“This thing has been leaking for a while, when exactly did you plan on handling it,” he asks sarcastically.
I’m about to retort when he turns around, slings his duffle bag over his shoulder, and clips out that he is ready to leave. Shocked, I just follow behind him. When I go to look for my keys, I see he already has them and is locking the door. It is like he owns the place and knows exactly how to twist the handle a little to the left to get it to latch.
“Needs a new lock too, damn it,” he mutters and pockets the keys heading towards my carport. It is a chilly morning andlooking a bit overcast. I take a deep breath of the cool air. Fall is my favorite time of year. I hear his truck turn over and run to the carport. I don’t need him leaving without me.
I slide into the truck and close the hefty door. Setting my backpack on the floor between my feet, I reach for the seat belt. I notice that only once I have my seatbelt secured, does he put his truck in reverse and back out.Interesting.
“Where’s your office,” he abruptly asks. I almost forgot that he didn’t know. He seems to be able to navigate my life just fine.
“Right next to Doe’s coffee,” I say. Thank goodness I can walk there and grab some food today. Being without my Bronco is highly inconvenient at least I can get some coffee and a sandwich or a pastry for lunch. He nods and continues driving in silence. It isn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but I am keenly aware of every little detail. His muscular forearm, the way his large hand expertly maneuvers his truck. I shake my head a bit to try to clear it.
“Are you getting another headache? You used up all your meds last night,” he said. I blink at him for a second, wondering how he is so observant. I also wonder why he he cares.
“No, I think I’m good. I’ll put in for a refill today, I have a couple of pills in the glove compartment of the bronco too,” I state and turn to look out the window. Trying to end this conversation. All of a sudden, I’m uncomfortable. I am not used to having to answer or explain myself to many people—even if they are coming from a place of concern. I hear him grunt as he pulls out of the neighborhood. I start counting the reflectors in the road, hoping to distract myself.
“What time will you need me to pick you up today,” he gruffly asks. He is running one of his large hands through his thick dark hair. He has a slight frown on his face, and is concentrating on the road.
I mull over my answer, thinking about the clients that I need to finish some projects for, and clear my throat. I don’t want to be a bother, and I can work for as long or short as he needs. I’m pretty flexible.
“Really, whenever you are free. I can make any time work,” I state. I am hoping the response is neutral enough. I mean, it’s his vehicle and time after all. Beggars can’t be choosers, or whatever that saying is.
“It’s Saturday, I usually wrap up at the shop around 2:00. Does 2:30 work,” he glances over at me quickly before turning into the small parking lot.
I sigh in relief and nod. That gives me plenty of time to tie up some loose ends and start on a few social media campaigns. “That will work, thanks for the lift,” I go to jump out of his truck when he grabs me gently by the arm. The move shocks me and I jerk around to look at him. He quickly removes his hand and clears his throat.
“I, uhhh, need your phone number,’’ he states awkwardly. My look of shock must be evident. “ In case I get tied up, and need to contact you,’’ he states in an obvious tone.
“Oh, right,” I say a bit louder than necessary. Of course he wanted my number for completely practical reasons.Get a grip. I rattle off my number, as he plugs it into his phone.
“See you at 2:30,” I say, and jump out of the truck with my back pack, hightailing it to the door of the coffee shop.
Chapter 6
Sterling
I watch her practically run away from me in amusement. I have had a hard time keeping my smirk at bay in her presence this morning. I wait until she is inside Doe’s and then head towards my shop. I’m thankful that it is only 15 minutes away. I am anxious to get my head under that hood. I probably won’t need to work until 2:00, but I figured that I would run to the hardware store and get what I needed for her sink and repack my duffle bag with a couple of changes of clothes, before I picked her up.
Pulling into my spot, I get out and head straight towards my shop doors. It took me a long time to get to this point in my life, and I still can’t believe that I own this building. It seemed like only a few years ago, that I was fixing cars at home in my own one car garage. Flipping on the lights in the empty bay, I roll up the door. I grab a few tools and a step-stool. I’m hoping to get the beast started, and pull it into the shop. I have a tow truck, but would rather drive it in.
Walking around the driver’s side of the truck, I unlock the door and climb in.How in the hell does she get into this thing?It takes me a bit of effort and I am almost 6 feet 5 inches. I take a quick inventory of my surroundings. I notice that she has a book on the passenger seat, and an empty coffee cup in the cup holder. Other than that, it looks fairly clean.Focus!I shake my head. I’ve known this woman for less than 12 hours and she is fuckingwith my mind. I’m not sure why I can’t seem to stop thinking about her. I do well on my own, like being by myself. I don’t owe anyone anything. My cell phone rings and I am shaken out of my thoughts. I see Holt’s name flashing across the screen, and tap the green button.
“Hey little brother, what’s going on,” I ask. He isn’t so little. He is about two years younger and an inch taller than me. A fact that he loves to rub in my face.
“Are you at the shop today,” He doesn’t waste time with pleasantries and gets straight to the point.
“Yeah, I’m here,” we both hate talking on the phone, and aren’t the best conversationalists.
“See you in 10,” he states and cuts off the call. There wasn’t a need for a response anyway. Honestly, he probably just wants to come by and get his hands dirty. There are many Saturdays that we both find ourselves working on one of the cars in my shop and catching up.
I try to turn the engine over with the key, hoping that letting it sit overnight gave it the juice it needed to start. I have to give the old Bronco credit, it tries but it just can’t get there. I climb out, pulling on the hood latch as I go, and walk around to the front. I hop on the stool and open the hood. From this vantage point, I am able to see better.
I hear Holt’s motorcycle pull up, while I am tinkering under the hood. “Did you get a new ride,” he asks.
“No, it broke down late last night and I’m trying to fix it for a customer,” I explained. I was trying to be vague about it. I didn’t want him asking details. Details that I wasn’t prepared to share— mainly because I didn’t understand what was really happening yet.
“This thing is nice, don’t see many of these around much. Need any help? I have some time to kill.”
I lift my head and look at him quickly. “Sure, I can use the extra set of hands,” I say as I hop down from the stool.
