"Nonononono please no..." Guinevere pleads with her ancient Ford Anglia as it rattles to a shaky halt. "Damn it." Thankfully, she started maneuvering it to the side of the road when the car began to sputter and die, so at least she isn't stalled in the middle of the road this time.

She sighs, her head dropping against the steering wheel, cursing her sentimentality over this car. Again. She had stubbornly held onto it for no other reason than it was her father's car. She is fully aware that the amount of money she poured into this thing over the years could have at least partially paid for a more reliable vehicle.

But no. She had to keep Daddy's car because Daddy was no longer around to drive it. However, Daddy's car has betrayed her. Again.

Guinevere lifts her head and reaches for her phone. The towing service is in her Contacts list. They know her by name. She feels foolish calling them again, and her finger hovers over the Call icon on her screen.

Wait. I should call Merlin first and tell him I won't be coming. She backs out and scrolls to Merlin's name, now steeling herself for his gentle reprimand, knowing he'll say, "I wish you would get a better car, Gwen. I know you love it, and I understand your reasons for keeping it, but I worry about you driving it." Again.

She heaves another sigh.

A pair of headlights appear, drawing her attention, and she suddenly looks up, into the rear-view mirror. She can't make out the car because all she can see are bright white lights, but it is pulling to the side of the road, parking behind her.

Oh no. This is all I need. I'm going to be killed or kidnapped or...

She reaches over and locks her door, now punching 999 on the keypad, finger poised over the Call icon.

It is not yet fully dark out, but the light is poor enough that she cannot make out the figure walking to her car. She keeps her eyes trained on him as he walks – no, struts. That is definitely a strut – towards her car.

Another car appears on the road, from the other direction, and as that car's headlights shine on the man, Guinevere relaxes, but only slightly. She cancels the emergency number and unlocks her door.

"Guinevere?" A familiar voice calls, and she turns to see the face of Arthur Pendragon peering into her car window. "Is that you in there?"

She opens the door. "Hello, Mr. Pendragon," she says, stepping out and smoothing her skirt.

His lips quirk into a slight smile. "Didn't I tell you to call me 'Arthur'?" he asks, referring to the last time they met, at a work function where Guinevere went as Merlin's last-minute plus-one after Freya came down with a nasty stomach bug. She had met Arthur a couple of times before, but would not say she knows the billionaire heir.

"Arthur," she obediently replies. Arthur Pendragon is Merlin's boss/friend. It's a strange relationship that Guinevere doesn't fully understand. Merlin is her best friend, and he has worked for Pendragon, Inc. since they graduated from college, happily toiling away as Arthur's personal assistant. Arthur is a demanding boss and has a reputation for being a bit ruthless, yet Merlin insists he has a kind heart and is really a good man. "Nothing like his father, that's for sure," he has said more than once. The two men have forged a curious friendship, and Merlin is the only person Arthur completely trusts.

Guinevere also suspects Arthur pays Merlin extraordinarily well, judging by the house her friend just purchased. That's where she was meant to go this evening, and that is how she wound up stranded on a little-used stretch of the English countryside just outside London.

"Are you having car trouble or were you simply checking your directions to Merlin's?" Arthur asks. "I think it's still a few more miles along; you can follow me if you like..."

"It's dead," she says, frowning. "I know where Merlin's house is actually. I helped him move. But my car just died on me," she explains, looking over at the pea green hulk of metal beside her.

"Not terribly surprising, considering it is older than you are," Arthur says. She scowls and he immediately feels bad. "Sorry. I'm sure it must have sentimental value."

She nods, wrapping her arms around herself. The sun is going down and the air is quickly cooling. She had expected to be inside Merlin's house with a drink in her hand by now, not standing on the side of the road in a thin dress and inadequate cardigan with Arthur Pendragon.

"Would you like a ride to Merlin's?" he asks. "You can tell me where to go," he adds with a teasing smirk.

Did he just make a joke? "I should really call the towing service," she says. "Merlin will understand."

Arthur pauses a moment, peels his leather jacket from his broad shoulders, and places it around her small frame. "You're shivering."

"Thank you," she says, her voice a whisper. Her heart pounds, but she tells herself it is shock, not the heady scent wafting up from his coat. Maybe Merlin is right about him.

"You're welcome. Now. The towing service will take, what, an hour to get here? And you're a..." he pauses, bending down to peer into her car, "single woman, alone on a dark road. If you're calling them, I will stay here with you. Merlin will understand." She opens her mouth to speak, but he holds up a finger. "However," he continues, "we could continue on to the party, enjoy ourselves, and worry about your car in the morning, in the light of day."

"But—"

He bows dramatically. "Consider me your chauffeur for the evening, Miss... what is your last name anyway?" he asks, looking up at her.

"Thomas," she answers, bewildered at his behavior. She doesn't smell any alcohol on him and she is fairly certain he wouldn't be so foolish to drink and drive anyway, so she can find no explanation for his behavior. He's... charming. Almost flirty. She's never seen him like this.

Of course, she's only met him a handful of times.

And she's never been alone with him.

"Well then, Miss Thomas, what will it be? Call the tow truck now and have a boring wait and a boring night, or say 'Sod it all' and go to the party. I promise I will see you safely home and even bring you back here in the morning so you can meet the towing service," he says.

"I... I can't ask you to do that," she says.

"You aren't asking. I'm offering," he points out.

"Why?" she blurts, immediately regretting the blunt question.

