So, I knew going in that morning that I needed to zone out everything else and spend the day preparing the car for the Tropical Turquoise that was going to cover the pale grayish-blue it had been the day before. Then, eventually, I’d be spraying more color before topping it off with two coats of clear.
Hooray.
I hated making mistakes, even if what had happened hadn’t technically been one. I remembered Mack, the man who had taught me everything I knew, telling me once that I was too hard on myself when I didn’t do something right.Everyone makes mistakes, he had said, giving me a slap on the back.It isn’t the end of the world, Luna-girl.
And part of me was well aware of that. But the majority of me couldn’t let go of that mentality, no matter how old I got. Probably because I thought the whole thing was mostly Rip’s fault. I had called him. He hadn’t been paying attention, but it was still my fault.
Like it was always.
If I stopped at the drive-thru and bought a cup of coffee instead of making my own, it was only because I was in the mood for a white chocolate mocha instead of the same old thing I had every other morning. If my hands weren’t going to be as steady as they usually were… Oh well.
I was in the middle of working on the freaking Mustang in the big room right beside mine when I happened to look up and see a familiar face on the other side of the window of the door.
Rip.
Not wanting to mess up my flow so I could get to priming sooner than later, I turned my attention back and moved my arm along. I kept moving, finishing up the last section before I stopped.
If he needed something and didn’t want to wait, he could leave a note.
He knew better than to try and get me to stop in the middle of what I was doing. I didn’t want to screw up again, especially not in front of him.
When I was finally done, I left the sanding pad on the floor and pulled my hood down, my fingers snagging for a second on my headband as I made my way toward the door to open it.
“Morning,” I said, trying not to make it sound like a mutter as I peeled my goggles off and then tugged my respirator over my head. Most of the guys just wore masks, but I didn’t mess around with inhaling things that would come back and kill me later.
He blinked, and it was right then that I noticed he didn’t have his coveralls on. He had his gray compression shirt on, except this time it was underneath a tight black T-shirt that said COOPER’S COLLISION AND CUSTOMS in marigold yellow lettering. I’d forgotten today was an auction day. And even though I didn’t want or mean to, I flicked my gaze down to see he had on a pair of faded jeans that didn’t have any stains on them and boots that weren’t the same boots he wore to the shop all the time.
A small white paper bag hung from where it was being pinched at his side by his index finger and thumb.
I bit the inside of my cheek, remembering just how unfair he’d been yesterday.
Then I reminded myself he was my boss and even if he was wrong—and he was—I would have to be the one to eat shit unless I wanted to trade jobs.
And I didn’t want to do that.
“Luna,” he said in that deep voice that normally felt like a cold finger up my spine but today did nothing.
Okay, mostly nothing.
“Morning, boss,” I greeted him, my face straight.
Rip thrust the small white bag at me. “I’m not mad at you,” he said first thing, his voice calm, those teal-colored eyes locked on my face.
He wasn’t mad at me?
Like I had done something in the first place to get him angry?
I pressed my lips together and eyed the bag he was still holding between us.
Those eyes moved over my face, and something small moved across Ripley’s, almost… softening? Nicer? …Guilt? “It’s not the end of the fucking world, Luna.”
Of all the words….
“I can’t let you get away with things that I wouldn’t let the rest of the guys get away with,” he kept going, watching me closely with that face I wasn’t sure how to take from how serious it was. “Making me a birthday cake doesn’t get you a Get Out of Jail Free card.”
All I could do was stare at him and swallow his Monopoly reference.
He gave the white bag a light shake, inching it even closer to me. “I brought you that donut shit you like. Take it. It’s the twist one,” he went on, like I had no idea what my favorite donut was.
