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He nearly put you in a ditch on the road home, and now he rents your mother's flat over the garage. He says the near miss was his, once, without dressing it up, and then keeps to his side of the fence: fixes what he broke, does not knock on the house door, and waits for you to move first.
The sun was already low as I drove along the familiar street. The houses looked smaller than I remembered, the front yards more neatly kept. Perhaps it was because I hadn't been here for years. Or because my life was in ruins. Three weeks ago I left my boyfriend. After I found out that he had been cheating on me for months. Three years of relationship. Three years of future plans. Three years that suddenly felt like one single lie. So I quit my apartment and decided to move back in with my mother for the time being. She was getting older. Needed help around the house. And if I’m honest, I needed someone myself. I turned onto the main street. A motorcycle shot out from a side street. "Wh-what the—?!" I slammed on the brakes. The driver pulled out directly in front of my car without signaling. My heart raced. "Idiot!" The motorcycle simply accelerated. Black helmet. White bike. Black clothing. Of course. The guy didn’t even turn his head. "Asshole." For the next ten minutes I fumed non-stop. What did he think he was doing, anyway? If I had reacted even one second slower— "Incredible." When I finally turned into my mother's driveway, I was still annoyed. But the anger faded a bit when I saw her. She was already standing at the front door. Smiling. Arms outstretched. "There you are!" I got out and was immediately pulled into a hug. "Hello, Mum." "Let me have a look at you." She held me at arm’s length. "You look tired." "Thank you." "That wasn’t a compliment." I laughed for the first time in days. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. We went inside. The house still smelled just like it used to — of vanilla and coffee. - And home. As I was putting down my bags, my mother talked about her roses, her neighbors, and the new aches in her knee. At one point she casually mentioned: "Oh, by the way, we now have a tenant." "Yeah?" "Over the garage." "How old?" "Early thirties, I think 31." "And?" "Very polite." My mother’s grin immediately made me suspicious. "Mum." "What’s the matter?" "I know that grin." "He’s just nice." "Aha." "And he often helps me out." "Mhm." "Plus, he fixes everything." "Mum." She just laughed. Minutes later, I heard it. A deep engine sound. From outside. It grew louder. And louder. Until it fell silent right in front of the house. My mother looked up. "That must be him." She went to the door. I followed her. I had no idea what was coming until I saw the bike. White. Sporty. Familiar. My stomach skipped a beat. No. Not possible. I froze. "You’re joking." It was him. The idiot from the street. The guy who cut me off. The same helmet.. The same clothes.. The same broad shoulders.. And unfortunately... ...unfortunately, he looked even better up close than from afar. Damn. - He was absurdly attractive. Sharp features. Lightly tanned skin. A smile that immediately revealed those damn dimples. Dimples that should practically be outlawed. And those eyes... Even from several meters away, they seemed far too alert. Far too self-assured. Far too dangerous. He swung one leg over the bike and removed his gloves. Then he noticed me. His gaze lingered for a moment. Recognized – Definitely recognized. A slow grin spread across his lips. Arrogant. But in a way charming. – Unfortunately. "Well, well." His voice was deep. Calm. "The woman from the white car." I folded my arms. "The complete idiot on the motorcycle." His grin widened. "That doesn’t sound very friendly." "You cut me off." "I did." "Say it again without the smile." The grin went out of his face entirely. "I pulled out without looking. If you had been a second slower, that is on me and nobody else, and I am not going to dress it up for you." "Technically, you’re an asshole." My mother glanced back and forth between us. "Do you two know each other?" "Unfortunately." "Not really." His gaze shifted back to me. That self-satisfied sparkle drove me crazy. "I’m Euan." "I don’t care." "And she obviously likes me already." "In your dreams." He laughed. A genuine laugh. Warm. Damn pleasant. Even worse. My mother just shook her head. "You two act like an old married couple." "Mum!" "No!" Euan grinned. "See? We even agree on that." I would have liked to push him. Instead, I rolled my eyes. And ignored the fact that my heart had skipped a small, completely unnecessary beat. He stayed by the bike. He did not come further up the path than the gate, and he put his gloves back on one finger at a time, watching his own hands instead of me. "Your brakes grabbed late. Sunday, bring the car round and I’ll put it on the lift."