After Billie leaves, we get swamped, and for the next several hours, the three of us bustle about, taking and filling orders, running them to tables, then cleaning tables between customers. It’s a chaotic evening, but eventually, it’s time to close. Once everything is cleaned and put away, Tandy and Hazel leave for the night.
I stay in the kitchen, making dough to bake in the morning. I mix up more brownie batter and decide to try the scone recipe that Jackie sent me.
Finally, at around ten, with everything ready for the morning, I turn off the lights and toss my apron in the laundry basket before walking out the front door and locking it.
I check the lock three times before I walk away and head down the main street in town.
I take two walks every day. One first thing in the morning and the other before bed. I’ve done that for years. It was the only time I truly had to myself, and it’s a routine that I keep.
When I reach Brooks’s garage, I notice that the lights are still on inside, and music is playing.
He’s probably staying late because of my car, and that makes me feel guilty. I don’t want him working overtime because of me. I also feel like shit because I snapped at him, not just today, but the other day when he gave me a ride on the bike and came up to the apartment.
I told him at the time that I refused to be ashamed, but the truth is, Iwasashamed. It’s embarrassing that I live in an attic. I can call it an apartment all day long, but that doesn’t make it more than it is. I didn’t want Brooks to see it, at least not until I’ve had the opportunity to fix it up more.
So I got defensive and snapped at him.
And he really is doing me a favor by helping me with the car. I shudder to think how much it’s going to cost me in the end, but at least I’ll have it back.
Without overthinking it, I walk back to the restaurant, let myself in, and head to the kitchen, where I make Brooks a steak fajita with chips and guacamole. It’s his favorite thing.
At least, itwashis favorite thing.
I hope he still likes this kind of food.
After putting it all in a brown bag with handles, I shut the kitchen down again, check the lock three times, and walk back to the garage.
The lights are still on, and the music still plays.
Am I stupid to bring him dinner as a thank-you? What if he’s not working on my car at all? Maybe an emergency came in, and I’m being silly.
Maybe he’ll just glare at me the way he always does and send me packing.
That’s the most likely scenario.
I don’t even know why I’m here. However, I know that standing up for myself and Tandy made me feel more confident. Stronger. It made me feel like my old self again, and I like it. If I’m strong enough to put that woman in her place, I can offer Brooks dinner as a thank-you for his help.
So I square my shoulders and try the door, which is unlocked.
And when I walk inside, I almost trip over my own feet.
Because Brooks is shirtless, all those impressive muscles on display and flexing as he leans over an engine—my engine—twisting a wrench. The music is so loud that he didn’t hear me come in, so I can observe him quietly.
Good God, his ass in those jeans.
Every inch of this man is pure perfection. Narrow waist and broad back with muscles that look like they’re carved frommarble. I wish he’d turn around so I can see his abs, but then he’d see me, and I wouldn’t get to ogle him anymore.
I also wish I could just walk over to him and kiss him, right between the shoulder blades. Once upon a time, I had free access to touch him any way I liked.
Fuck, I miss him.
He’s right here, and I miss him so much that every muscle in my body aches with it. Tears fill my eyes, and one falls down my cheek, but I don’t brush it away because I don’t want to wipe away the spell of this moment.
This man,myman, oblivious to me watching him, wanting him, yearning for him. I stopped doing this years ago, simply for self-preservation.
But right now, I can admit that every cell in my body wants him.
And I can never have him.
