Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
SANDRA
Istare out the passenger window of Diesel Torres's pickup truck, trying not to inhale too deeply. Masculine scents fill the cab—motor oil, pine, and something else I can’t quite place. Traitor body. The last thing I need right now is an attraction to the grumpiest mechanic in the Pacific Northwest.
"You can drop me at The Mountain Lodge," I say, breaking the silence that's stretched between us since we left his garage. "I appreciate the ride."
Diesel grunts in response, those large hands gripping the steering wheel. I can't help noticing the tattoos that cover his forearms, disappearing beneath the rolled sleeves of his flannel shirt. Intricate designs in black and blue that I'm suddenly curious to trace with my fingertips.
"So," I try again, "how long have you owned Grizzle & Grind?"
"Five years." His eyes remain fixed on the road.
I wait for him to elaborate. He doesn't.
"Wow. A real chatterbox," I mutter.
The corner of his mouth twitches, almost like he's fighting a smile. "You always this persistent?"
"You always this grumpy?" I shoot back.
That gets me a full glance, those dark eyes sliding over to me before returning to the road. "Yes."
I laugh despite myself. "At least you're honest about it."
The truck slows as we approach a rustic building with a wooden sign reading "The Mountain Lodge" swinging gently in the December breeze. Christmas lights outline the roof and windows, twinkling cheerfully against the gray afternoon sky.
"Here we are." Diesel shifts into park but leaves the engine running. "They've got decent rooms. Ask for Ellie. Tell her I sent you."
I gather my overnight bag from between my feet. "Thanks again for the ride. I'll see you tomorrow morning at nine."
His brow furrows. "Make it ten. I've got another client's bike first thing."
"Nine thirty," I counter, raising an eyebrow in challenge.
He stares at me for a long moment before shaking his head. "Nine thirty," he agrees, sounding almost amused beneath the gruffness.
I open the door and slide out but pause before closing it. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier. The car breaking down was just the cherry on top of an already crappy day."
Diesel studies me with those intense eyes. "Tomorrow's a new day," he finally says, like he's offering some kind of truce.
I nod and close the door, watching as he pulls away before turning toward the lodge entrance. Tomorrow is indeed a new day. And hopefully one where my grandfather's car can be saved.
The woman at the reception desk looks up as I enter, her smile warm and welcoming. "Hi there! Checking in?"
"Yes, please. I need a room for..." I hesitate. How long will the car repairs take? "Let's start with a week."
Her eyebrows rise slightly. "A week? Are you visiting family for Christmas?"
"No, car trouble. Diesel Torres suggested I stay here while he works on my car."
Recognition flashes in her eyes. "Diesel sent you? Well then, we'll have to take extra good care of you. He hardly ever refers people here." She starts typing on her computer. "I'm Ellie, by the way. Ellie Winters."
"Sandra Hemmings." I hand over my credit card. "Is Diesel always so..."
"Intimidating? Brusque? Generally terrifying to small children and puppies?" Ellie grins. "That's just his way. Deep down, he's a good man."
"Very deep down," I mutter, making her laugh.
"He's the best mechanic around here," Ellie continues, swiping my card. "If anyone can fix your car, it's Diesel."
I hope she's right. That Mustang represents more than just transportation to me. It's a connection to Grandpa Joe, a man who taught me everything from how to change a tire to how to stand my ground when the world tries to push me over.
"Here's your key. Room 12, up the stairs and to the right." Ellie hands me a literal key attached to a wooden fob—no electronic key cards here. "Breakfast is included, served from six to ten. The Wi-Fi password is on the card in your room. Anything else you need, just holler."
"Thanks, Ellie." I take the key, suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion from the day's events. "Is there somewhere I can grab dinner later?"
"Bean & Bloom Café stays open till eight. Best coffee and sandwiches in town. Or The Velvet Antler if you're looking for something fancier."
I nod my thanks and head upstairs to my room. It's cozy rather than cramped, with a rustic mountain theme that somehow avoids looking tacky. The bed is covered with a patchwork quilt, and a small electric fireplace provides both warmth and ambient light.
I drop my bag on the floor and collapse onto the bed, staring up at the wooden ceiling beams. What a day. What a month, really.
Two weeks ago, I was in Chicago, working seventy hours a week at a marketing firm I hated, engaged to a man I was increasingly sure I didn't love. Then Grandpa Joe's will was finally processed, leaving me his cabin in Crimson Hollow, British Columbia—a place I'd never even heard of.
