When the boxes for tomorrow are ready and the floor is gleaming, I head out. At the door, I frown at the only other car in the parking lot, sitting cockeyed by the turn that leads to the highway. The hood is up.
Elodie’s car.
I might look forward to talking with her again, but I’m going to be the last guy she wants to see. It won’t matter. I know my way around an engine thanks to Lane.
I lock up the distillery and trot toward her. The closer I get, the more the smell of burning oil crowds out the distillery’s warm grain smell.
She’s squinting at the engine. The always-present dismay plays across her expression. “Sorry, I’m blocking the way.”
“Ain’t a problem.” I shove my hands in my pockets and lean over. I don’t want to overstep. Besides, any news I give her probably won’t be good. The racket her car made driving into the parking lot was foreboding. “Mind if I take a look?”
Her laughter comes out like a shotgun. “I don’t think it’ll help.” She props a hand on her hip and pinches the bridge of her nose, bumping her glasses crooked. She squeezes her eyes shut. “There’s been a knocking noise for a while, and I should’ve taken it in.”
“Yeah,” I say sympathetically. “A knocking noise isn’t good.”
“Damn him,” she seethes.
Huh? I shake my head. She wasn’t damning me. So who’s him?
With an abrupt inhale, she blinks her eyes open and straightens her glasses. “You don’t need to mess with this. I can call my dad.”
“It’s no problem, really. I’m mechanically inclined, but I think you’re going to need a tow.”
“No. I can call my dad.”
I suck in a slow breath as disappointment sinks heavy into my bones. She wants nothing to do with me. “Okay.” I take a step back so she knows I’m serious. I’m not forcing myself on her in any way. “I’ll just wait in my truck, and I know you won’t like it, but I’m going to stay here until you get this taken care of.”
I pivot on a heel and stride to my pickup.
“Cruz.”
I come to a stop. As I look over my shoulder, my chest constricts. She wants me to leave her alone.
She’s still in the same spot, but her fraught expression is new. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“You just seem... I don’t want... You offered to help and I...” She flops her hands against her thighs. “I should’ve taken it in.”
She’s really beating herself up about that. As for the rest, she has her baggage, and as much as I’d like to get to know her, I’ll back all the way off. “Will you be okay with me helping you if I promise to behave?”
Her gaze turns wary. “What do you mean?”
“You’re not interested. I’m not your type. I’ll just look at your car, tow it to wherever you want, and drop you off at your place. No flirting, no jokes, no... me.”
“Can you function without flirting?”
“Oof.” I cough out a harsh laugh. “I didn’t realize I was that bad.”
“God, I’m sorry. I was kidding.” Her mouth twists. “Sort of.”
It stings worse the longer I think about it, so I cross to the car.
She doesn’t go far while she paces. I didn’t notice her sandals earlier. In the bakery, everything’s covered but her face, and her hair is always secured. Today, her toenails, painted a vibrant shade of lime green, are visible.
My blood threatens to reroute after seeing some skin, so I keep my focus on the dipstick as I pull it out. It’s dry. “Shit.”
“I just checked it a week ago and added more.” She comes closer. Is that what it takes? A catastrophic engine failure for her to willingly approach me?
