So here’s the thing — this isn’t a romance novel. There’s no dramatic age-gap love story here. But there is an “Old-n-Young” bond that reminded me: saviors don’t wear capes. Sometimes they’re just tired old men with extra coffee and a working phone.
I laughed. First real laugh in weeks.
Let’s call him “Msour.” (Yeah, I know the spelling is unusual. He said it’s an old family nickname that just stuck. Means something like “the quiet storm.” Fitting, honestly.) Old-n-Young - Msour - Hottie thanks her savior ...
That’s when I heard the slow creak of a porch swing.
When the tow truck finally came, I turned to thank him properly. So here’s the thing — this isn’t a romance novel
I was the “hottie” in this scenario — at least, that’s what he called me when he pulled me out of the rain that night. I’d locked my keys in my car, my phone was dead, and a cold October drizzle was turning my favorite leather jacket into a wet sponge. I was shivering under a broken streetlamp, trying to look tough and failing miserably.
And sometimes, a “hottie” (his word, not mine 😅) just needs to say thank you. Sometimes they’re just tired old men with extra
“You’re my savior tonight,” I whispered.
He pulled back, eyes crinkling. “Nah, sweetheart. Just a guy who remembers what it’s like to be young and stuck. Now go on. Next time, keep a spare key in your boot.”
“Msour,” I said (because that’s what he’d asked me to call him). “You didn’t have to do any of this.”
So, thank you, Msour. Wherever you are. You turned a miserable night into a story I’ll never forget.