No matter how tempting that combination might be.
CHAPTER FOUR
SANDRA
The diner across from Diesel's garage is exactly what I expected: worn vinyl booths, checkered floor tiles, and the lingering scent of coffee and fried food. Comfort personified. A bell jingles as we enter, and several heads turn our way.
"Diesel! Twice in one week. Must be my lucky day." A waitress with silver-streaked hair and laugh lines calls from behind the counter.
"Hey, Betty." Diesel nods, guiding me to a booth in the corner with a light touch at my lower back that sends shivers up my spine.
"And who's your friend?" Betty asks, approaching with menus and a knowing look that makes my cheeks heat.
"Customer," Diesel corrects gruffly. "Sandra Hemmings. She's Old Man Joe's granddaughter."
Betty's eyes widen. "Joe's granddaughter? Well, bless my soul." She extends a hand. "Your grandpa was a treasure in this town. We all miss him something fierce."
I shake her hand, warmth blooming in my chest. "Thank you. I'm just starting to realize how many lives he touched here."
"Coffee?" Betty asks, already filling two mugs without waiting for our answer.
"Please," I say. "And whatever's good for lunch."
"Patty melt for me," Diesel says, not bothering with the menu. "Extra onions."
Betty winks at me. "Don't worry, honey. I'll bring mints for after."
I laugh as she walks away. "Are you a regular here?"
"It's across from my garage." Diesel shrugs like that explains everything. "Food's good. Service is fast. No frills."
"Just how you like things," I observe.
His eyes flick to mine. "Generally."
Something about the way he says it makes my stomach flip. There's a depth to his gaze that suggests exceptions might exist to his no-frills preference.
"So," I say, hoping he doesn't notice the slight breathlessness in my voice. "What's the prognosis for my car? Give it to me straight, doctor."
His mouth quirks. "Complete engine rebuild. New transmission. Rewiring the electrical system. Basically, we're keeping the body and replacing everything else."
"That bad, huh?"
"That bad." He takes a sip of coffee. "Someone really did a number on it. Probably flipped it for a quick profit."
I grimace. "Guess I should have done more research before buying."
"Most people wouldn't know what to look for." His tone lacks the judgment I'd expect. "Scammers are good at what they do."
"Still, I feel stupid. Grandpa would have known better."
Diesel studies me over the rim of his mug. "Everyone makes mistakes. The question is whether you learn from them."
"Touché," I concede. "Though this is a pretty expensive lesson."
"Sometimes those are the ones that stick." There's something in his voice, a hint of personal experience that makes me wonder what expensive lessons he's learned.
Betty returns with our food—a patty melt for Diesel and a club sandwich for me that's stacked higher than seems physically possible. The first bite confirms it's as delicious as it looks.
