But the hairs on the back of my neck won’t settle, nor will the sense of trepidation stop whispering in the back of my mind.
My head remains on a swivel for the rest of the walk to the garage, and I ignore every urge to allow my mind to wander off thinking about Noah or the poem I’m working on. I keep occupied and finally reach the graffitied roll-up door to the shop.
The door is covered in a clash of chaotic color, and it’s glaringly obvious I’d missed some of the nuance. Bold, jagged letters stretch into the names of major car brands like Ford and Jeep. The colors aren’t those associated with the branding though—they are bursts of neon electric pinks, bright green, and fiery oranges. Hues of deep blues and purples bleed into each other, and I notice names like Tommy and Jed. I bet all the employees have their names painted on here.
Briefly, I wonder what happens if someone quits or gets fired. Do they roll over it with white paint and plaster the next guy’s name up there?
While I contemplate this, I peer down at some paint chipped away in the corner, revealing streaks of rust underneath. A blend of designs crowd one corner of the door: skulls, twisted faces, disgusting blood drops, and other random cryptic symbols I can’t decipher. It’s all slightly hypnotic and defiant. I like it. I can appreciate the artistry, and my mind flickers to my brother Liam, thinking he may enjoy a photo of this.
My head snaps back. It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted to reach out and contact my brother, or any family for that matter.
Seeing Noah and his mother—their bond, his commitment to her … I think it’s rubbing off on me.
I roll my eyes at the idea and enter the garage. Spotting my car immediately, I move toward it, offering the hood a quick pat.Hello, you little shit.
Once again, the garage is alive with clinks and clangs, and it takes me a minute to spot Tommy coming out of the office. He stares at his feet as he walks, but when an engine roars, echoing within the walls, he snaps his head up and notices me.
I offer an awkward wave and point to my car, which comes out as an exaggerated jabbing poke.
He smiles a sheepish grin I’m not expecting and moseys over to me. “I bet you’re ready for your car back, huh?”
“What gave it away?”
He smirks. “Keys are in it. You’re all set. Bring her back if you have any other issues.”
“How much do I owe you?” I ask, reaching into my bag for my hard-earned cash. It’s a shame—I never get to hold on to this much money for long.
He looks surprised by my question. “Noah took care of it already for you.”
I shake my head, tongue sluggishly moving to swallow. No. This wasn’t the plan. He already helped me by offering his time to drive me to work, then working to offset the labor costs of my car. Why would he fully pay for it, too?
“Noah’s one of the best guys I know, and I can tell you with absolute certainty, there hasn’t been a woman to turn his head in a long, long time,” he says, answering my question like he plucked it from my thoughts.
I almost scoff. Me? Turn Noah’s head? I’m new, but not the type of girl to turn heads. Not in theI want to spend forever with youway, maybe in thelook at this crazy girl living out of her car full time focused on being aloneway.
“Can you … reverse the charge to his card or something. I have cash.” My hand fumbles through my bag and I rip the envelope out.
“No can do.” He chuckles while shaking his head. “Paid cash. My advice? Save your cash for something else. Knowing Noah, he’s not going to let you pay him back.”
That’s my fear.
I thank him and climb into my car, which is surprisingly cleaner than I remember, and my cheeks heat. It’s a bit weird driving after not doing so for a few weeks, but I pull out of the garage, onto the side street, and make my way toward Main Street.
While I wait at a red light, I glance around, spotting the shop I fell asleep in. Those chairs …
I glance behind me, eyeing the space. With the seat folded down, I could get two of those chairs to put on the back porch. Ms. Sullivan deserves a place to sit out there, and with the extra money sitting in my passenger seat—I search the front of the store for the neon open sign, and when the stoplight turns green, I pull across the street.
Chapter 22
Noah
“Come on. Let’s load up,” I say to Max while gesturing to the back of the truck.
Ranger Dan waters Nala on the bed of his truck, petting her underbelly. “They ran hard today,” he says, and I nod.
Today was the K-9 unit’s training day, which we have fairly regularly to maintain the dogs’ skills and ensure the handlers are able to work with their partner seamlessly. Max was not only put through the standard obedience training, but he had SAR, Search and Rescue, training today. It includes scent detection drills that really push the dogs to hone their tracking skills. We practiced locating lost hikers or missing persons in the dense forest and rocky terrain.
Max is tired. He hasn’t stopped panting since we’ve finished and watered the dogs, but he did great, exceptional even. Lucky for him, he’s done. A few of the young pups and their handlers have some environmental conditioning, which includes exposure to the equipment we use like trucks, ATVs, and helicopters.
