“It doesn’t sound good,” she said darkly as she rubbed her hands together and met me near the front bumper.
It was unseasonably warm, but it was still in the forties. “Where the hell is your coat?”
Her husky blue eyes flashed. “Inside the cab, dad.”
I swallowed down a growl at that reply. I was older than her, but not by that damn much. “Unfortunately, you’re right, it doesn’t sound good. I won’t know exactly what’s wrong until I can run a diagnostic, but it’s not something I can fix tonight.”
“I’m so screwed.”She slid out and slammed the door.
“Why don’t we see what we’re working with food wise first?”
She tipped her head back, her hands fisted at her sides.
“Hey. We’ll figure it out.” I touched her hand. “Open up the back.”
“It’s not going to get in that car. No way in hell.” But her fingers loosened under mine.
I grinned. “Just you wait.”
She sighed. “All right.” She unlocked the back doors to show a massive black box that reminded me of a guitar case with the amount of band stickers decorating every inch. It was strapped in with a series of custom locks. Beside it was a shelving unit with big sheets of cake, similarly locked down.
I stood beside her with my hands on my hips. “What’s in the case?”
“My damn masterpiece.”
I laughed.
“Well, genius, let’s do some troubleshooting.” I jogged over to my Caddie and got in, unlocking the ragtop. I rolled it back and tucked it into the opening behind the massive backseat.
She crept closer to me, looking from me to the truck and back. “I didn’t think I’d ever get in the backseat of one of your cars. Guess it’s your lucky day.”
My chest tightened at the thought, but I grinned at her. “More like your lucky day, Hart.”
“I’ll reserve judgement until you get me to the venue.”
“Oh, I’ll get you there.”
Getting the cake there in one piece might be the real trick.
Chapter 3
Mercy
My mouth driedas I stood beside Ripley.
Had he gotten bigger?
I’d had my head down for the last few years with the opening of Sweet Beats and I’d had little time for anything other than the occasional date. Unfortunately, most stayed in the one and done category as of late. My schedule wasn’t exactly conducive to a social life.
However, I didn’t remember Ripley being so...well, ripped.
His shoulders filled out the black dress shirt that was tucked into fitted black pants. I had a vague memory of him in his uniform. With my shop located on Hope Street, it meant I saw the comings and goings of the town—when I looked up from my counter anyway. But the stained blue work overalls were a long way from this version of Rip.
Shaking off the inconvenient reaction, I ran back to my truck and unlocked the case. “How big is your backseat?”
“How fragile is the cake?”
I cursed. “This is a brand-new van for fuck’s sake,” I muttered and rolled the case out.
