Chapter 6
Chapter Six
G abe clenched his fists outside the door of Sunny’s second-floor apartment. He’d walked right into the complex after Pick Up Grandma’s driver had dropped him off. The tiny security hut was empty, and the barrier arm was raised. A rock propped open the door of her building. At Beach Island, leaving gates unlatched and doors propped was grounds for termination. But bursting in like an enraged bull wouldn’t help his cause. Before he raised his hand to knock, he took a second to wait out the pulse pounding in his ears.
And then he heard it.
Behind the door, a female voice belted out “Don’t Rain on My Parade.” It didn’t sound like Barbra Streisand or even the Glee cast. The voice was high and strident, and every once in a while, a raspy growl roughened it. Yet it was unvarnished, with no instrumental track. It was real, and live, and in a different league entirely from Beach Island’s summer shows.
He waited, listening, until the last line rang out, leaving his ears craving more. Someone’s knuckles rapped on the door. They had to be his, but he could no more control them than he could resist the siren’s call from inside that apartment.
When Sunny opened the door, breathless, in a pair of yoga pants and a ragged Cats sweatshirt, Gabe stepped back, overwhelmed. Her hair was tucked up in a ponytail, revealing the heart shape of her face and her ears, which were pierced but empty of earrings except for thin silver cuffs around the outer cartilage. He stood there, holding his breath and blinking, for a solid two seconds. He should’ve gotten used to her beauty after meeting her at his house. He hadn’t.
Thankfully, he remembered how pissed off he was that she’d table-flipped his life, and that got him breathing again.
“Gabe? What’re you doing here?” She wiped at a trickle of sweat at her hairline.
“I got your address from Beach Island. You know, you should really live somewhere with better security.”
She tipped her head to the side and squinted. “Are you going to attack me?”
“No.” He shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Then why are you here?”
“Can we talk? Inside or somewhere else?” Over her shoulder, he spotted an open suitcase and a laundry basket piled high with clothing next to a blue velveteen couch.
Wordlessly, she stepped aside, allowing him to enter.
The place smelled like lemons. And sunshine. Or maybe that was Sunny herself. He stopped himself from taking a deep breath as he passed her. A high counter separated the small living room from a galley kitchen. A short hall led from the living room to a tiny bathroom with two closed doors—bedrooms, he assumed—on either side. The living room window blinds were pulled up, letting the late afternoon winter sun pour in. Gabe felt too big, too dark, in the small, bright space.
Sunny moved a stack of folded towels onto the low coffee table and curled into one end of the couch, one foot underneath her. The only other seat was a flimsy white papasan chair, likely to collapse if he tried to sit in it, so he took the other end of the couch. Like the rest of the apartment, it was undersized, so the foot she’d propped up on the cushion was only inches away from his leg. Even her feet were beautiful, slender without being bony and ending in straight, pink toes. Her toenails were painted a sparkly purple. He wiped his hands over his pressed-together thighs as if he could compact himself further.
She stayed silent, waiting.
“I…” His voice came out full of gravel. He cleared his throat. “If you’re still offering, I’d like to take you up on your offer to ride out to Las Vegas. With you.”
“Oh.” Something crossed her face then. Doubt, maybe. Now that he was here, taking up too much of her space, she was probably reconsidering. Trying to think of a way out of her offer.
But who else would drive him two thousand miles across the country? Pick Up Grandma would’ve laughed. And the thought of getting in an airplane made every internal organ squeeze tight. He held his breath again.
“My car’s dead right now,” she said. “It doesn’t start. And it needs new brakes. You pay half of the repair cost. Up front.”
“Can I look at it? The car.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You want to make sure the paint color matches your eyes?”
“No, I’m good at mechanical stuff. Let me take a look.”
She scanned his wool trousers, his crisp white shirt, the cashmere coat he’d draped over the arm of the sofa. “You. Fix cars.”
“It’s a hobby.” Gabe shrugged like it was no big deal. But it was the only thing that relaxed him these days.
“You said you don’t own a car. And you don’t drive.”
“I don’t have to drive a car to enjoy working on it. You own a car and don’t know how to repair it. That seems just as wrong to me.”
She stared at him for almost a full minute, her blue eyes sharp like Twister of Terror’s curved steel against a summer sky. “Okay.”
