Car boot sales were chaos theory in action. Half a field of people selling junk to other people looking for junk. Seven AM on a Sunday, everyone either deeply committed or deeply regretful.
I was there for vinyl. Found something else entirely.
She was selling from the back of a battered Fiesta—books, clothes, random electronics that probably didn't work. Tiny thing with messy red hair, oversized jumper, coffee in hand like a lifeline.
"Looking for anything specific?" she asked as I browsed her selection.
"Records. You got any?"
"Sold them yesterday. Sorry." She shrugged. "Got a broken toaster if that helps."
"Pass." But I didn't walk away. "You do this every week?"
"Most weekends. Extra cash, you know?" She gestured at her spread. "This is my dead nan's stuff, mostly. Feels weird keeping it."
"Sorry about your nan."
"Don't be. She was a cow." She laughed at my expression. "Seriously. Left me this junk and nothing else. Might as well profit."
"Fair enough."
I stuck around. Helped her sell a lamp to a woman who haggled like her life depended on it. Shared her thermos of coffee when mine ran out. By noon, when the crowds thinned, we were sat on her tailgate sharing a sandwich.
"I'm Ruby," she said eventually.
"Dean."
"Thanks for the help, Dean. Don't usually get company."
"No problem. This is... weirdly fun."
"Car boots are meditation for the morally flexible." She grinned. "You coming back next week?"
"Might do."
I came back. And the week after. And the one after that.
Ruby and I fell into a rhythm—early mornings, bad coffee, selling strangers' detritus while making each other laugh. Something building between us that neither of us named.
Until the Sunday it rained.
The car boot emptied fast. Ruby and I huddled in her Fiesta, watching sheets of rain turn the field to mud.
"Well," she said, "this is romantic."
"Could be worse."
"How?"
"Could be stuck here alone."
She looked at me. Really looked. "Smooth."
"I try."
She kissed me. Tasting of bad coffee and something sweeter. Her hands found my face, pulled me closer across the gear stick.
"Been wanting to do that for weeks," she admitted.
"Same."
"Back seat?"
"It's a Fiesta."
"I'm flexible."
She climbed between the seats, and I followed—awkwardly, the gear stick hitting places it shouldn't. But eventually we were tangled together in the back, rain drumming on the roof.
"Atmospheric," she said.
"Very."
She pulled off her jumper—underneath, a t-shirt that followed quickly. Small tits, no bra, nipples hard from the cold or anticipation.
"Warm me up?"
I took a nipple in my mouth, worked it with my tongue while she gasped. Her hands found my hair, pulled me closer.
"Yes—that's good—"
I worked lower, pulling down her jeans in the cramped space. She was wet—not from the rain—and when my tongue found her, she had to grip the door handle.
"Fuck—right there—"
I ate her in the back of a Fiesta at a Sunday car boot while rain hammered down outside. She came with a muffled shriek, her thighs clamped around my head.
"Need you," she gasped. "Now."
"Condom?"
"Glove box. Optimistic, wasn't I?"
I found it, rolled it on while she positioned herself. In the cramped space, we ended up with her on my lap, facing me, her back against the driver's seat.
"Ready?"
"Been ready for weeks."
She sank down, and we both groaned. The Fiesta's suspension complained.
"Fuck—yes—"
She rode me in the rain, windows steaming up, the whole car rocking. Outside, the last stragglers were packing up, completely unaware.
"So good—harder—"
I grabbed her hips, thrust up to meet her. She braced against the ceiling, matched my rhythm.
"Gonna come—touch me—"
I found her clit, rubbed while she rode. She came with a cry that fogged the windows further, clenching around me.
"Inside—do it—"
I came hard, buried deep, feeling her shake through it.
We stayed there, tangled in the back seat, rain still falling.
"Well," she said eventually, "that's one way to pass the time."
"Better than selling toasters."
"Much better." She kissed me. "Same time next week?"
"Wouldn't miss it."
I became a regular at Ruby's car boot stall. We never sold much, but that wasn't really the point.
Rainy Sundays became our favorite.