He laughs, pulling me in for another quick kiss. "Right. Work. That's what we're supposed to be doing."
We return to the Mustang, working side by side in comfortable synchronicity. Diesel is a patient teacher, explaining each step, guiding my hands when needed, stepping back to let me try on my own. By lunchtime, we've made significant progress, and I feel a swell of pride looking at what we've accomplished together.
"Lunch break?" he suggests, checking the time. "I could grab us something from Bean & Bloom."
"Perfect." I wipe my hands on a shop rag. "I'll keep working on this while you're gone."
He raises an eyebrow. "You sure? I can wait if you want a break too."
"I'm sure. I'm enjoying this." And I am. There's something satisfying about working with my hands, about understanding how things fit together. Maybe I inherited more from Grandpa Joe than just his cabin.
Diesel kisses me quickly before heading out. Once he's gone, I turn back to the engine, determined to make progress on my own. The radio plays Christmas music softly in the background, and I hum along as I work.
The bell over the door jingles, and I look up, expecting Diesel back already. Instead, a woman stands in the doorway—tall, sleek, and intimidatingly beautiful in a way that immediately makes me aware of my grease-stained clothes and messy hair.
"Sorry, we're closed today," I say, straightening up. "Diesel just stepped out for lunch."
She looks me up and down, a small smile playing at the corners of her red-painted lips. "And you are?"
"Sandra Hemmings." I wipe my hands on my jeans before extending one. "I'm a... customer." The label feels inadequate, but I'm not sure what else to call myself.
She ignores my outstretched hand. "A customer who has access to the garage when the owner isn't here? That's... unusual."
Something about her tone puts me on edge. "Diesel's teaching me about engines while he rebuilds my car," I explain, though I'm not sure why I feel the need to justify my presence. "He'll be back soon if you want to wait."
"I'm sure he will." Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Tell him Vanessa stopped by. He'll know who I am."
The name sends an inexplicable chill down my spine. "Can I give him a message?"
"Just that I'm in town for a while. We have... unfinished business." She turns to leave, then pauses. "Oh, and Sandra? Enjoy your little romance while it lasts. Diesel isn't the settling down type. Trust me, I know."
Before I can respond, she's gone, the bell jingling cheerfully in her wake. I stand there, rooted to the spot, her words echoing in my head. Who is she? An ex-girlfriend? Something more?
I try to return to work, but my concentration is shattered. I keep replaying her words, the confident way she spoke about Diesel, the implication that she knows him in a way I don't.
When Diesel returns fifteen minutes later, sandwiches and coffee in hand, I'm still distracted. He notices immediately, setting down the food and crossing to my side.
"What's wrong?" he asks, concern etched on his face. "Did something happen?"
I hesitate, unsure how to broach the subject. "Someone came looking for you while you were gone. A woman named Vanessa?"
His reaction is immediate and alarming. His entire body tenses, face hardening into a mask I haven't seen since our first meeting. "What did she want?" His voice is flat, emotionless.
"She said you have unfinished business." I study his face, trying to read what's happening behind those suddenly shuttered eyes. "Who is she, Diesel?"
He turns away, hands braced on the workbench, shoulders rigid with tension. "Someone from my past. Before I came to Crimson Hollow."
"An ex?" I press, needing to know.
"Among other things." His vague answer only intensifies my unease.
"What does that mean?"
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "It's complicated, Sandra."
"Then uncomplicate it for me." I move to stand in front of him, forcing him to look at me. "Because she seemed pretty confident that whatever you and I have is temporary."
Something flashes in his eyes—anger? Fear? "She has no idea what we have."
