Elissa slapped the rolling pin onto the dough and knew her neighbor was right. “I can’t help it. I’m annoyed. Does he really think I’m so stupid I wouldn’t notice he replaced my old tire with a new one? Is it a guy thing? Do all men think women are stupid about tires? Is it specific? Does he just think I’m stupid?”

“I’m sure he thought he was helping.”

“Who is he to help me? I don’t know him from a rock. He’s lived here, what, a month? We’ve never even spoken. Now suddenly he’s buying me tires? I don’t like it.”

“I think it’s romantic.”

Elissa did her best not to roll her eyes. She loved the old woman but jeez, Mrs. Ford would think grass growing was romantic.

“He took control. He made decisions without speaking to me. God knows what he’s going to expect for it.” Whatever he was expecting, he wasn’t going to get it, Elissa told herself.

Mrs. Ford shook her head. “It’s not like that, Elissa. Walker is a very nice man. An ex-Marine. He saw you were in need and helped out.”

That’s what got Elissa most of all. The “being in need” part. Just once she’d like a little extra put by for a rainy day or a flat tire.

“I don’t like owing him.”

“Or anybody. You’re very independent. But he’s a man, dear. Men like to do things for women.”

Mrs. Ford was nearly ninety, tiny and the kind of woman who still used lace-edged handkerchiefs. She’d been born in a time when men took care of life’s hardships and the most important job for a woman was to cook well and look pretty while doing it. The fact that living like that drove many women to alcohol or madness was just an unhappy by-product not to be discussed in polite society.

“I called Randy,” Elissa said as she slid the piecrust into the pan and pressed it into place. “He told me the tire cost forty dollars, but he’d lie in a heartbeat if he thought it would protect me, so I’m thinking it had to be closer to fifty.”