"Vancouver." His tone doesn't invite further questions about his past.
Naturally, it makes me even more curious. "And before that?"
Those dark eyes narrow slightly. "You always this nosy?"
"Inquisitive," I correct. "I like learning about people."
"Why?"
The question surprises me. "What do you mean, why?"
"Why do you care where I'm from or what I did before I came here?" He leans forward, those intense eyes fixed on mine. "What does it matter?"
I consider his question seriously. "I guess because I believe everyone has a story worth hearing. Including grumpy mechanics who act like basic small talk is an interrogation."
To my surprise, he chuckles, a deep, rusty sound like he doesn't use it often. "Fair enough."
"Your turn," I say, finishing the last bite of my sandwich.
"My turn for what?"
"To ask me something. That's how conversations work. I ask, you answer. You ask, I answer."
He studies me for a long moment, and I resist the urge to fidget under his gaze. "What brings you to Crimson Hollow? And don't say car trouble."
I laugh despite myself. "I inherited a cabin from my grandfather. I came to check it out, maybe stay a while."
"Where's the cabin?"
"According to the will, it's off Pine Ridge Road. I haven't seen it yet." I twist my coffee mug between my hands. "I was heading there when the car broke down."
Diesel's eyebrows rise. "Old Man Joe's place? You're Joe Hemmings' granddaughter?"
Now it's my turn to be surprised. "You knew my grandfather?"
"Everyone knew Old Man Joe. He was a fixture around here." Diesel's expression softens slightly. "Good man. Helped me out when I first came to town."
A lump forms in my throat. "I didn't realize he was so well-known here. We weren't close when I was growing up, and then after my parents died, he became my world." I swallow hard. "When he passed last year, I found out he'd been living here for the past decade. Left me everything in his will."
Diesel nods, something like understanding flickering in his eyes. "The cabin needs work, but it's in a good spot. Great views of the valley."
"You've been there?"
"Helped him replace some rotten boards on the porch last spring." He takes another sip of his coffee. "Didn't know he was sick."
"Cancer," I say quietly. "It was quick, at least. He didn't suffer long."
A comfortable silence falls between us, surprisingly free of the awkwardness that often accompanies conversations about death.
"I'll have Marcus look at your car first thing tomorrow," Diesel finally says. "Get a better idea of what we're dealing with."
"I thought you were going to handle it personally." I can't keep the disappointment from my voice.
Those dark eyes flick to mine. "Marcus is my apprentice. He'll do the initial diagnostic under my supervision. I don't let anyone touch a classic without my sign-off."
"So you'll still be involved?"
"It's my garage. I'm involved in everything that happens there."
