“Do you get it serviced regularly?” It was really hard to keep that from sounding like an innuendo.
She nods. “Whenever it tells me to, and I add oil in between.”
“Then I hate to say it, Elodie, but having to regularly add oil isn’t a good sign.” I shove the dipstick back into place. “I think the engine might’ve blown.”
She wrings her hands together. “That’s expensive, isn’t it?” I nod and her eyes get watery. “No. I can’t afford this. Not this month. Not next.” She lets out a frustrated huff and spins around. I’m still able to hear the “Damn him.”
Who is this fuckinghimwho’s disrupting her life? “Let me call Lane, ’kay? He used to be a mechanic.”
“He did?” She sniffles.
“He’s still got the tools, and he’s got a nice shop. Let me just ask if he’ll take a look when he returns from Denver.”
Her hair bounces when she nods. “If you need to be somewhere, I can call my dad or my uncle.”
Not a chance. I want to help, and I’m able to. I might also be learning more about Elodie Palmer, but I have more questions too. “The girls I’ve got waiting at home will be irritated they have to wait an extra hour for their dinner.”
“The cattle?” she asks, almost hopefully.
“Kittens. Found them at the end of my driveway last month.”
Her eyes go soft. “What are their names?”
“Sage and Basil. They joined Rufus, my dog.”
“I always wanted a pet.” She pushes her glasses up, discreetly wiping away a tear that slips from the corner of her eye. “Thanks for this. Dad or Uncle Karl would be out here in a heartbeat, but I don’t like to worry them.”
Nodding, I’d chat more, but she might think I’m coming on to her. Time to get to work. “I’ll get my supplies and let Lane know I’m towing your car to his place.”
“You haven’t talked to him yet.”
“He loves getting his hands dirty. He won’t mind, but I’ll give him a call.” I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile and not some creepy come-on leer and head to my pickup.
Elodie
I don’t ever want to leave Cruz’s pickup. It’s immaculate. Does he dust the inside every day? He has a cooling option for the seats. I can practically swing my legs while sitting in the passenger side, and the smell—a delicious mix of warm grains and citrus.
We’re back in town after pulling my car to Lane’s big shop. It was my first time seeing one of the homes of the guys involved in the distillery. I still haven’t seen Cruz’s house, or any of the others, except for the youngest Hennessy brother’s. He lives in the house he and his brothers grew up in. The others have built their own homes since I’ve moved back here, but I’m too involved in my job to sightsee around town.
Cruz navigates through Huckleberry Springs. A variety of music pours through the speakers—nineties country, early aughts pop and rock, and every so often, I catch an older hair metal song. He’s different than I assumed.
The energy he brings everywhere is subdued when he’s driving and he seems like he’s at peace. When he was hooking up the car and explaining to me what I needed to do to steer behind him, he was locked in. Serious. I liked that side of him. Competent and focused. It was hot.
I don’t like the part of him that’s been closed off to me since I rebuffed him in the tasting room. A small part of my heart hurts. I miss that lopsided smile getting aimed my way.
We pass the small gas station on the edge of town, and the Chinese restaurant, Wok and Rolls. I stare at the mechanic shop and the insurance agency. He’s approaching the bakery.
I should say something, but a thank-you doesn’t seem like enough. All I have to offer are baked goods. Would that be adequate? It’s what I would’ve given my dad or uncle, but it’d be mostly to distract them from being too concerned that I can’t afford to fix my car.
Cruz saved my ass. I would’ve paid a tow truck a lot more than a dozen cupcakes. “Did you try the samples for the Billings street fair?”
He clicks the side of his mouth. “One of each of those has my name on it for breakfast tomorrow.”
A warm glow spreads through me. Lots of people eat my food, and I’m proud of it, but knowing Cruz is planning on it flips my belly in all directions.
When he parks in front of the bakery, I don’t want to get out. “Do you mind going to the back door?”
“Not at all.” He backs out of the parking spot.
