Boy Meets Girl

The best part about a boy-meets-girl story is that, while it's all been done, there's always a new flair to be had.  (Or maybe it's my own Guilty Pleasures indulgence, that I love a cheesy romance now and then ...)

The prompt for the week:  Boy Meets Girl

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My response:

I saw the car as I pulled up to AutoZone.  It was an older chevy parked under the street light, just across the parking lot from the front door.  A small figure bent over the engine, obscured by the thick flakes swirling down from the clouds.  The car wasn't running.

I brushed aside my first twinge of sympathy.  Whoever it was, they were lucky enough to make it to AutoZone, and the fact that they'd stopped here, rather than a mechanic, meant they were probably fine.  I dashed into the store. 

It should have only taken me thirty seconds to grab a new air filter, but they'd apparently done a remodel since I'd last been in.  I hate when stores move things around.  Then I got distracted by the mudflaps in aisle three.  The pair I had were getting a little rough around the edges, and I'd always loved the Yosimite Sam ones.

I headed back to the front desk, air filter in hand. 

"Thanks!"

A mass of wet, blond curls stuck out from beneath a green beenie.  The small woman snatched a can of WD-40 off the counter and headed towards the door.  Her boot cut jeans flared out over her cowboy boots, a stark contrast to her cute little pea coat.  Then I had to laugh at myself.  What kind of man even knew what a pea coat was? ... the kind whose last girlfriend had broken up with him because he'd accidentally smeared grease on her beloved, white pea coat.  It wasn't the only problem, but it was the last straw, and that had been the end of her.  Then again, I was pretty sure Lela had never worn cowboy boots with her pea coat.

The attendant at the desk smirked as I looked back at him.  He'd seen where I'd been looking.  I grinned sheepishly and handed over my air filter. 

I had made it back to my truck when I heard a muffled clatter coming from the other side of the parking lot.  It was followed by an exasperated word or two, in that same sweet voice I'd heard inside.  The small figure bent over the hood of the chevy dropped to the ground, arms moving around as if feeling for something.

I blamed it on my second twinge of sympathy, but it might have had something to do with those cowboy boots.  I grabbed my travel tool box from behind my seat and headed over.

"Um, Miss?"
The curls flew up and over her should as a pair of blue eyes looked up.  Even with the scowl, I stood at a loss for words.  She was cute.

Smile.  Remember to smile.  My sister's advice. 

I felt like an idiot, but I smiled.  "I'm sure you're capable, and you don't need my help at all ... but if you dropped your wrench, I've got one you can borrow."

Her scowl cracked.  Then she laughed.  With one last look at her feet, particularly at the grating just in front of her car, she returned my smile.

"A screwdriver, actually, just a flathead."

In moments, I had one in my hand.  She took it with red, bare hands and leaned over the headlight.  "I should have done this last month, when the first one went out, but I didn't get around to it, and now the other one's out.  I got the other one done just fine, but this one's stuck."

"How'd you get here in the dark?" I asked.

She flashed a guilty grin.  "High beams."

Clever.

"Can you put some of that WD-40 on this bit while I wiggle it?" she asked. 

"You single?"

She stopped.  "Excuse me?"

I tried the smile again.  "Well, I'm just trying to figure out if I'm chalking this up to 'good samaritan' or if I might try for taking you out to dinner.  Best to have it figured out from the start."

"Single.  And my favorite resturant's just around the corner."

Just then, the latch popped up.  Her face lit up, and she reached down, wiping her dirty hand on on the hem of her pea coat.

"Perfect."