Testing a Voice
(and Possibly My Patience, for a future story). Take the poll at the end.
I’m trying something new.
A voice experiment for possible Cozy Romance stories. My author voice. I’ve used it before in the Building Season (see archives).
More wit. More humor. Less brooding in metaphorical church basements. We’ll see how it goes.
For today’s purposes, I’m calling her Maggie.
Maggie has a car.
Maggie’s car does not run.
“I’m just going to check the tire,” I told Ren Carter, like a person who has never once in her life “just checked one thing.”
Ren rested her arms on the porch railing, arms folded, watching me with the kind of calm skepticism usually reserved for toddlers holding permanent markers. She’d been working on my house the past few weeks—showing up at nine, fixing things I didn’t know had names, and discreetly observing my decision-making process with what I can only describe as professional concern.
“Uh-huh,” she said. “And I’m only here for the fresh air.”
“It’s a reasonable plan,” I insisted, heading toward my 2005 Toyota Sienna. “The tire’s been losing air. That’s it. I fix the tire, I’m done.”
Ren pushed off the railing and followed me, boots steady on the walkway. “Didn’t this thing already die on you a few weeks ago?”
“It didn’t die,” I said, opening the door. “It took a break. AAA came. It rallied.”
Ren snorted. “Cars don’t rally. They fail, and then they cost money.”
“That feels like a generalization.”
“That feels like experience.”
I climbed into the driver’s seat with confidence I had not earned and turned the key.
Nothing.
No click. No whine. No dramatic protest.
Nothing but silence.
I stared at the dashboard like it might reconsider.
“Okay,” I said. “That’s… consistent.”
Ren leaned down, peering in. “Define consistent.”
“It’s consistently not starting.”
She nodded. “Strong performance.”
I slouched back in the seat. “It started last time.”
“After AAA jumped it.”
“Yes, but then I drove it for a few days.”
“And then?”
“And then… I didn’t.”
Ren’s eyebrow lifted.
“Because,” I continued, warming up now, “the tire was losing air, and I didn’t want to drive it like that, and then I was editing for forty-five straight days, and—”
“And the car sat.”
“Temporarily.”
“For several weeks.”
“Time is subjective.”
Ren let that sit for a beat. “You want me to try the cables?”
“Yes,” I said, immediately relieved to outsource competence.
She popped the hood like she’d been waiting her whole life for this moment. Which, frankly, she might have been. There is a category of women who look at an open engine compartment and see possibility. Ren is that woman.
I am not.
I stood nearby, offering moral support and staying out of the way, which is one of my more underrated skills.
“Red to positive,” she muttered, clipping the cable. “Black to—well, we’ll find something grounded.”
“I feel like I should be taking notes.”
“You should be handing me the other cable.”
“Right. Yes. Active participation.”
Our hands grazed as I passed it to her. Not a big moment. Not cinematic.
Just enough.
Ren didn’t look up. “You always narrate your own incompetence like this?”
“It’s a gift. Keeps expectations low.”
“Mm.”
She finished with the cables and jerked her chin toward the driver’s seat. “Try it.”
I slid back in. Which—suddenly felt like a lot. More than it should. It’s a car. It’s just a car.
“Okay,” I said. “We’re doing this.”
I turned the key.
Nothing.
Not even a click. Which felt… rude.
I tried again, like maybe the car just needed a second to think about it. Like me before coffee.
Still nothing.
I leaned back, squinting out at Ren like that might help.
She was already looking at me.
“That’s… new,” I said.
“That’s dead,” she said.
“Dead like…” I gestured vaguely at the dashboard. “Dead-dead? Or dead like it’s having a moment?”
She didn’t even blink. “Dead like you’re probably buying another battery.”
I sat there for a second. “Okay, but I just bought a battery.”
“When?”
“…recently.” I peered at the steering wheel. “…two years ago.”
“Then something’s draining it.”
“Yes, the AAA man mentioned that in a tone that suggested I ought to follow up on it.”
“And did you?”
I stalled.
Ren cocked her head. “I’m going to guess no.”
“I was in a high-focus editing window.”
