Mikey.
A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.
“You’re welcome. I’ll, uh, be in the shop if you have any other questions. Patrick should be off the phone soon.”
“Yeah. Thank you, again.”
With a nod, she turns on her heel and walks back through the door.
I stand there, staring at the gray door like if I concentrate hard enough, I can see right through it. Patrick knocks on the desk to grab my attention.
“Ready to get out of here?” he asks with a curious glint in his eye.
“Right. Yeah.” I hand over my card and pay in a daze. For all I know, he could have added a twenty dollar upcharge for staring at his coworker.
I would pay it happily.
I sign my receipt, and Patrick waves at me as I walk out the door.
I don’t see Mikey before I go, but that’s okay because there are two things I know for certain.
One, this isn’t the last time I’ll be seeing Mikey-hopefully-someday-Valentine.
And two?
She’s the one.
2
May
April showers bring May flowers, and May brings in people who need their vehicles ready for extracurriculars. Trucks and Jeeps only used to go off-roading in the warmer months come in for a tune up, and everyone else flocks to the shop to fix their air conditioner.
I love my job, I do, but if I have to tell another person the reason they’re not getting cold air is because they don’t have freon I might just pull my hair out.
I prefer more complicated fixes. Give me an engine rebuild or a drive shaft replacement, and I get tingles all over. I love a problem that allows me to get my hands dirty and leaves me with an ache in my muscles at the end of the day.
I’m currently underneath a 2017 Subaru Outback changing the transmission. The owner of this car is a twenty-something year old college student with a penchant for off-roading. Usually these things last a good ten plus years, but with the wear and tear on the transmission from shifting and accelerating, he’s replacing it sooner.
I’ve just finished draining the transmission fluid when there’s a knock on the hood. I roll out on the creeper and find Patrick standing with his arms folded across his chest and a smug smirk on his face.
“I’m a bit busy, Pat,” I grumble, but it’s half-hearted. I like Patrick, and without him, I’d only have Merv to talk to.
That wouldn’t end well.
Merv’s great, but he fancies himself some kind of guru. He likes to speak in riddles, like a really bad fortune telling machine. Just last month he told me,“Don’t let your fear cloud the visions of your future.”
No idea what he meant by that, but it’s coming from a good place. His favorite type of advice to give is romantic advice, but I can only handle so much from a man with four divorces under his belt.
“Remember the van from a few months ago?”
I give Patrick a bland look. “You’re going to have to be more specific. We work on a lot of vans.”
“Oh, you remember this one. Radiator hose was loose. Big, bearded guy with a silly name?”
“The one who lives in that Valentine’s town on the other side of the mountain?”
Of fucking course I remember him. My body remembers the spark that passed between us. I remember the way my stomach swirled with butterflies when his hazel eyes bored into me, like he was seeing directly into my soul. I haven’t felt such visceral attraction to man in… well, maybe ever. I don’t need a man when I have battery operated companions and no desire to date. My toys take care of me better than any man has.
