I blow out a puff of air, exasperated with this day. I’m rethinking this whole damn trip, and not because of the newfound car trouble. It’s the whole boring-as-hell ride, the fact that it’s taken me longer due to my penchant for dilly-dallying along the way, and now look where it’s gotten me.
The town looks completely shut down, which means finding someone to look at my car this evening is going to be impossible. My built-in GPS on the display says I’m seven minutes away from the bed and breakfast I’m booked at for the duration of my stay. I’m muddling over what I should and shouldn’t do. Driving my car is definitely not a great idea, and while my temperature gauge has gone down and isn’t in the burning red-hot area anymore, I’m still well aware of the fact that if I keep pushing my luck, I’ll end up needing more than a repair—I’ll need a whole damn motor or vehicle.
I coast along the main road, looking for a shop or a safe place to park my car, from where I can hoof it to the B&B. Even though I have all of my paint supplies in the back, my bags in the middle row, and there’s no way I can wheel them all down the red brick road.
“What a day, what a day,” I repeat, and like a beacon of hope, the flashing light of Barlow Auto Repair blinks in the distance in a blue hue. “Okay, so, worst-case scenario, I park Betty White, leave a note on my windshield, grab my small toiletry bag, walk to Oak Haven, and deal with everything else in the morning.” It’s a solid game plan. It’s not ideal, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. I mean, the only other option is to see if there’s even a car service available. I’m kind of doubting that Whispering Oaks has one with how deserted the roads are and the lack of open businesses, and the few restaurants that are open aren’t packed, either.
When I pull into the parking lot, I notice there’s a garage bay door open. Maybe I’ve got a bit of luck on my side after all.Once I’m parked in a designated spot, I turn the engine off and roll the windows up before I open the door. This way, I won’t have to start my car up again. The last thing I need if my car is overheating. The reason why can be one of many things, none of which I’m certain I can fix myself.
I take the keys out of my ignition, drop them in the cupholder, and pull the lever for the hood. I’ll take a look, probably search for the worst-case scenarios on what could be the culprit. A lot like I do when an ailment hits me when I least expect it.
Does it send me into a spiral? Yes.
Does it make me feel better? Absolutely not.
Does it ease my mind? Nope, it makes my anxiety spiral.
Yet I do it anyway, time and time again.
As soon as the latch for the hood releases, I step out of my car. The flip flops I’m wearing make noise with each step I take, alerting me to the lack of sturdy footwear I chose to wear. Along with the black tank top sans bra, since it comes with a built-in one, a pair of cotton pull-on shorts that have slits on the sides, I clearly dressed for comfort and nothing else.
A shiver slides along my spine when a gust of wind ripples through the air. I should have at least grabbed the jacket I tossed in the passenger seat
“Holy shit.” I lift the hood, put the metal thing in the slot to hold it in place, and look down. There are several kinds of spatters along the plastic, colorful and looking like this is going to be an expensive repair.
“You need help with something?” I look over my shoulder and find a figure standing half in the shadow, half in the light. The corridor frames him in long lines beneath the steel of the garage door. I squint my eyes to get a better look. The glaring light lands right in my eyes and causes me to use my hand as a shield to study his form.
I move away from my car, figuring talking instead of yelling across a parking lot would be more conducive. Plus, the wind really is whipping around, and maybe being near a building will block some of it.
“Hi, uh, maybe, or I hope so.” His arms are crossed over his broad chest, and dark hair falls thick and effortless, reminiscent of how a man would brush their hair back only for it to stay untamed. A short, well-kept beard traces the strength of his jaw, giving him an edge, and his firm mouth and expressive eyes make you want to study their depths. While I’m looking at him, he’s studying me, strong and steady, making him unreadable. I don’t know whether this is his normal demeanor or it’s because I’m an out-of-towner.
“Won’t be able to get to it tonight or tomorrow, for that matter. It’ll be Monday at the earliest, and it’ll probably be the afternoon.” The owner of the deep voice expresses more of his brusque demeanor, making me rethink stopping here after all.
