“She’s practically a member of the family.”
His eyes flicker with the barest hint of amusement. “Then I hope she left you something nice in her will when she died.”
I laugh long and hard because this entire exchange feels ridiculous and yet…oddly easy.
“You really don’t need to lend me the car?—”
“I’m not. The organization is.”
“I can figure something out on my own.”
He tilts his head, studying me like a textbook he’s about to be quizzed on. “What’s the matter, Ms. Baker?” His voice dips just slightly. “Not strong enough to accept help?”
The corner of my mouth lifts. Well played. “Okay then,” I relent, waving my white flag. “I graciously accept your help.”
“Not my help.”
“The organization’s,” I echo, deepening my voice in a playful imitation of his.
I push myself to my feet, the keys cool against my palm. He stands too, sliding his hands into his pockets.
“We’re on the road for the next week or so,” he says, his gaze catching mine and holding it just a beat too long. “I’ll be in touch to set up an appointment when we get back.”
“Sounds good.”
“Let me know if you have any questions in the meantime.”
I pause at the door, turning back with the keys raised between my fingers. “Just one. My temporary car—what’s her name?”
A faint line appears between his brows. “It’s a car. It doesn’t have one.”
“Then I’ll just have to come up with one.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
ELLIOT
“Roxanne,”I sing, drumming my fingers on the heated steering wheel. “You don’t have to stop at the red light.”
Roxanne and I always do, of course, stop at red lights. And stop signs. Cross walks. And for pedestrians in parking lots.
I love this car. She’s peppy, she’s comfortable, and she’s spotless in a way that I’m certain my actual car has never been. I’ve only been driving her for a week, but I’m already dreading the day I have to hand the keys back.
Not that I’m letting myself think about that right now. The garage still can’t tell me how long it’ll take to order the parts Millie needs. When, or perhaps if, the parts eventually arrive, they can’t promise when they’ll have time to fit her in. They also can’t give me even a ballpark estimate for the repairs, and I’d be lying if I said I haven’t spent a few sleepless nights doing mental math and quietly panicking.
Still, maybe it won’t be so bad. With the extra income I’m making from giving physio sessions to Arthur, I might be able to soften the financial blow. I’ve already started mapping out a simple program for him. Of course, I’ll need to do a full assessmentfirst, but I can already tell an injury as old and stubborn as his is going to take patience, creativity, and probably a miracle.
Good thing I am no stranger to a challenge.
I pull into the community centre parking lot, early today might I add, and ease Roxanne into a space near the entrance. The engine hums quietly as I keep her running so the heat stays at that toes-toasty, fingers-thawing temperature for when Sam comes out. Snowflakes drift lazily past the windshield, blurring the view of bundled-up parents loitering by the doors. I dig my phone out of my bag, swipe it open, and decide to catch up on a few emails while I wait, feeling smug about being ahead of schedule for once.
There is one from the bachelorette party confirming tomorrow’s delivery. I’d messed up the penis cookie delivery date and they weren’t actually needed until the Thursday after. There is another email about a cookie order for an upcoming baptism.
Best not to mix those orders up, Elliot.
My phone starts ringing as I’m replying to the second email. I don’t recognize the number, but it’s local, so I swipe to answer.
“Hello?”
