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okay, that post about the super strong dude who lifted a car out of a ditch? Tell me that wouldnt be modern day Arthur. like seriously ~💚

“Need a Lift?”

—————

It’s a dark and stormy night, the blizzard that you’ve been trying to trek through rages on overhead.

You’re almost out of gas, and the nearest town is about five miles up the road. What should be an easy drive is hell, your tires losing their grip in the countless inches of piling snowdrifts and ice.

You only wanted to get home, and it’s a wish that barely outweighs the massive amount of regret you feel for trying to grant it to yourself.

You car slides, and your hands grip onto your steering wheel tightly as your poor car groans and begins to steer off the road, gliding over the snow that’s iced over like it’s skating.

“No no no no!”

Your bumper becomes friends with a rather thick snowdrift, and you feel your car sink as its front tires go past the edge of the road.

Shifting angrily into reverse, you attempt to get your car situated, but all it earns you is your wheels spinning uselessly and a nasty sense of desperation that starts to cling to you.

After a few minutes of trying, you stop, knowing you’ll only be wasting what little precious gas you have left on chasing after the impossible.

There’s no other way to put it.

You’re stuck.

Smacking your hand against the steering wheel, tears prick at your eyes as you try to look outside in the torrent of swirling white flakes. They coat your windows, but you can barely make out the extent of the road, at how it’s nearly buried under the ever piling snow.

“Fuck,” you breathe, and you look to your phone, swallowing harshly, “Please, have a god damn signal!”

At the top corner of your phone, you can see the symbol as clear as day— no service.

“God damnit!”

Of course. Of course you had to push the issue despite all the warnings from the news and anyone who happened to pass you by. This was the worst blizzard in years for this area, and you had the amazing idea to chance traveling in it because what? You’d rather go home and watch Netflix there instead of the safety of a hotel room?

God. You’re such an idiot. . .

But, you’re not stupid enough to know that walking out in this, even if the next town over with a gas station is five miles off, would be the last thing you need to do.

You’re just a little notch above empty, and if you manage to use it just right, you might be able to make this last bit of gas work until someone hopefully comes down the road as stupidly as you did.

And as you bear down in your seat, so begins the wait.

About an hour passes, and you’re quickly growing more and more fearful as what little light managed to work it’s way through the storms begins to dwindle into darkness.

The lights to your car are on, but with your headlights stuck in snow and your back ones more than likely coated in snow, there’s no telling if someone will be able to catch them glowing from the side of the road.

You look down, the gauge to your gas almost entirely on “E.”

“God, I’m gonna fucking die out here.”

As you lament, you nearly miss the glowing light coming up the road. But as soon as you notice, you freak out, spazzing and nearly flailing out of the car as you attempt to get out at the appearance of headlights.

The cold is biting as you emerge from your car, your legs sinking down into the deep snow as you force your way into what you hope is the driver’s sight. Waving your hands, you yell, your voice nearly lost over the shrill sound of the wind as it gusts.

The car, or more specifically a god damn tow truck, seems to slow to a stop, and you breathe out, thanking whoever or whatever is listening for coming through.

The truck stops completely, and the driver door opens, a man dropping from the seat and down onto the snow-laden ground to approach you.

“You stuck?”

His country baritone is audible over the storm, and you nod, breathing out as he approaches, and you can see how thick all of his winter clothing is, with most of his face obscured by a black scarf and the tips of his ears red under his cowboy hat.

You almost wanna say something, but then again, he’s your knight in a shining, blue denim coat, so you’ll take anything at this point— long as it’s not a creep or serial killer.

“Yes,” you breathe, your breath coming out in a pale cloud as you gesture to your poor sedan, “I’m almost outta gas too, thank god you came when you did!”

“Storms like this could easily kill ya if you ain’t careful. You’re lucky I was comin’ back from a call from someone else bravin’ the storm,” he walks over to your sedan, looking it over from where it’s lodged into the snow, “Looks like you’re just a little off the road. A good pull should get ya out.”

You try to ignore some of the scrathing judgement he offered— last thing you want to do is run off the one man who could save your ass. Besides, he has a point. And if anything, he’s just giving the words in your head a different voice.

And a country accent.

God, you were legit in the northeast? How did he end up here?

Well, very easily. But it’s nevertheless odd as he goes over to the front of your car.

“Get in,” he orders, “I need you to shift her to neutral and hold the steering wheel for me.”

Nodding, you go back to your door, opening it and going to sit inside.

As instructed, you grab the gear shift and slide your poor baby into neutral. You feel the car lurch some, almost rolling further into the snowbank and you glance at the man, wondering if that was going to help things. He makes a stop motion, and you realize then that he was telling you to brake to keep that from happening.

