Chapter 1 — A Flat Tire and a Chance Encounter

Liora

Liora Wells tightened her grip on the steering wheel, her knuckles whitening as the familiar knot of frustration twisted in her stomach. The GPS chirped directions she barely registered, the voice drowned out by her inner litany of doubts. This wasn’t just another late morning; this was supposed to be the day she stepped out of her comfort zone. The writing workshop in the city had felt like a lifeline—an opportunity to reignite her stalled creativity and prove to herself that she could belong among other writers. But now, as the clock ticked closer to the start time, unease prickled at the edges of her thoughts. What if she got there and froze? Or worse, what if her work wasn’t good enough?

The faint, familiar weight of her battered navy-blue notebook shifted in the trunk with each bump in the road. It had been her companion for years, filled with half-finished scenes and fragments of ideas. Lately, though, it felt like a silent critic whispering all the ways she wasn’t enough.

“Come on, keep going,” she whispered, coaxing the car forward as though the words could will the engine to obey. Her sneakers tapped nervously against the floor mat, a physical outlet for her spiraling thoughts. She could still make it if she didn’t stop. If she didn’t stop—

The clunk-thwump was unmistakable.

Her heart sank as the car veered to the side, wobbling unsteadily. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered, pulling onto the gravel shoulder beneath the shadow of a rusting sign that read, “Mercer Family Auto Shop” in faded, flaking paint.

Liora stayed frozen in the driver’s seat for a moment, gripping the wheel like it might anchor her spiraling thoughts. She glanced at the dashboard clock. There was no way she’d make it now. The chill of disappointment swept over her, mixing with the lingering anxiety she hadn’t shaken since leaving home. “Of course,” she muttered to herself with a wry smile. “Why not today?”

Stepping out into the crisp autumn air, she wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck. The countryside stretched lazily around her, the trees a riot of burnt oranges and yellows shedding leaves that crunched underfoot. The air carried the scent of pine and the faint tang of gasoline drifting from the nearby shop. As she crouched to inspect the lifeless tire, a nail jutted out from the rubber—just her luck. “Perfect,” she murmured, sighing as she straightened.

The auto shop stood a few yards away, its corrugated metal walls streaked with rust and its fogged windows a testament to years of grease and grime. The mellow strains of classic rock floated from within, mingling with the sharp scent of rubber. The place had a worn, lived-in charm, though its haphazard appearance made her hesitate. She wasn’t exactly great with cars—or, if she was honest, with people. But sitting here mulling over her bad luck wouldn’t change anything.

After a beat of indecision, she finally approached the open bay doors, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “Hello?” she called, her voice barely carrying over the music. Nervousness fluttered low in her chest, and she unconsciously smoothed the edge of her scarf as she stood at the threshold of the shop.

A figure emerged from beneath the hood of a car, straightening to his full height. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his black hair tousled as though he hadn’t thought much about it that morning. Grease streaked his hands, and a faint shadow of stubble framed his jaw. When his dark brown eyes met hers, they crinkled slightly with a quick, assessing warmth.

“Hey there. Flat tire?” His voice was warm and tinged with amusement, as though he’d already guessed the answer.

Liora nodded, her cheeks heating under his gaze. “Yeah. I, um… pulled over by the sign.”

“You’re in the right place, then,” he said, tossing the grease-streaked rag onto a nearby workbench. “Name’s Kian Mercer. You caught us on a busy day, but I’ll take a look.”

“Liora Wells,” she replied, feeling the syllables of her name catch awkwardly in her throat. “And, uh, thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.” He grinned, stepping past her with an effortless confidence that made her feel simultaneously self-conscious and oddly at ease.

They walked to her car, the crunch of gravel filling the silence. The breeze picked up, carrying the scent of leaves beginning to decay, and Liora hugged her arms around herself. Kian crouched beside the deflated tire, running his fingers over the puncture with the ease of someone who’d seen this a hundred times before.

“Looks like you picked up a nail. Happens more than you’d think,” he said, glancing up at her briefly before returning to his inspection. “What’s got you driving all the way out here?”

She hesitated, her fingers tugging at the edge of her scarf. “I was heading to a writing workshop. Or at least, I was trying to.”

“Writing, huh?” Kian straightened, brushing his hands on his jeans instead of reaching for the rag. “That what you do?”

“Well… I’m trying to.” Her voice dipped slightly, as though admitting it out loud made the weight of her uncertainty all the heavier. “I’m working on a novel, but it’s slow going.”

“Creative stuff always is,” he said, his tone light but not dismissive. “Hang tight. I’ll grab a spare and get you patched up.”

While he disappeared into the shop, Liora leaned against her car, her fingers restlessly tracing the frayed strap of her messenger bag. The silence gave her thoughts too much room to wander. She replayed their brief exchange, second-guessing everything from her tone of voice to the way her arms had been folded. Why did talking to strangers—especially ones who looked like they belonged in a magazine ad for rugged charm—have to be so difficult?

Kian returned moments later, rolling a spare tire toward her with one hand and carrying a jack with the other. A folded map poked out from his back pocket, its edges worn and creased. “Lucky for you, we’ve got a loaner tire that’ll fit. Should get you back on the road.”

“Thanks,” Liora said, wishing she could think of something more interesting to say.

Kian knelt to set up the jack, glancing at her with a crooked smile. “You always this polite, or am I just that intimidating?”

Her lips twitched in a reluctant smile. “Maybe a little of both.”

He chuckled as he loosened the lug nuts with practiced efficiency. “So, what’s the novel about? Or is that a trade secret?”

“Oh, it’s not a secret,” she said quickly, though her fingers tightened their grip on her scarf. “It’s just… hard to explain. Something about finding yourself, I guess. And learning when to let other people in.”

“Sounds like a solid theme,” Kian said, glancing up briefly. “People like stories they can see themselves in.”

“That’s the hope,” she murmured, though her tone carried more doubt than confidence.

The rhythmic clink of tools filled the pause. Kian worked with an ease that spoke to years of experience, his movements fluid and unhurried despite his earlier comment about being busy.

“Here we go,” he said, tightening the last bolt and straightening. “Good as new. Well, temporarily new. You’ll want to get a full replacement when you can.”

Liora fumbled for her wallet, but before she could pull it out, Kian held up a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Call it a neighborly favor.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” she protested, but he shrugged it off.

“Consider it payment for the entertainment,” he teased lightly. “Besides, you’ve got that workshop to get to, right?”

“Right,” she said, though the idea of walking into a room full of strangers still made her stomach flip. “Thank you. Really.”

Kian leaned casually against the car, his dark eyes meeting hers with a sincerity that caught her off guard. “Good luck with the novel, Liora. I’ll be rooting for you.”

Sliding back into the driver’s seat, she offered him a small wave before pulling onto the road. The Mercer Family Auto Shop faded in her rearview mirror, but Kian’s easy smile lingered in her thoughts, chasing away some of the tension that had knotted her chest.

As the city skyline came into view, her fingers itched for her notebook. Words swirled in her mind, scenes taking shape faster than she could hold onto them. Maybe, just maybe, there was a story in this—a story she hadn’t been able to write before.

Liora smiled faintly to herself and drove on.