Chapter 8
Poppy
Spin You Around by Morgan Wallen
Music thumps through the shop, loud enough to keep my hands moving but not loud enough to quiet my brain. It’s supposed to drown out the noise, the worry, the constant what now that’s been circling my life lately, but it barely makes a dent.
I’ve only had one customer today. An oil change. One. It’s not enough to keep me busy. And definitely not enough to stop my brain from replaying last night over and over, every look and every word stuck on repeat, no matter how hard I try to shake it.
I scrub grease from my hands as if I scrub hard enough, I can erase the memory of almost kissing my best friend on my front porch.
It doesn’t work. I didn’t sleep well. Every time I closed my eyes, Ollie was there.
Standing too close. His hand cupping my chin.
His voice was low and steady when he told me he wanted me.
He wasn’t joking about it. He meant it. He was dead serious.
The look on his face was real, raw, and terrifying.
He wants me, and I’m still trying to figure out what the hell I’m supposed to do with that information.
Because I want to want him, God, I do. But the second I imagine letting him close, really close, it feels like standing on the edge of a cliff with no railing. One bad step and everything falls apart. And things already feel shaky enough in my life.
Loving Ollie means trusting that someone won’t leave. And that has never gone well for me.
My mom died, and then my dad somehow became a completely different person and abandoned us in the most vulnerable and horrible moments of our lives.
People leave in different ways, and I learned that early.
I learned to expect that, and that’s what’s so hard about this.
It’s hard to handle good when you’re dealing with shit sandwiches.
I hear heavy footsteps overhead. The apartment floor creaks, followed by the unmistakable sound of boots thudding on the stairs. Then Ollie gets to the bottom of the steps, and my brain completely shorts out.
He’s shirtless and sweaty. His chest is all muscles and glistening, and my mouth goes dry just looking at him. His hair sticks up like he ran his hands through it too many times.
The full firefighter workout fantasy has entered my workplace. My stomach does an unhelpful swoop. Fantastic. Now I’m going to be weird. Best friends don’t think about tracing the outline of their best friend’s muscles.
“You doing okay this morning?” he asks, like he hasn’t been haunting my every waking thought.
“I’m great,” I say way too fast. “Totally great.”
He lifts one eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.
He takes a swig from his bottle of water and leans his hip against the workbench, sweat sliding down his neck, and I have to physically force my eyes away.
“Okay,” he says. “I’m heading on shift for the next two days. You know where to find me if you need anything.”
Ball’s in my court. Typical, Ollie. He won’t push me. He’ll wait for me. But for how long? How many chances will he give me to love him?
Instead, I nod, trying to be casual and normal. Definitely not thinking about how much I already rely on him.
“Still leaving your truck?” I ask. “I want to rotate the tires and check the fluids. It’s making that weird noise again.”
“Yeah,” he says easily. “That’d be great. Thanks.”
“Owen has practice tonight,” I add. “How do you coach when you’re on shift?”
A smile spreads across his face. “The guys have pretty much adopted the team. If we’ve got practice or a game, we take the truck and stay close.
If a call comes in, we roll out, and Principal Masters steps in.
But we’ve made it to everything so far. Even Bucky loves it.
The guys even have a dry-erase board in the common room for plays.
We’re all having fun with it. We are having the team over for spaghetti night every week to build up morale. ”
My chest tightens. “That’s really cool,” I say. “Tell them thank you. All of them. I’d love to make you guys dinner sometime soon. Maybe desserts.”
Not just Ollie showing up for my brother. The whole damn fire department.
He pushes off the workbench. “You don’t have to do that, but we wouldn’t turn it down. I gotta go.”
He heads up the stairs, then pauses and looks back when he catches me watching him.
He smirks. I immediately regret having eyes. Kill me. Bury me. Friends do not stare at their friends like that.
Later that afternoon, an older gentleman in a dark brown jacket, button-down shirt and khaki pants walks into the shop. “Poppy Murphy?” he asks with a kind smile.