“Whoops,” you mutter, and press down on the pedal to keep your car from slipping any further.

The man then leans down gripping your bumper and lifting. And to your surprise, you feel the front of your car begin to go upward.

Eyes wide, you watch as the bastard managed to give you a thumbs up.

And your foot falls away from the brake like your bottom jaw as it falls open.

The car jolts some as he sets your sedan back on the road like it was merely a toy car, and braces both gloves hands on the hood to begin pushing you back. Your car rolls dutifully under his ministration, and your left astounded as you take in what this man has managed to do.

And then, he lifts up, holding his hand flat with his palm facing you, and you quickly catch your brakes again.

With the car freed and stopped, the man steps around the hood to come to you door, and you roll down the window.

“You said you were almost outta gas?”

“Yes,” your voice is oddly calm for the amount of confusion you feel.

“Okay, I’ll tow you. Town is about five miles up. Got a shit station but it’s better than runnin’ on empty in a storm like this.”

You nod, “Sounds great...”

“Okay. Just hold onto that brake and I’ll get you hooked up.”

He steps away from your window, and you roll it back up as he heads to his truck. He quickly jumps in, using what little road is left open to pull around you and position his truck. He aligns them perfectly, backing up close enough to start the process, and then jumps out of his truck and motions for you to roll the window down again.

“Pull forward a bit,” he instructs.

You do so, stopping once he lifts his hand.

And then, he gets to work.

Working the straps over your tires and getting the jack underneath, your car teeters a bit as he moves it.

You’re beyond curious, wondering how the hell this hick who appeared out of nowhere was able to lift your car.

You glance towards the glovebox, and allow your interest to get the better of you.

Opening it, you pull out your manual, looking for the basic information listed about the vehicle and finding the number that you were wondering about so much.

Base weight of vehicle — 2,612 LBS

You gape yet again, but this time, you look out to see the man waving at you once again.

All but dropping the manual down into your lap, you swallow, rolling your window down again to hear what he has to say.

“Shift it into neutral, then hop out.”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s gotta be in neutral so I can tow it, and it’s not safe to be in a car that’s being towed like this,” he explains, “‘Sides, if you’re almost outta gas as you are, you would freeze on the way back.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Doing as instructed, you manage to shift your car into the proper gear right as your engine sputters and coughs.

“Oh.”

“Come on. The cab of my truck is warm.”

You step outside, shutting the car door behind you and following after the man. Splitting off near the tailgate, you walk towards the cab of the car while he lingers behind.

“I’ll get this hooked up. Just make yourself comfortable.”

Nodding, you continue on your way.

The inside of the cab is rather bare bones. Nothing messy nor telling of the man, really. All except for a little horseshoe keychain that hangs from his rear view mirror.

Chortling under your breath, you lean against the passenger door, setting your face on your hand. Figures you’d find out nothing more than he likes trinkets as country as him.

It doesn’t take the man long, but he’s soon entering the cab, the icy wind causing you to shiver lightly as he settles himself, knocking some snow onto the upholstery.

You watch as he sheds the black scarf obscuring his face, and your jaw continues it’s habit of dropping as you take in his face.

This man... he’s a god damn snacc.

He seems to sense your state, and slowly, his eyes move over to you, narrowing as he takes in the blush on your cheeks and the overall “deer in a beautiful man’a headlights” expression you’re sporting.

“You okay?”

“Me? Oh I’m fine.”

Oh but goddamn isn’t he fine too—

“How long were you stuck?” he asks, knocking you back out of your thoughts before that train could travel further south.

“About an hour or so,” at the memory of your situation, you do sober a little as the tow truck lurches into motion, “I honestly thought I was gonna freeze out here.”

“Well, thankfully that didn’t happen.”

The man steers the truck into what you figure used to be the correct lane in the road. But everything is buried in white, and you couldn’t tell where the asphalt ended and the ditch you got stuck in began.

Then again, this man was seemingly able to lift a three ton car so what else could possibly be impossible for him?

And so, to entertain yourself for the small drive, you ask, “You lift often?”

The man quirks an eyebrow in your direction, but doesn’t fully look at you.

“I guess,” he pauses, “Why are you askin’ anyway?”

Maybe because you practically deadlifted my car?

You shrug, “I’m nosy.”

He huffs, but doesn’t press the issue further.

After all, if he could do that to your car, what could he do to you?

Which— . . .

Oh.

The redness on your cheeks is completely unrelated to the cold. But there is no need for anyone to know that.

