Chapter 6 #2
A man in a faded black Carhartt jacket stomps up to the counter at the shop. “I need to speak to the boss. My wife dropped off my truck last week, and whoever worked on it did a crap job.”
“I worked on it,” I say, wiping my hands on my coveralls. “What’s wrong with it?”
He looks at my chest for a long pause, then up at my face in confusion. A laugh bursts out of him. “Yeah, right. Are you the secretary or something? Or just playing dress up for your daddy?”
“Nope. Mechanic and owner too,” I say, pulling every last ounce of patience I have to deal with this tool.
“Well, I want a real mechanic. Someone who knows what they are doing,” he demands.
Nope, don’t like this.
Heat shoots straight up my spine. “If you want it fixed, I’m who you get.”
“I don’t like your attitude, sweetheart,” he hisses, glaring at me.
“I don’t like your sexist bullshit attitude, yet here we are,” I snap, matching his energy.
Damn. I need money, but not at this cost. Something tells me if I do anything for this guy, he’s just going to become an even bigger headache. Nothing will make him happy.
That sets him off. “My wife dropped my truck off and told you to fix two things. Now they’re not fixed, and I want a refund, you stupid bitch.”
Before I can reply, Owen bursts out of the office, eyes blazing. “Shut up! You don’t talk to my sister like that!”
The guy jerks his head back and grits his teeth. “Teach that brat some manners.”
“Teach yourself some manners,” Owen snaps, fists clenched. “She’s the best mechanic in town!”
My chest squeezes as Owen sticks up for me. Not needed, but dang. He’s so sweet. He’s getting ice cream later. Maybe even his favorite cereal, too.
“Owen,” I say softly. “Thank you. Go to the office, please. I’ve got this.”
He stomps away, muttering about grown men being jerks. He isn’t wrong.
I stare the guy down. “When your truck was dropped off, I was instructed to change the tension belt. That was it. I have it documented here. That’s what I did. And that’s what you were charged. Whatever else you have going on, I wasn’t made aware of.”
He rolls his eyes and says, “Well, you should fix it for free since you wasted my time having to come back down here.”
I blink and stare at him, wondering just how many loose screws this guy has. “So, let me get this straight. You want me to fix your vehicle for free because you didn’t clearly communicate the things you wanted fixed?”
“That’s right, sweetheart.” He glares, folding his arms, as if he’s trying to look intimidating.
“I think there’s probably a mechanic in Jackson who can help you out,” I tell him calmly and nod to the door.
“You aren’t a real mechanic,” he sneers.
“Get out.” I point to the door, my eyes on his, not wavering.
“Sully wouldn’t have run this place like this,” he spits out.
“You’re right.” I nod. “Sully would have knocked your teeth out if you came in here talking to him like this.”
His eyes narrow, and he grits out, “Are you going to fix it or not?”
The audacity that this man has.
I stare him down and grind out, “Not. Get the hell out of my shop. Now.”
God, I wish socket wrenches were legal weapons.
He storms out, slamming the door so hard the glass rattles. I turn back to the office and find Owen watching through the window with his arms crossed, shaking his head. He’s so damn cute, I just want to squeeze him.
“It’s alright, buddy. I’m not working with people like that,” I tell him as I pick up my water and take a swig.
My nerves are rattled, but this happens more often than I’d like to think about.
Sometimes people suck. They don’t appreciate women working in trades.
And I’ve learned that it’s a waste of my time to try to educate them on anything.
They have their minds made up. Yeah, I need money.
But I’m not going to let anyone talk to me or treat me like this.
I won’t tolerate it, especially when Owen’s watching.
I’m trying to teach him that we deserve better.
Later that afternoon, while Owen’s at basketball practice with Ollie, I’m elbow deep in the stubborn guts of another truck when the shop door swings open and my besties arrive to save my sanity.
Violet breezes in first, holding a giant brown bag like she’s delivering life support. “I’m here to judge your playlist and gossip about everything you haven’t told me about the shower incident and that asshole bothering you.”
Cami appears right behind her with a giant cake, eyes lighting up. “We got your group text. I heard drama and came running. Please tell me you pulled a Sully and broke their kneecaps.”
Before I can respond, Maggie from the Dogwood Inn marches in carrying a pitcher of what looks like margaritas and a stack of cups under her arm. “Girls, I brought drinks. Poppy needs emotional support.”
In five seconds, Murphy’s Auto Shop becomes a three-ring circus and not the cold and lonely shop it has felt like all day.
“Cami, that is a massive cake.” I laugh when I see it has the word congratulations on it.
“I’m working on test cakes for an upcoming wedding and had extra.” She reaches into a paper bag and produces a handful of forks with a grin. “We’re not even gonna cut it. Just eat it.”
I shrug. “Sounds good to me.”
Violet hops up onto the counter and settles in. Cami pushes a straw into her drink and starts talking smack about rude customers. Maggie is already arranging sandwiches as if this were a catered event and muttering, “Anyone insults my girls, they answer to me.”
I laugh until my ribs ache, caught up in the joking and the warmth of it, the kind of laughter that sneaks up on you and reminds you that you’re not doing life by yourself.
“Okay, so tell me what happened,” Violet demands as she takes a forkful of cake. “Mmmm.” She nods. “That’s good!”
“Thanks,” Cami says proudly.
“It was so embarrassing,” I admit. “I didn’t know he was there and he saw...everything.”
Cami shrugs. “And? Maybe it’s time you take it to the next level.”
I huff. “No! I told you guys. I can’t mess up what we have.”
Maggie smirks at me. “I think it’d be fun to mess it up.”
Cami scrunches her nose. “Well, that’s my brother, but I hate to say it. Maggie’s right. Maybe you should have a little getaway with Ollie. Like, get stranded in a cabin in the snow. Or break down in the middle of nowhere and have to keep each other warm.”
I look at her and say dryly, “No.”
“Sounds romantic,” Violet says softly.
I shake my head, heart pounding. No getaways. Best friends don’t go on romantic getaways.
Because if I do, I won’t be able to pretend this is still just friendship.