a seventeen out of ten.
He found a repair shop and dropped the car. Thankfully the store wasn’t closed yet, and the owner could provide them a ride to a nearby hotel. Unlike most of the places they’d stayed so far on this trip, this hotel would best be described as “swanky.” The lobby looked like a film set, decked out with crystal chandeliers, giant Christmas wreaths, a tall, perfectly decorated tree and white twinkle lights that made their entrance feel dramatic.
“Wow,” Lauren said under her breath.
“This one’s on me,” Will said.
They walked up to the counter, and Lauren found herself praying there were rooms available—she could only imagine how nice the beds in this place were, and there was a Caribou Coffee in the lobby. She was already craving it tomorrow.
“And will you be attending our Christmas ball?” The man behind the counter asked after Will told them they needed two rooms.
“No way. There’s a Christmas ball?” He had that excited little kid thing going on again.
“Yes, sir. It’s our premiere event of the season.” He gave them a once-over, like the ma?tre d’ looking at Ferris Bueller while he claimed to be Abe Froman, the Sausage King of Chicago. “It’s. . . ahem. . . a dressy affair.”
They were certainly not dressy. Lauren was wearing her worn-out yoga pants and an old, pink Berkeley sweatshirt, and Will had on track pants and a black Nike hoodie.
“Yes, we will absolutely be attending.” Will slapped the counter. “What time does it start?”
“Will—” Lauren smiled at the employee and pulled Will aside. “We can’t go to a dance.”
“It’s like fate! What could bring more Christmas spirit than a Christmas ball in a fancy hotel?”
“I can think of about a thousand other things,” she said.
“Name one.”
Lauren paused. “Give me a second. . .”
“We’re totally going.”
Will stepped back up to the counter. “It’s a yes on the ball, my friend.”
The clerk slid their keys across the counter. “I gave you adjoining rooms.”
“Oh, that isn’t necessary,” Lauren said.
“It’s either that or you’ll be on two different floors.”
She smiled through a groan. “Perfect.”
Those doors had locks on them, right?
They got in the elevator and took it to the twelfth floor. When they got out, Will handed her a small rectangular ticket. On it, the words “Twentieth Annual Brush Creek Christmas Ball.”
“Will, I can’t go to this!”
“Why not?”
“It’s a ball.”
“You say it like the Queen of England is throwing it.”
“She may as well be!”
“I’ll brush up on my British accent.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Ooh, maybe you’ll overhear Mr. Darcy say something horrible about you.”