He snagged a towel from her stack. “Mind if I get this a little dirty?”
“I guess not.”
She unfolded herself and plucked a pink puffy coat from a hook near the door. Sliding on a scruffy pair of moccasins, she led the way out of her building to a twenty-year-old light-blue Mercedes. Other than a few spots of rust on the wheel wells, the exterior looked to be in decent shape. Unblemished bumpers, intact glass. Either she’d kept up with the bodywork or she was a safe driver.
“Pop the hood,” Gabe said. He shrugged out of his coat and unbuttoned his dress shirt. She stood frozen, staring, as he tugged it off to reveal his white undershirt. He looked down. It was clean. And it covered his torso. Though it was a little tight over his chest, especially with the cold making his nipples stand up.
He folded his shirt and placed it, along with his coat, on the closed trunk of the car. She licked her lower lip.
“The hood?” he repeated.
“Right.” She unlocked the car and slid into the driver’s seat. The latch clunked when it released.
Gabe walked to the front of the car, slid his hand under the edge until he found the latch, and unhooked it. Pushing up the hood, he peered inside. Not the cleanest engine he’d ever seen. He scooped handfuls of dried leaves out of the corners.
“Okay, start it,” he shouted.
“It doesn’t start,” she shouted back.
“Stick the key in and turn it. I want to hear what it does.”
Nothing but silence. Probably the starter. Could’ve been the battery, but if it were that simple, she’d have replaced it. Without even taking a screwdriver to the engine compartment, he could see a couple of worn belts and a dangerously brittle hose. He’d bet the brake pads were thin, too, but he’d need tools to check them. A repair shop would charge her thousands for the work that needed to be done.
Gabe lowered the hood and came around to the driver’s side door, wiping his hands on her towel. “I’ll have it towed to my garage. I can fix it. No cost, but it’ll take me a few days. And I’ll pay for the gas.”
“You’ll fix it. For free. And then buy gas for a two thousand–mile road trip?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
He crossed his arms. “I’ll fix it, you drive, no questions.”
“You want me to drive your Miss Daisy ass across the country?”
“Question.”
Her lips quivered but didn’t turn up into a smile.
He needed to sweeten the pot. “I’ll pay for the hotels, too, at night.”
“Separate rooms?”
He cringed inside. Was that what she thought of him? “Of course.”
“Fine, Mr. Armstrong. You just bought yourself a chauffeur.”
He held out a hand for the keys. “Go back inside where it’s warm. I’ll call the tow truck.”
“A few days, you said?”
Hell, it’d take him a couple days to locate the parts for the Mercedes. He rubbed his hands together, making a mental list of the proper order for the repairs. Much more fun than payroll. Still, he needed to wrap things up at Beach Island so Darlene could manage while he was gone for a week or two. “We can leave on Saturday.”
She pulled the car key off the ring and dropped it into his palm. “Thanks, Gabe.”
The way she looked up through her long eyelashes melted him. He cleared his throat. “No problem.”
She turned around and sauntered back toward her building. Gabe blinked away from the lower curve of her ass in those yoga pants.
Business, Gabe. Before, when he’d been the unquestioned scion of the Armstrong family, the legitimate CEO of a multimillion-dollar theme park, he might’ve asked her if she wanted to go to dinner. Suggest they get to know each other better.
But now, what did he have to offer her? He didn’t know who he was, and DNA results or not, neither did she. Besides, she was on her way to LA. Permanently.
They’d keep it simple, transactional. He’d fix her car; she’d drive him where he needed to go. Then she’d continue on her way while Gabe figured out who he was, what he’d been, and what to do about it.
* * *
“Why is there a car in my shop?”
Gabe startled and slammed his head against the underside of the Mercedes’s hood. He should’ve known he couldn’t keep a whole car from Ramirez, even hidden back here with the maintenance crew’s pickup trucks and golf carts.
He wiped his hands on his rag and then turned toward his friend. Ramirez’s thick arms were crossed over his broad chest.
“I’m fixing it for a friend,” he said. He rubbed his head where he’d bumped it. No blood. Just a lump rising from his scalp.
Ramirez grunted and turned to head back out toward the main shop. Bullet dodged. Gabe tossed the rag onto the ledge of the engine compartment and bent over the serpentine belt he’d been loosening.