“Oh, is there another auto shop in town?” This strongly built, broad-shouldered, and dangerously calm man doesn’t seem to want my business. I’ve always been told not to stay where you aren’t wanted.
“The only other ones are the car dealerships, and they won’t be open till Monday. Not sure what’s going on with your car, but you're free to use them or me. The choice is yours.” This time when he speaks, it’s his facial expression that makes me re-evaluate telling him that it wouldn’t hurt to be nice. But something holds me back. No, not something. It’s the way it looks like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, like he’s lived well beyond his years.
“Is it okay if I leave my car here for you to look at when you get time? I’m staying at the B&B and will be in town for a few weeks.” There’s really no rush, considering the small town seemsrelatively walkable. You can reach any place you want to go for the most part.
“Sure. Let me grab you the paperwork to fill out. I’ll call you, or Moe will when we figure out what’s going on.” I nod, he does similar, and while he strolls away one languid step at a time, I figure it’s time for me to move back to my car to resituate my bag before the tall, dark, and closed-off kind of asshole returns.
5
Colt
“Jesus, I’m a piece of work,” I mutter under my breath as I walk away from a woman I’ve been an absolute jackass to. I was already not in the right headspace, with too much shit knocking around in my head, when Kara dropped a bit of news that none of us saw coming. She’s moving out and into her own place. The final surgery has been accomplished, and physical therapy is long since over. There’s no reason for her not to live in the apartment she already put a deposit on. Still, it’s been nice to know Kara is at Mom and Dad's, where I can pick up my phone to text one or the other if Kara does what Kara likes to do at times: go silent.
I get it. Sometimes life pisses you off, and you need time to fucking be, but going dark only to answer when your niece sends you a message isn’t healthy. Neither is doing what I am, being pissed off at the world when, yeah, shit’s been tough, but it hasn’t been that bad.
Still, today is the anniversary of the accident and Nellie’s birthday, plus Kara’s news. And the way my little girl’s emotions have become bigger than her lately, well, it’s been a rough fucking day. It’s also why when Mom and Dad mentioned they’d like to keep Nellie for the evening, I reluctantly said yes. A part of me wants to keep her with me always, being able to control the situation of what-ifs. Yet at the same time, keeping her out ofa vehicle at night, especially tonight, makes a hell of a lot more sense.
That left me with fuck all to do except sit upstairs and think, and the last thing I should be is alone with my own thoughts. So, I came home, changed into a pair of work clothes that are stained with grease, grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge, and headed down to the shop. The project car I’ve been working on for longer than I care to admit could use all the help it can get. Time isn’t usually on my side between working to pay the bills, taking care of Nellie, and everything else in between. The classic car has been neglected.
I’d been deep into my second beer when I saw the flash of headlights in the otherwise dark-as-hell area. Whispering Oaks is a ghost town. Once the clock hits nine at night, a restaurant here or there and a bar or two are about the only things open. Even the gas stations closes down at a certain time. On my way to the office, I grab a rag to wipe my hands off before I find the clipboard, paper, and a pen.
“I should grab another beer or two while I’m in here.” Except I’m sure that would look terrible for business. Add that to my stellar personality, and it’ll have her running for the damn hills. Then she’d more than likely tell someone else, who’d tell someone else, and then the name my father and I built for Barlow would go up in flames. “Nah, get this shit done. Close the garage bay and work until I’m too tired to stand up.” I grab what I need, trying to watch where my hands land so I don’t piss off my secretary, who comes in a few times a week to help with ordering parts, scheduling appointments, and working on payroll.
I’m back outside within a few minutes, but the woman whose name I’ve yet to learn isn’t near the garage. She’s out by her car, bent over, and I’m enjoying the view. It also gives me a moment. Admitting to myself that she caught my attention isn’t easy,especially since I’ve closed myself off to any types of temptation. I’d promised myself and Nellie that there wouldn’t be a string of women entering and exiting our lives.
