Past
Fate happens when you least expect it, and in the oddest, most peculiar ways.
At least that’s what Mama always tells me.
She met Daddy when she was twenty. Ran out of gas on her way to a friend’s house and he just so happened to take a different route to work that day.
Fate, she’d said.
Divine intervention.
Destiny.
I’m not so sure I believe in her philosophy.
At least not until I experienced it for myself.
This morning, my father asked me to take the suburban into town and have the oil changed. He usually handles this chore himself but he’s been too busy at work. Our family business, Dawson’s Brewery, is growing and he simply doesn’t have time to mess with it.
I’d been all too willing.
Anything to get me out of the house and out of my head for a while. Because between Linc and Dean, my mind is a mess.
Pulling up to Greasystix, I hop out and head inside.
“Hi, Mr. Jim.”
“Hey there, Sylvie. What can I do for ya today?”
I lean over the counter, reaching for the bowl of suckers he stashes there for vultures like me. “Oil change.”
Mr. Jim smiles. I’ve known him all my life. He’s been friends with my dad for years.
Unwrapping the grape Dum Dum, I slide him the keys.
“It’ll be about half an hour, dear.”
“Sounds good. I’m gonna run across the street to the dollar store. I’ll be back.”
Forty minutes later, when I return, Mr. Jim is not in the front office. After snagging a cherry Dum Dum this time, I walk back out and wander over to the last open bay door where the suburban is. The smell of grease and rubber assault my senses but the man standing beneath the vehicle is what halts my steps.
Those dark eyes lock on mine, stunningly fierce and electric. “I was wondering when I would get to see you again.” The hope in his voice sends goose bumps racing across my skin.
The grin on his handsome face is unmistakable. So is the look of intention. I can’t help but return his smile. It’s hard not to when he looks at me like this.
Flustered, I toss the rest of my uneaten sucker in the trash nearby. “I-I didn’t know you work here,” I mutter, walking closer.
“Jim hired me a couple of weeks ago.”
His eyes never leave mine as he walks over to the button on the wall, lowering the suburban. “Sorry it took so long.”
“Oh, no worries. I’m not in a hurry.”
Once the wheels are back on the concrete floor, Dean saunters over. He is covered in grease and oil. His hands are filthy; the black nails making me wince as he wipes them with an equally dirty red rag.
“There was a leak.”
I blink up at him. “A leak?”
