Despite the cold, something almost softened in her expression.
Almost.
She tightened her arms across herself.
“You don’t know me.”
“No.”
“You could be dangerous.”
He nodded.
“That too.”
The answer surprised her.
Most men responded to suspicion by becoming offended.
He did not.
He crouched slowly several feet from the wheelchair until they were closer to eye level.
“No touching.”
he said.
“No grabbing your chair.”
“No trying to move you.”
“You tell me what would actually help.”
The Woman stared.
He had said exactly the right thing.
Not What’s wrong with you?
Not Can you walk?
Not Let me get you out of that thing.
“What would help?”
She looked at the pickup.
“Heat.”
“That I can do.”
She glanced toward the snow piling around her front casters.
“My chair has to come.”
“Obviously.”
Again.
No hesitation.
No suggestion that the chair was luggage.
The Single Dad stood.
“Manual frame?”
“Yes.”
“Folding back?”
“Yes.”
“Wheels release?”
She studied him.
“You know wheelchairs?”
“No.”
He pointed toward the chair.
“But I can see buttons.”
For the first time she smiled.
Small.
Tired.
Still enough to change her entire face.
The Single Dad noticed.
He tried not to.
She was beautiful in a way that made looking too long feel impolite.
Very long platinum-blonde hair.
Blue-gray eyes.
Chocolate-brown knitted jacket.
Matching skirt.
Tall brown boots.
Diamond jewelry that looked completely absurd beneath a snow-covered bus shelter.
Everything about her suggested somewhere expensive.
Everything except the wheelchair stuck in dirty snow.
He removed one glove.
Extended his open hand.
“Your fingers are shaking.”
She looked down.
They were.
“I’m fine.”
“No.”
She looked sharply at him.
He corrected himself.
“You may be fine generally.”
“Your hands are cold specifically.”
Better.
She placed her hand in his.
His skin was warm.
He closed both hands loosely around hers, rubbing warmth into her fingers without pulling her closer.
The Woman watched him.
“You always get this close to women you find after midnight?”
He smiled.
“Only the ones who look like they’re about to develop frostbite out of spite.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“I am not stubborn.”
He looked toward the empty frozen bus shelter.
“Obviously.”
She laughed once.
A real sound.
Then immediately looked surprised that she had.
The Single Dad pointed toward the pickup.
“My daughter and I live twelve minutes away when roads are normal.”
“Probably twenty-five tonight.”
“You can sit in the truck while we figure out whether your ride gets here.”
“If it doesn’t, I have a couch.”
The Woman’s expression changed.
He noticed immediately.
“No expectation.”
he added.
“No pressure.”
“You can call whoever you want before we go anywhere.”
“You can send my license plate.”
“Photograph me.”
“Call the police.”