"Time to live your authentic life, Sugar Bear," his letter had said. "The mountains have a way of stripping away pretense until all that's left is what truly matters."
Within days, I'd broken off my engagement to Martin, quit my soul-sucking job, and bought a Mustang just like Grandpa's to drive across the country border to this tiny mountain town. A classic case of third-life crisis at thirty-three.
Martin called it running away. I called it running toward something. I'm still not sure which of us is right.
And now here I am, stranded in a strange town with a broken-down car and a mechanic who looks like he belongs on the cover of "Grumpy Hot Guys Weekly," if such a magazine existed.
My stomach growls, interrupting my thoughts. I check the time on my phone—just past five. Plenty of time to grab dinner and then come back to plan my next steps.
After a quick shower and change of clothes, I head out into the crisp evening air.
Crimson Hollow's Main Street is decked out for Christmas, with garlands strung across the lampposts and storefronts glowing with holiday lights.
Snow dusts the sidewalks, and the scent of pine and wood smoke fills the air.
Despite my circumstances, I can't help smiling at the picturesque scene.
Bean & Bloom Café is easy to find, a cheerful storefront with large windows and a chalkboard sign advertising "Winter Warmers" and "Grandma's Comfort Food." The bell over the door jingles as I enter, and the rich aroma of coffee and baked goods envelops me.
"Welcome to Bean & Bloom!" A dark-skinned woman with gorgeous natural hair and flour-dusted hands greets me from behind the counter. "I don't think I've seen you around before."
"Just got into town today." I approach the counter, eyeing the display case of pastries. "My car broke down, and I'm staying at The Mountain Lodge while it gets fixed."
Her eyes twinkle. "At Grizzle & Grind? With Diesel?"
I nod, wondering if everyone in this town knows everyone else's business. "Word travels fast."
She laughs. "Small town. I'm Sage, by the way. This is my place."
"Sandra Hemmings." I extend my hand, and she wipes hers on her apron before shaking it. "Ellie at the lodge recommended your food."
"Ellie's good people. What can I get you? Kitchen’s still open for another hour."
I order a grilled chicken sandwich and a coffee, then take a seat by the window. The café is about half full, with locals chatting over steaming mugs and plates of food. It's cozy and welcoming, the kind of place where regulars have their own tables and newcomers are noticed but not unwelcome.
My food arrives quickly, delivered by a server with a friendly smile. I'm halfway through my sandwich—which is delicious—when the bell over the door jingles again.
I glance up and nearly choke on my bite when Diesel walks in, his imposing presence filling the small café. Several patrons call out greetings, which he acknowledges with nods or grunts. His eyes scan the room and land on me, widening slightly in surprise.
Our gazes lock, and for a moment, I can't look away. There's something magnetic about him, something that draws me in despite his prickly exterior. Or maybe because of it. I've always been attracted to challenges.
Before I can decide whether to wave him over or pretend I didn't see him, he makes the decision for me, striding to my table with purpose.
"Mind if I sit?" he asks, already pulling out the chair across from me.
"Please, make yourself at home," I say dryly, gesturing to the chair he's already claiming.
He settles his large frame into the seat, and suddenly the table feels much smaller. "Settling in okay?"
"So far, so good. The lodge is nice." I take a sip of my coffee. "Small world, running into you here."
"Small town," he corrects. "Only three decent places to eat. Four if you count the diner on the edge of town, but their coffee tastes like dishwater."
"I'll keep that in mind." I study him across the table. Up close, he's even more handsome than I initially thought. Strong jawline with a day's worth of stubble, straight nose, full lips that look surprisingly soft compared to the hardness of the rest of his face.
"See something you like?" he asks, catching me staring.
Heat floods my cheeks. "Just trying to figure you out."
"Nothing to figure out. What you see is what you get."
"Somehow I doubt that." I lean forward, propping my chin on my hand. "Nobody's that simple."
Sage approaches our table with a coffee pot. "The usual, Diesel?"
He nods, and she fills a mug for him before giving me a look I can't quite interpret.
"So," I say once Sage has moved on to other tables, "have you lived in Crimson Hollow long?"
He takes a sip of his coffee before answering. "Five years. Moved here to start the garage."
"From where?"
"Vancouver." His tone doesn't invite further questions about his past.
Naturally, it makes me even more curious. "And before that?"
Those dark eyes narrow slightly. "You always this nosy?"