“On a Tuesday?” Ramirez’s voice was closer this time and accompanied by the heavy treads of his steel-toes on the concrete floor.
Pain sliced into Gabe’s scalp when he bumped it again on the unyielding hood. “Would you cut that out?” he snapped. “I’m going to give myself a concussion here.”
“Wouldn’t be your first, probably not your last. Which friend?”
Sunny’s image shoved into Gabe’s brain, all thick honey hair and yoga-pants curves, accompanied by that voice. His breath caught in his chest. “You don’t know her.”
“Ah.” Ramirez leaned a hip on the powder-blue side of the car and cast a critical gaze over the engine compartment. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”
He could’ve meant with Sunny or with the Mercedes. Gabe didn’t ask. “Yeah,” he said.
“What’s the problem?”
Should he tell Ramirez about the DNA results? They’d been friends since they were teenagers working at the park. Ramirez knew his parents well, had been there that day, the day the joyous part of Gabe’s life ended with a snap of steel. After, he’d been the clap of a firm hand on his shoulder, a stiff-jawed nod when Gabe needed reassurance, a silent presence nearby while Gabe worked out his feelings with a wrench in his hand.
But their friendship had been born and raised at Beach Island, and Gabe wasn’t sure he belonged there now. Instead, he said, “Faulty starter. And I need to get it safe enough for a road trip. A long one.”
Ramirez grinned. “Turning this pumpkin into Cinderella’s carriage is gonna take some work. You’ll have the whole thing in pieces by the end of the day.”
“Probably.” Gabe shrugged. “Don’t want to miss anything.”
Ramirez stilled. “You know I?—”
“I know. Me, too.” They’d been over and over what happened nine years ago. Gabe’s worst mistake. No need to rehash it. He’d never let it happen again.
“But why?—”
“Gabe! You here?” Darlene’s voice came from the main door of the shop.
“In here,” Gabe called, grateful for the interruption and glad he hadn’t put his head back under the hood.
Darlene walked in, clutching a handful of papers. She stopped midway between the door and the Mercedes. “Oh. Hi, Tony.”
“Darlene,” Ramirez said. But his voice was softer than it ever sounded when he talked to Gabe.
Gabe shot him a look and grimaced. Ramirez’s face had gone all dreamy, too. Few women ever ventured into the shop.
Darlene dragged her attention off Ramirez and speared Gabe with a glare. “When are you going to look at these résumés? We need to set up interviews.”
Gabe glanced at the car. “I’m going to be tied up this week. And then I’m going away for a couple weeks. I trust you. Set up the interviews with the most qualified candidates. I’ll approve your hiring decisions.”
It wasn’t like Gabe had never delegated work to her. He trusted her. Still, Darlene’s mouth dropped open.
“A couple weeks?” Her voice rose into its upper register. “You’re going on a vacation?”
Gabe’s face heated. He picked up his socket wrench and twisted it, making a clicking sound. “Something like that.”
“You haven’t gone on vacation since…”
She didn’t have to finish. Since his parents had died. Since he’d taken over at Beach Island. There was always too much work to do, ensuring the safety of his employees and guests. Besides, where would he go if he couldn’t fly in a plane or ride in a car without white knuckles?
“I figured it was about time,” he said. He couldn’t tell her the real reason. If the DNA results were correct and he wasn’t who they all thought he was, how would his relationship with Ramirez and Darlene change? He didn’t want their questions. Their pity. Until he knew for sure, he had to be strong, stable. Just like always. He gripped the wrench in both hands.
Darlene opened her mouth but then pressed her lips together. She tilted her head. “Where are you going?”
“Somewhere sunny. I’ll have my phone,” he rushed to add. “You can call me for anything you need.”
“All right.” She tucked the papers under her arm. “I’ll take care of this.”
“Thanks. You’re the best.”
“You know it. See you later, Gabe. Bye, Tony.” She nodded and left.
After the door closed behind her, a stream of air gusted out of Tony like a deflating balloon.
“You all right, man?” Gabe asked.
A few beats of silence ticked by. Ramirez shook himself. “Yeah.” He straightened.
“Keep an eye on her while I’m gone, will you?” Gabe asked. “She pushes herself too hard.”
“Got it, boss.”
Boss? Maybe not for much longer. Was knowing the truth worth risking everything he had?
He was about to find out.