As the man takes the curve, he hums, “Name’s Arthur, by the way. Figure that is usually what people tend to ask instead of whether or not I go to the gym.”

Arthur. Oh.

You expected something different.

Like Cletus.

Something befitting and not... normal.

“Yeah well, I have priorities.”

“Like driving out into a blizzard in a Toyota like a dumbass?”

Snapping, you make finger guns at him, “Precisely.”

“You know, ain’t nothin’ really worth goin’ through a storm like this for,” he says, shaking his head, “I hope you learned to just wait it out instead of trying to force the issue. Not everyone gets as lucky as you do.”

“Yes. I’m quite aware of how dumb my desire to go home is,” you mutter, and when he sends you a look, you huff, rolling your eyes lightly as you add, “I’m serious.”

“You seem to take it seriously.”

“Oh, I was before I saw your little happy ass rolling down the road. I prayed— and last time I did that I was begging for strep to just kill me right then and there.”

As Arthur glances at you, staring for as long as he can before he has to refocus on the drive, you can feel the judgement in his stare.

“You’re goddamn strange.”

“Says the man who lifted my car up and held it with one hand!” you blurt.

Blinking, you settle back into your seat, the air in the cab growing awkward.

Arthur doesn’t say anything else, but your heart races a bit, and the seatbelt crossing your chest almost feels like a death trap as he drives ahead.

You regret saying anything, even if unintentionally. It was weird and strange, and while you had no idea how the man was able to manage such a feat, he was helping you.

It was like someone having a very large and distinct mole on their face. It was obvious. Sooooo obvious.

And here you had to go, pointing it out as you did.

You should’ve become a popsicle. It’s what you deserve.

“Town is just up this corner,” he mutters.

Just as he said, as his truck takes the turn, you see the glorious lights of civilization like beacons of hope in the dark.

“Oh thank god,” you breathe, nearly pressing your face against the window with the relief you feel at seeing them.

And there, right before you pass over into town, is a small sign.

WELCOME TO

V A L E N T I N E

Population 200

“I’ve never heard of this place.”

“It’s a small town. Kinda nestled away. Most people pass through, but we got a hotel in case people stay,” Arthur informs you as he pulls up to the saving grace that is this rundown, one-pump gas station, “You should probably stay until the storm clears.”

“I probably should...” you murmur, knowing you may not be as lucky if you gave this trek another good old college try.

You dropped out, after all. Should’ve been a sign.

“I can fill up one of my gas cans and put some into your car. Just enough to get you off my towing gear and up to a pump.”

“Okay.”

“Did you want anything from the station?”

Looking over to the dimly lit interior of the store, you shrug.

“Think I pushed my luck enough today.”

“Fair enough.”

You watch as he pays for the gas and comes out, filling up one of the faded red gas cans and immediately putting it into your car. When he signals you with a thumbs up, you leave the warm comfort of the cab and face the horrible cold outside.

You shiver, teeth instantly going to chatter as you meet him up by your car. He unhooks it rather easily, with you working the wheel as before.

You expect him to leave, but he doesn’t, making sure your car putters back to life before nodding with finality.

“Think that should do ya.”

Tapping awkwardly against the steering wheel, you ask, “While I know I’ve been odd company, I just... I wanted to thank you.”

“Ah, now it ain’t no problem.”

“Well, I probably would’ve frozen had you not come up the way, and I definitely would’ve if you drove past,” thinking of it then, you reach into your pocket, grabbing out your wallet, “Say, how much do I owe you?”

Shaking his head, he starts to deny you, “No that’s not necces—“

“Surely I can make it up to you some way?”

Drawing his lips up tightly, he makes a face, looking towards the road like he’s struggling with what he wants to say. A few moments pass like that, and you’re just about to settle on throwing twenties at him like he’s working a nine-to-five at Chippendales when he finally breaks his silence.

“You hungry?”

You’re about to say no when your stomach speaks for you.

It growls, loud and demanding and completely cutting you off before you can deny it.

Arthur smiles at its protest, his hands moving to his pockets as the expression grows into a smirk.

“Think you can pay me back by goin’ to dinner with me?”

Blinking, you try to hold you jaw up, but there’s no point. This man has broken it, with how he’s made it drop so many times.

Is there a warranty on this kinda thing?

“Oh, I... well... guess I could.”

“Well, we’ll get your car settled and I’ll drive ya there. Just leave our door open and set it to neutral again.”

Doing as instructed, you watch as Arthur begins to push your car forward with just one finger, and your mind only boggles further.

Completely unphased, the man grins at you.

“So, I know a place...”