“You mean you ignored it.”
“I mean, I prioritized.”
She smiled—small, crooked, unfairly attractive. “You’re very good at that.”
“At what?”
“Explaining things in a way that sounds reasonable until you say them out loud.”
I considered that. “In my defense, it did sound reasonable in my head.”
“Your head seems like a lively place.”
“You have no idea.”
She came closer, resting one hand on the edge of the open hood. “So let’s review.”
I prepared myself.
“Flat tire. Dead battery. Unknown electrical drain. The mechanic I recommended but you can’t find on Yelp.”
“I don’t trust a mechanic without at least forty-seven positive reviews.”
“I trust the one I’ve used for ten years.”
“Yes, but where is the data, Ren?”
She laughed, full and unrestrained, and something inside my chest loosened.
“Okay,” she said. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”
I perked up. Plans are very attractive on other people.
“First, we call AAA again.”
“Again.”
“Again. They can jump it, put air in the tire, and sell you a new battery if this one’s truly gone.”
“That feels efficient and slightly predatory.”
“Welcome to adulthood.”
“Rude.”
“Then,” she continued, “we take it to my mechanic. Figure out what’s draining the battery.”
I opened my mouth.
She held up a hand. “No Yelp.”
I closed my mouth.
She nodded. “Good. Growth.”
“After that,” she said, “we take it to the tire place and fix the leak.”
“So… mechanic before tire.”
“Yes.”
“That feels backward.”
“That’s because you were going to try to solve the wrong problem first.”
I exhaled.
Because she wasn’t wrong.
Again.
Annoyingly.
“The thing about problems,” she added, glancing at me, “is they stack when you leave them.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“But they unstack the same way.”
“One at a time?”
“One at a time.”
I looked at the van. The tire. The open hood. The cables that had done absolutely nothing.
Then back at her.
“Okay,” I said. “We call AAA.”
“Atta girl.”
I pulled out my phone.
“Also,” she added, casual as anything, “you’re buying the battery.”
“I assumed as much.”
“And lunch.”
“That feels unrelated.”
“It’s not.”
I smiled despite myself. “You’re very confident for someone whose cables just failed.”
She leaned in just slightly and spoke low enough to feel like it belonged only to us.
“My cables didn’t fail.”
“Oh?”
“Your battery did.”
I huffed a laugh. “That feels like a metaphor.”
“Don’t start.”
“Too late.”
She shook her head, but she was smiling.
And standing there, in front of a van that refused to start, with a tire that needed fixing and a to-do list that had quietly multiplied behind my back—
It didn’t feel like everything was falling apart.
Just… waiting its turn.
Which, for today, was enough.
Okay, and just because I’m really enjoying my generative mood (instead of editing), here’s a back cover idea.
Maggie wasn’t trying to fall in love.
She was trying to fix a tire.
Which, in hindsight, required:
a working car,
a charged battery,
a reliable mechanic,
and a level of follow-through she had been meaning to develop since 2008.
Instead, she got Ren.
Ren Carter doesn’t do chaos.
She does clean lines, solid frames, and problems you can actually solve—preferably in the right order.
She also doesn’t date clients.
Maggie is, technically, a client.
Or at least she would be, if she could get her car to start long enough to make it to the shop.
As one small problem turns into several interconnected ones—flat tire, dead battery, mystery electrical drain, and a garage full of things Maggie has been meaning to deal with—so does something else:
A rhythm.
A partnership.
A possibility Maggie didn’t plan for and isn’t entirely sure she’s ready to get right.
Because fixing what’s broken is one thing.
Learning what’s worth keeping?
That’s another.
Out of Order (but working on it) is a warm, witty story about second chances, small repairs, and the kind of love that doesn’t arrive all at once—but holds, anyway.
I can share Maggie's dislike of looking under the hood of any vehicle, but unlike Maggie, I go to a garage or mechanic ASAP. I loved this line most: "you're buying a new battery and lunch". What a great line. Reminds me a little of a line I used on a soon-to-be early girlfriend after she took me to get my car fixed . Loved the dialogue and flirting. That was fun. Write on, dear!