To fill the awkward silence, I suppose.Yeah… right. More like it’s to cover up the fact that I’m finding myself attracted to him—a married man, judging by that ring on his finger—gawking at him like I used to with the pictures of heartthrobs I ripped from a Bop magazine when I was a teenager. Married or not, I already look like an unkempt slob. The last thing I need to be doing is lusting for someone who is the parent of one of my newest employees.
If I want to salvage my last remaining scrap of professionalism, I can’t ogle every ruggedly handsome man that drops off his kid here. Though, I will say that fathers have been dropping their kids off for years, and this is the only one to leave me practically salivating.
What am I, a dog?No, I can’t lick the eye-candy. Bad, Brooks!
“I can take a look at it for you.” Evan pops his shoulder and saunters over to my car.
Oh, ok… so I—wait, I didn’t scare him off?
He’s going to look at it for me? He’s going to do me—a complete bumbling fool—a favor? I may have misjudged the man.
Unless, he’s secretly a shady car salesman, and this is his way of talking me into a newer vehicle, only to turn around and swindle me out of thousands—that I don’t have—to sell me a lemon.
No. That’s wrong too. He looks nothing like someone who would dress up in a suit and try to haggle over price tags. The grease on his jeans, the black stains on the edges of his fingernails and on hiscallouses, this guy’s appearance are total mechanic vibes. He may truly just be trying to be helpful.
Huh, not what I expected.
I expected a sarcastic ‘sucks to be you, buddy.’
I’m so startled speechless, that the “thanks” I respond with comes out as a rasp, and I physically have to pull myself from where I was rooted in place to catch up to him. He rests his hands on the edge of the engine compartment and leans in. I watch as the sinews in his forearms ripple as he fiddles with—I don’t even know what half these components are.
I know about rippling forearms, though. I know I like them a lot. Like, a whole heck of a lot. Especially when they’re accompanied by the equally sexy scene of shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
I can’t fire myself for being NSFW in my mind, right? Gah! Pull yourself together!
Then, without a word, he scratches at the black bristles that stubble his jaw, and he stalks off towards his truck. I watch as he plants a boot on the step-up rail, and he swings himself up in his driver’s seat. With a rumble, his truck roars to life.
“Okay? Bye, I guess…” I mutter to myself.
What the heck was that all about?
Instead of backing up and driving off, however, he inches his truck forward, so it’s nose-to-nose with my car. He hops out, grabs jumper cables out of the cab, and hooks them up to my car. Then, more awkward silence as we wait…
Finally, he nods towards my car, after letting his truck idle a bit. “Try the ignition.”
I oblige the man of few words and try turning the key. Nothing. The fleeting spark of hope I had fizzles out.
“Not the battery,” he grunts. “There an auto supply store around here anywhere?”
I shake my head. “There’s a NAPA in Bethel, but that’s a half hour away from here.” I groan, dragging my fingers through my hair and puffing out a breath.
Welcome to Camp Dumpster Fire. We’re hanging on by a thread, folks. Come for the experience, stay for the entertainment.
Not sure how I’m going to an auto parts store when I’ve got folks coming in today. I’ve got to get new-hire paperwork filled out, grounds tours to give, and meals to cook since there are no kitchen staffers here yet. I’ll figure something out; I always do.
I should probably look into mules. Carrots have got to be cheaper than gas, anyhow.
“Hang tight, I’ll be back in a little bit,” Evan offers. “Bethel, you said?”
I can feel a rush of heat flame in my cheeks again. “Oh, you don’t have to—” I start, but don’t get to finish when the sound of crunching gravel and thumping eighties' music cuts me off.
That can only mean one of two things. Either Kai just showed up unannounced, or someone else drives like a bat out of hell and has an affinity for Toto. But the odds of it being anyoneotherthan my ex are now nil, when I hear Toto’sAfricabeing belted off-key in his voice. Once the dust settles, I see him unfold himself from his sports car, dressed as if he’s out for a day at aGQmodel yacht-club outing.
“What areyoudoing here?” I ask, noting the fact that he is hauling two giant hard-sided rolling suitcases out of his trunk.
His head snaps up, like I startled him by asking why he appears to be moving in. “Figured I’d come keep an eye on my investment.” He shrugs. “See where we can make a few tweaks.”
My eyes go wide as saucers now. “You—what?”
