“Speaking of romance, how are things progressing for you on the recovering-from-heartbreak front?” she asked.
He took a sip of the hot chocolate. Delicious. Thick and rich with a crown of whipped cream. “I realized a while back that I’m not the best at letting myself feel negative emotions. It’s not my M.O. to be the moody, pessimistic guy.”
“Ah.”
“Everybody counts on me to be the upbeat guy. Not that I’m blaming anybody else. I stay the upbeat guy because that’s what I count on myself to be. I’m always fine. Always. So, if something makes me feel uncomfortable, I just shove it away and go on being fine.”
“I understand.” Her fingers toyed with the fringe on her throwblanket. “Back when I was sick, I did everything I could think of to distract myself from feeling scared. Bad decision. It would’ve been much better to talk with somebody about my fears and work through them. Instead, I didn’t mention it to anyone and so anxiety kept bubbling up and then devouring me.”
“What helped?”
“Addressing the root problem. Fear.”
“My root problem is sadness. I’ve been trying to give myself permission to be bummed.” He leaned back, angling his face to the stars. “I assured Sebastian that I could deal with pain. But it turns out, not so much.”
“Talking about it with friends, like we’re doing now, helped me.”
“I’ve been talking about it with my brother and another of my friends. I’ve also been listening to ‘I Can’t Make You Love Me’ by Bonnie Raitt on repeat.”
She snapped her fingers and sat upright. “My heart has been broken three times. I have a whole playlist of songs to listen to when recovering. In addition to that song, I prescribe regular listening to ‘Sandcastles’ by Beyoncé.”
“‘The Dance’ by Garth Brooks.”
“Yes! ‘Ain’t No Sunshine’ by Bill Withers.”
“A classic.”
“I’ll share my playlist with you. I cried out more toxins listening to those songs than I’ve ever sweat out while exercising.”
How come you’re so uptight, anyway?” Blair asked Luke the following night.
Why? Why couldn’t she let him work on her car alone?
He’d spent a lot of time here in the barn lately. He loved working on this car. But not even the Firebird had the power to distract him from Finley. He couldn’t stand spending hours a day just inches away from her, smelling her light citrus perfume. Wantingto touch her. Then coming here in search of a few hours of peace and finding none.
Regrets, condemnation, anger over what had gone sideways between him and Finley on Valentine’s Day . . . he’d wrestled with all of it.
And now, on top of that, he was having to deal with his sister.
Blair sat on the garage’s counter, swinging her combat boots. A knit cap covered her head. She wore ripped jeans and a huge black T-shirt that saidSmashing the Patriarchy Is My Cardio.
“I’m not uptight.” He was leaning over the engine, working on the carburetor. “Hand me the needle-nose pliers.”
She hopped down and brought him the pliers. “You’re actually very uptight, which seems weird in a guy who’s gone to jail.”
“Only law-abiding citizens are allowed to be uptight?”
“Are you admitting that youareuptight?”
She was painfully frustrating. “I’m admitting that I’m uptight enough to want solitude in this barn.”
“If only, bro.” She peered at the engine critically. “Are you going to work on the crankshaft?”
“I am definitely not going to work on the crankshaft just because a fifteen-year-old—”
“—sister of yours—”
“—tells me to. Back away from the car.”
