CHAPTER TWELVE
RILEY
Finn, Finn, Finn. I can’t stop thinking about Finn, and it’s annoying as hell.
It’s Saturday morning, and I’m at the garage bright and early. This should be a day off, but after I caught myself pacing in my apartment, I decided to come in and take care of some paperwork.
The only reason I’m in Buffalo is to get this place up and running, so that’s what I’ll focus my attention on.
The desk phone rings, and I pick it up. “Liberty Garage.”
“Good morning. I’m calling for the owner, Chase Couch?”
“Chase isn’t in yet. I’m the manager, Riley. Anything I can help you with?”
“I’m Belle Sanchez, calling fromThe Allentown Gayzette. We’re doing a story about the impact your garage is having on the block and the rest of the gayborhood, and the controversial zoning laws that govern your establishment. I’m wondering if there’s a good time I could come by and interview Mr. Couch and any employees who care to go on the record?”
It takes me a moment to process. “You’re what?”
“It would be a chance to tell your side of the story, show the town what Liberty Garage is all about.”
I lower the phone for a moment. “Fuck,” I whisper. “Shit. Damn. Fuck.” When I pick it back up, I have to work to steady my voice. “You’re writing a story.”
“That’s right. ForThe Allentown Gayzette. We’ve been the local source for gayborhood news since 1971.”
This is exactly the kind of disaster I’ve been trying to avoid. Immediately, I sense Finn’s meddling influence in the background.
“And what tipped you off to this story?”
“We do our best to follow all the buzz around the neighborhood,” the reporter answers cheerfully, somewhat dodging the question and deepening my suspicions that Finn and his ice cream shop are behind this.
“We’re going to have to call you back on this one,” I say. “Can I get a number?”
I jot down her contact information and hang up. Cracking my knuckles, I try to think through the problem. Bad press can sink a business, especially one as new as ours. We probably need to take a stand for ourselves, argue our case to this reporter.
But I’m no expert at this kind of bullshit. I’m the nuts-and-bolts guy.
Maybe it’s exactly like Chase and the other mechanics claim. People are going to hate us because of their preconceived notions about bikers. We’re easy villains. It’s why we need a place of our own, why this garage is worth fighting for.
But it’s also true that this whole damn gayborhood is filled with misunderstood people. Our neighbors are impacted by the noise, and despite the fact that we’re allowed to run our business as needed, we don’t want to cause anyone else a hassle. I know that we’ll find more success if we aren’t alienating half the town. The disruption we’re causing has reached the local newspaper, and that means it’s serious.
Thinking quickly, I pull up a new document on the computer and start typing. Twenty minutes later, I print out a list of policy changes we can implement that might help mitigate the noise level. It will be a pain in the ass and costly, too, but the mechanics and Chase will have to adjust. I deposit the printouts at everyone’s work stations right before the employees arrive for the day, then retreat back into the office.
Chase hired me to get the garage up and running, and that means facing any problems square-on when they arrive.
And I’m not doing this because Finn is right, either, I insist to myself. He’s every bit as unreasonable as he ever was. I’m just making some changes so that I don’t have to deal with his endless complaints anymore, and so that I can stop thinking about him and this mess.
He’s even started intruding into my pen pal situation. Last time I wrote a chapter, I kept picturing Lark, the fae prince, as Finn. When I should have been thinking about nothing but MorningEnthusiast and some hot and heavy faerie porn, I ended up picturing my ice-cream nemesis instead.
Ridiculous.
Big Jo saunters into the office. “Mornin’, Riley.” She raises the paper in her hand. “What’s this new policy about? We’re prioritizing the side entrance now?”
“And rolling the bikes,” I confirm with a nod. “Motors killed unless they need to be on.”
She frowns as she looks down at the paper. “Seems like it will slow us down. And you know these bikers are going to want to drive off the lot.”
I nod. “I know. Like the policy says, use the side entrance when possible, but if there’s any delay, the front will always be available. Hopefully, this will help us keep the garage doors down more often. Contain us a bit more to the space.”
