But the only person who didn’t have an idea of what was going on was him.
He’d brought me a donut?
Was this his way of apologizing for blaming me for something that wasn’t my fault?
Yeah. It was. It had to be.
It really was his way of apologizing.
A tiny little part of me wanted to hold a grudge….
But most grudges were a waste of time. They were a vortex where you lost time, energy, and happiness. Time, energy, and happiness you could apply toward something that was good, something that your whole life benefited from. Something that could actually make you happy.
And I wanted to be happy more than I wanted to be right.
Which was why I only really held onto big grudges, and I rarely let myself think of them. Usually.
I eyed Rip one more time then glanced down at the bag… and then I sighed.
I was going to choose, maybe not necessarily being happy, but not being mad. Ripley wouldn’t be the first person to blame me for things they had caused. If anything, he might be one of many, but he was one of the few to ever apologize… in his own way.
That was worth something. More than something really. And if I really thought about it, I might have appreciated the effort it took to even do as much as he just had. Hadn’t I just avoided telling my sisters that I’d known something for days because I didn’t want them to get madder at me than they already were?
I didn’t want to be a hypocrite.
I bit the inside of my cheek and said, “Thank you,” even though it sounded like more of a question.
He tipped his chin down once and only once, his eyes narrowing like he could read my mind.
He didn’t say he was sorry for bitching me out—for no reason—but he’d brought me a donut. My favorite. I hadn’t figured he’d paid enough attention to know something like that.
I reached over slowly, like he was going to change his mind and jerk it away at the last minute as I took the bag from him, watching his face as he did the same in return to me, looking for who knows what. To make sure I didn’t quit? To make sure I didn’t cry?
I’d barely taken it when he asked, “How busy are you today?”
It was hard not to think that was a trick question; he knew I had an entire car to prime and paint on top of trying to catch up on things so that I wouldn’t fall behind since I was taking a day off to go to San Antonio. “Pretty busy.”
His eyes slid around the room for a moment before he dipped his chin down in a way that seemed like it was more for himself than me. “Finish what you’re working on and meet me outside.”
“Why?”
He still didn’t look at me. “There’s an auction going on. You’re coming with me.”
What?“But—“
“Hurry up. It starts in an hour,” he stated, taking a step back and finally making direct eye contact again. His face was smooth. No hint of frustration or tightness on it at all, and I wasn’t sure what to think of that.
“I have to do the car that you—”
Those bright eyes landed on me, and his eyebrows went up a quarter of an inch. “It can wait.”
Now it could wait?
“But”—why did he want me to go in the first place?—“Mr. Cooper goes with you.”
On the rare occasion that I did go, it had been with Mr. Cooper, but the last time I’d gone with him had been… three years ago? Four years ago? Maybe longer? When I’d first started trying to learn things about cars, he would take me all the time and point at things, explaining everything he could think of and everything I was curious about. I’d enjoyed it a lot. I would have never guessed just how much it would have interested me.
But since taking over the lead painter position, I had other things to do instead.