He lightly shrugs with one shoulder. "Because I like you," he simply says. "Because you're Merlin's friend and a good person, and good people deserve to have a little fun now and then."

She blinks, not knowing what to say.

"Come on..." he cajoles, holding out his hand in invitation.

"I..." she stammers, so off balance she begins to wonder if a film crew is going to pop out of the bushes and tell her she's on one of those awful hidden-camera prank shows. He waits patiently, his blue eyes soft, his lips curved in a slight smile. He looks so – the only word she can come up with is "cute" – that she speaks before fully thinking it through. "Let me get my keys and lock the car."

She ducks into her car, grabs her purse and the box off the passenger seat, pulls the keys from the ignition, shoves the lock button down on the car door, and slams the door.

"All set?" he asks.

She takes a deep breath. "Let's go."

"Atta girl," he says with a nod, ushering her to his very expensive car with a gentle hand on the small of her back. She can just barely feel it through the thick leather of his coat, but she knows it's there.

Bloody hell, is that an Aston Martin? It is. She almost stops walking. The sleek machine appears black in the dim light, but it may be very dark gray. It looks like it's moving even though it is standing still, crouched like a sleek panther behind the algae-covered sloth that is her Ford. "This is a beautiful car," she says.

"Thank you," he answers, opening the passenger door for her. "It's a bit flash, but I've always wanted one," he tells her. "Mind your head; it's pretty low." He gently cups her elbow, assisting her into the seat, then closes the door with a soft click.

"Wow," Guinevere says, alone in his beautiful car. The leather upholstery feels like baby skin, the black leather accented with red stitching. It is surprisingly simple, yet somehow more sumptuous than her flat. She remembers to fasten her seat belt just as he opens his door and drops into his seat.

Arthur starts the car. It growls, then purrs. "Off we go," he says, and they do. "What's in the box?" he asks.

"Strawberry-pineapple muffins," she says, feeling a little foolish because there is a very expensive bottle of champagne nudging her leg that she assumes is his housewarming gift.

"Did you make them?"

"Yes," she answers. "Turn up there," she points, remembering the large willow tree marking the turnoff.

"That's an interesting combination, but it sounds pretty good," he says.

"The funny thing is, they really taste like neither strawberry nor pineapple," she replies with a chuckle. "They're Merlin's favorite."

"Hmm. I'll have to see if I can convince him to part with one so I can have a taste," he says.

Guinevere's throat dries, though she is sure he didn't mean that to sound as erotic as it did. But her brain betrays her, thinking Yes, Arthur wants to have a tasteof your muffin. "I see you are bringing champagne," she says, clearing her throat.

"Yeah, I'm boring, I guess. Your gift is better," he says, turning off the car.

"Muffins are better than champagne?" she asks.

"Homemade is always better," he answers, looking at her. His eyes scan her face for a second too long. "You're very pretty, Guinevere," he says.

Before she can respond, he disappears out his door, jogging around to open her door for her before she can snap herself out of her stupor enough to unbuckle her seat belt.

He holds his hand down to her, and she puts the champagne bottle in it. "Um, thanks," he absently says, moving the bottle, then offering his hand again.

"Oh," she softly exclaims. "Stupid," she mutters to herself, taking his hand and allowing him to draw her from the car. "I should give you your coat back," she says.

"Later," he replies with a small wave. "We're going inside now anyway." He escorts her to the front door, his hand on her back again, this time a little firmer. She can feel the gentle pressure. It's rather comforting.

Before he rings the bell, she looks up at him. "Thank you, Arthur. This was very nice of you."

"You're welcome," he says. He extends his finger towards the bell, then drops it. "Nice?" he asks, sounding somewhat dismayed.

She blinks. "Is there something wrong with 'nice'?"

"N-no, I guess not," he answers. He looks down, then up, an uncharacteristically shy maneuver that throws her off balance. Again. "I was... hoping to, I don't know... impress you," he admits. "But I'm fairly certain that fancy cars and money aren't the way to catch your attention, and... well, when I saw you stranded there... I knew it was you the whole time, obviously, no one has that car but you... I decided to seize the opportunity to show you that there was more to me than all this." He lifts his hand in the general direction of his car.

"You were hoping to impress me?" she asks, stunned. "We barely know each other, and, well, you're you and I'm just me, and..."

"Guinevere," he says, his voice low as he interrupts her. "You aren't 'just' anybody. You... you impressed me the first time I met you. I've been killing myself trying to figure out how to get to know you better... ask you out or something... can't ask Merlin for advice... I don't know..." he falls to mumbling, raking his hand through his hair.

"I don't know what it is about me you find so intriguing, but..." she starts, summoning all the courage she has, "but you have impressed me, Arthur. I've never seen this side of you before... so you'll have to forgive me for being a little shocked by all this."

He nods, smiling. If she wasn't holding the box with both hands, he would have taken her hand in his. Instead, he reaches up and tucks a stray curl behind her ear. "Would you like to have breakfast with me tomorrow after we get your car sorted?" he asks.

"I'd love that," she answers, smiling. "Ring the bell," she reminds him.

"Oh. Right," he chuckles, pressing the button.

The next day, Arthur makes good on his promise to help her deal with her car. Their breakfast date takes so long it also becomes a lunch date.

The next week, they agree to date exclusively.

The next month, her car breaks down again, but he doesn't try to convince her to get rid of it.

The next year, they get married. Arthur has Guinevere's car completely restored and she never has a problem with it. Ever again.