“That’s me,” I say, wiping my hands on a rag. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m Jim Fisher,” he says. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for over a week now. I’ve called and left voicemails. I teach automotive tech at the high school. I’m retiring after this year and… well, some of the teachers were talking. They think you’d be great to take over.”
I blink. Hard. Oh, wow. I haven’t had time to return his calls. I didn’t know what he wanted. Okay, now I feel bad.
“Wait,” I say. “You want me to teach?”
He nods, like he’s been waiting for the moment to explain. “If you’d be interested, we’d have you work with me this year and take over next. It’s good pay with benefits.”
He pauses, then smiles, softer now. “And honestly, your name’s been coming up for a while.”
I continue to gape at him in disbelief.
“Mack talks about you at school,” he says. “Not in a bragging way. Just matter of fact. My sister also teaches fifth grade and she’s mentioned you more than once. Says Owen’s proud of you and talks about you all the time. I think she had him last year.”
My throat tightens as he continues.
“A couple of the firefighters who help with basketball practice have talked about you too,” he adds. “They say when something breaks, you’re the one people call. You don’t cut corners. You explain things. You treat people right.”
He chuckles. “My wife brought her car to your shop last fall when I was out of town for a conference in Tennessee. When I came home, she told me I had to meet you. Said you didn’t talk down to her, didn’t upsell her, just fixed the problem and sent her on her way.
That matters. We need a strong, younger mechanic the kids can all learn from and look up to. ”
He leans back in his chair. “We want more female students in the trades. We want someone they can see themselves in. Around here, you’re kind of a pioneer whether you meant to be or not.”
His gaze meets mine, steady and sincere. “I think you’d be a great fit at the school. Really hoping you’ll say yes.”
The room feels very quiet after that.
And for the first time, it sinks in that this isn’t just an opportunity. It’s recognition for everything I’ve been building.
“I don’t have a teaching certificate,” I say, my mind racing a mile a minute, trying to think of reasons why this won’t work.
Something I have a bad habit of doing. When you live your life waiting for the other shoe to drop, it’s hard to see the good things in front of you when they happen.
But all I can think about is that this sounds like a dream.
“We know,” he replies easily. “You don’t need one for this position.
You’re a licensed mechanic. And over at the trade school, they still talk about you.
You’ve got quite a reputation for being great to work with.
You’re very good at what you do. We just have to run a background check and do your fingerprints.
Then the school can help you earn certification through its system.
We have time to do that before next year. ”
Wow. I swallow, not trusting my voice to respond. This is wildly unexpected but so cool.
“Just think about it,” he says, handing me a card with his email and number on it.
“We really want you. It’s a good salary, benefits, 401 (k), all of that.
I heard that you’re raising your brother.
He’d be able to hang out with you after school, and you would be on his school schedule. Holidays and summers off.”
“Wow, that sounds incredible. Thank you for considering me for this opportunity. I’ll definitely think about this and talk it over with my...my family.” I almost said my Ollie. Because that’s who I want to talk about it with. Immediately, I think of calling him to tell him the news.
I stare at the card long after he leaves. Did this really happen? It would mean a steady paycheck and insurance for Owen and me. I’ve been paying for everything out of pocket for us, and that has been hard. And a teaching position? This is a dream come true.
I look around my shop. At the lifts. The stains and the memories.
Some of the memories are good, but not all.
I wouldn’t have to take abuse from rude customers.
I could teach kids who actually want to learn.
I could help girls who don’t yet see themselves in these spaces.
And that really excites me. I haven’t been excited about what I do for a long time.
I sit on one of the stools and just stare at the toolbox, its tools missing again.
My dad takes what he wants, even though some of them are mine.
He thinks he has a right to anything I have here, and I have nothing solid.
Everything I have could be taken away by him at any time.
He makes sure that we know that, too. This could be something he can’t take away from me.
The door opens again, and Maggie comes in wearing her denim coat, denim jeans, and braided leather purse with intricate beading. Maggie is like our very own Dolly Parton here in Bridger Falls, and she has her hand in almost anything that goes on. That’s the life of Maggie.
“Hey, sugar. I heard Jim Fisher came to see you.”
“You,” I say, pointing. “You were behind that.”