“Dammit. Fucking GO!” Erin growled, smacking the steering wheel with her palm. The horn gave a weak honk in protest, as if exhausted by her outburst. She leaned forward, glaring at the old Toyota truck that had cut her off for the third time. “You moron!” she added for good measure.
“What is wrong with you?” her sister’s voice crackled through the earbuds, a mix of curiosity and concern.
“This damn Toyota keeps blocking me. Every time I try to pass, he swerves over like he owns the road,” Erin grumbled, her knuckles whitening around the steering wheel. The pickup truck ahead sported a patchwork of obnoxious bumper stickers, but one stood out in bold, peeling letters: Cletus Rules!
“You wanna call me back?” her sister asked.
“No. Stay on the line. Keep me calm. I’m not about to rear-end some ass clown,” Erin huffed, tapping her fingers on the wheel like a frustrated drumbeat.
Her sister chuckled softly. “Alright, then. Tell me about him.”
“Cletus?”
“No, you idiot,” her sister laughed. “Marco.”
“Oh.” Erin’s tone softened instantly, her mind shifting from road rage to something much warmer. “Right. Marco.” She rolled her eyes at herself, shaking her head. “I thought you meant the ass wipe in front of me.”
“Please, tell me you didn’t just confuse the guy you’re crushing on with ‘Cletus Rules,’” her sister teased.
“Shut up.” Erin smirked, the tension loosening as she took a breath. “Anyway… oh my god, Marco is so cute. Like, you don’t even understand. I’m almost at his café right now, and I’m dying.”
“Well,” her sister said, “don’t let Cletus ruin your vibe.”
“Believe me,” Erin grinned, her heart racing for a different reason now, “nothing’s ruining this.”
“You’re doing a drive-by?” her sister accused, her voice dripping with amusement.
“Noooooo,” Erin replied, drawing out the denial in a way that made it sound even more suspicious. Then, with a sigh, she confessed, “Okay, fine. I’m just… checking on him.”
Her sister snorted. “Oh, sure. You think he’s just going to happen to be outside, wiping down tables or something?”
“You never know,” Erin said, shrugging as she inched forward in bumper-to-bumper traffic. “If I ever friggin’ get there.”
The gridlocked street was testing her patience. But, nothing could dim her determination to catch a glimpse of Marco. He was the perfect excuse to stop by the café for a cappuccino and one of his heavenly pastries, or maybe the other way around. “Marco’s Italian Café” a coffee house owned by Marco Bellucci, former Formula One racing driver turned café owner. He served authentic Italian coffee and French pastries so rich and decadent that Erin had once described them to her sister as “palette porn.”
Twice a week, she made excuses to visit. She always struck a balance, making sure her visits were frequent enough to show interest but spaced out enough to avoid crossing the border into “Stalkerville.” The flirty chats with Marco behind the counter were her personal highlight, a mix of charm, laughter…and hope.
Her sister broke the brief silence. “You know what they say about those guys, right?”
Erin blinked, glancing at the traffic ahead. “What guys?”
“Duhhhhhh, race car drivers,” her sister replied with exaggerated patience, as if this should be obvious.
“Oh god,” Erin sighed, bracing herself. “No. What do they say?”, her curiosity piqued.
Her sister hesitated, her voice dropping as if someone might overhear. “That they can… ya know.”
“Ya know what?” Erin pressed, glancing toward the traffic as her car inched forward.
“Like… satisfy themselves,” her sister said, pausing just long enough for Erin’s mind to race before adding, “while driving.”
Erin nearly choked on her laugh. “Nuh-uh! No way.”
“Yeah, huh,” her sister insisted, giggling. “I guess the speed turns them on or something.”
“I don’t believe it.” But even as she said it, a tiny spark of intrigue flickered inside her. The mental image of Marco behind the wheel, adrenaline coursing through him, was far more thrilling than she’d like to admit.
Her sister wasn’t letting it go. “That’s just what they say.”
Erin shook her head, smirking. “Well, if it’s true, then I really need to see what this guy can do off the track.”
Erin doubted she’d ever get the chance to find out the truth about Marco. His signals were a maddening maze of mixed messages, and it was beginning to feel like an impossible puzzle. Every time she entered his café, the bell above the door would clang, announcing her arrival like fate itself wanted to give her a shot. And each time, Marco would look up, lock eyes with her, and smile - that devastating smile.
His was not just any smile, either. Marco’s was one flanked by cheekbones that seemed carved by the gods and anchored by a jawline so sharp it could cut glass. And if his smile did not disarm her, his resting expression would, somewhere between boyish innocence and the kind of danger that sent shivers down Erin’s spine. Add to that the mop of jet-black hair that flopped in perfect disarray with every turn of his head, and Erin found herself thinking the same thing every woman did when they saw it: Why is that luxurious hair wasted on a man?
But beauty could only get her so far. As much as she admired him, her frustration was mounting. This was not the first time that she’d shaved her legs for a fucking cup of coffee. She silently cursed her own optimism. She did not come to Marco’s for pastries or caffeine. She came to gauge his interest. Was he just being polite or was he playing some cruel game of red light, green light, and Erin couldn’t figure out how to win?
Was he married? Did he have a girlfriend? Was he gay? None of these seemed likely based on her many café stakeouts. But there was no denying that she was stuck in neutral. “What’s it gonna take to get this thing in gear?” she wondered as she tapped her fingers against the steering wheel.
Marco was not just a man, he was a puzzle, one of those complicated 3D ones that only came in boxes labeled 1,000 pieces, along with a message from the manufacturer reading “Good Luck!” And right now, luck was not on her side. She thought back to how simple things had been when she was a kid. If she liked a boy, she didn’t sit around analyzing every smile and glance. She’d pass him a quick note:
I like you.
Do you like me?

Yes or No
(Please circle one.)
Maybe she should bring that strategy out of retirement. That might be faster than this agonizing game of “guess if he’s flirting or just polite.”
The odd thing about Marco was that he had a way of making Erin feel wanted without saying much at all. Their conversations, though casual and brief, had a way of lingering in her thoughts long after she left the café. His charm was subtle, but stuck to her like honey, sweet and slow. Should she just take the plunge and give him her number? Her Snap? At this point, she’d even settle for a LinkedIn connection. She snorted at the thought.
That’s when she remembered the poster she’d seen at the BMW dealership earlier: “Let’s get this thing in gear!” She had laughed out loud at it then, and she was laughing again now. “Yeah, Marco,” she whispered to herself. “Let’s.”
But no one on the street was in gear today. And then there was Cletus, the Toyota driver who had somehow made this his personal mission to ruin her afternoon. His obnoxious bumper stickers glared at her, as if mocking her lack of control. All she wanted was to make it the last two blocks to Marco’s café, but those two blocks might as well have been miles. Every time she tried to switch lanes, Cletus cut her off again, testing her patience and sanity.
The street had turned into a crawling herd of steel cattle, moving one hoof at a time. Stop. Go. Stop. Go. Erin’s patience had sputtered out miles ago, and the polite little honk of her BMW’s horn was doing nothing to ease her frustration. She tapped it again, harder this time, using it like an emotional pressure release valve.
Finally, she made it within sight of Marco’s café, just in time to catch a brief glimpse of him walking inside with a backpack slung over his shoulder. Her heart skipped. Was he leaving? Had he forgotten something? She craned her neck, but before she could get another look, she came to a sudden, jarring halt.
Cletus was not moving.
His truck was parked dead in the middle of the lane. Erin’s eyes widened as she watched him throw the vehicle into PARK and swing the driver’s door open.