Chapter 2 #2
"Inquisitive," I correct. "I like learning about people."
"Why?"
The question surprises me. "What do you mean, why?"
"Why do you care where I'm from or what I did before I came here?" He leans forward, those intense eyes fixed on mine. "What does it matter?"
I consider his question seriously. "I guess because I believe everyone has a story worth hearing. Including grumpy mechanics who act like basic small talk is an interrogation."
To my surprise, he chuckles, a deep, rusty sound like he doesn't use it often. "Fair enough."
"Your turn," I say, finishing the last bite of my sandwich.
"My turn for what?"
"To ask me something. That's how conversations work. I ask, you answer. You ask, I answer."
He studies me for a long moment, and I resist the urge to fidget under his gaze. "What brings you to Crimson Hollow? And don't say car trouble."
I laugh despite myself. "I inherited a cabin from my grandfather. I came to check it out, maybe stay a while."
"Where's the cabin?"
"According to the will, it's off Pine Ridge Road. I haven't seen it yet." I twist my coffee mug between my hands. "I was heading there when the car broke down."
Diesel's eyebrows rise. "Old Man Joe's place? You're Joe Hemmings' granddaughter?"
Now it's my turn to be surprised. "You knew my grandfather?"
"Everyone knew Old Man Joe. He was a fixture around here." Diesel's expression softens slightly. "Good man. Helped me out when I first came to town."
A lump forms in my throat. "I didn't realize he was so well-known here. We weren't close when I was growing up, and then after my parents died, he became my world." I swallow hard. "When he passed last year, I found out he'd been living here for the past decade. Left me everything in his will."
Diesel nods, something like understanding flickering in his eyes. "The cabin needs work, but it's in a good spot. Great views of the valley."
"You've been there?"
"Helped him replace some rotten boards on the porch last spring." He takes another sip of his coffee. "Didn't know he was sick."
"Cancer," I say quietly. "It was quick, at least. He didn't suffer long."
A comfortable silence falls between us, surprisingly free of the awkwardness that often accompanies conversations about death.
"I'll have Marcus look at your car first thing tomorrow," Diesel finally says. "Get a better idea of what we're dealing with."
"I thought you were going to handle it personally." I can't keep the disappointment from my voice.
Those dark eyes flick to mine. "Marcus is my apprentice. He'll do the initial diagnostic under my supervision. I don't let anyone touch a classic without my sign-off."
"So you'll still be involved?"
"It's my garage. I'm involved in everything that happens there."
I nod, satisfied with his answer. "Thank you. That car means a lot to me, even if it is a piece of junk."
The corner of his mouth quirks up. "Good to know you're not completely delusional about its condition."
"I may be sentimental, but I'm not stupid." I drain the last of my coffee. "The guy who sold it to me, on the other hand..."
"Let me guess. Slick salesman, promised it was fully restored, conveniently avoided letting you look under the hood?" Diesel's tone is knowing.
"Something like that." I smile ruefully. "In my defense, I don't know much about cars beyond the basics. Grandpa taught me how to change a tire and check my oil, but that's about it."
"Most people don't." He shrugs. "That's why mechanics stay in business."
"Is that why you became one? Job security?"
Something flickers across his face, too quick to identify. "I've always been good with my hands. Fixing things makes sense to me in a way people don't."
The simple honesty of his statement surprises me. "That's... actually pretty profound."
He rolls his eyes. "Don't make it more than it is."
"Too late." I grin at him. "I caught a glimpse of the real Diesel Torres beneath all that grouchiness."
"Don't get used to it." He drains his coffee and stands. "I should get back to the garage. Still have work to finish before closing."
I glance at my watch, surprised to see we've been talking for nearly an hour. "Thanks for the company."
He nods, reaching for his wallet, but I wave him off.
"My treat," I say. "Consider it a thank you for the ride earlier."
He looks like he wants to argue but just nods instead. "See you tomorrow. Nine thirty."
"Nine thirty," I confirm.
As he walks away, I watch the confident way he moves, the breadth of his shoulders beneath his jacket. Several other patrons call out goodbyes as he leaves, which he acknowledges with that same economy of movement.
Sage approaches my table, coffee pot in hand. "Refill?"
"Please." I hold out my mug, noting the speculative look in her eyes. "What?"
"Nothing." She fills my cup. "Just don't often see Diesel willingly engaging in conversation with strangers."
"We're not strangers. I'm his customer."
Sage's smile is knowing. "He has lots of customers. Doesn't sit and chat with most of them."
I'm not sure how to respond to that, so I change the subject. "The sandwich was delicious. Do you make them yourself?"
"Everything's made in-house. Been running this place for five years now." She glances around the café with obvious pride. "It's home."
"That's what I'm hoping to find here," I admit. "A place that feels like home."
Sage's expression softens. "Old Man Joe's cabin, right? I heard you're his granddaughter."
I nod, no longer surprised that she knows. "News really does travel fast around here."
"Faster than light," she confirms with a laugh. "Especially when you are talking in a crowded café. But that's not always a bad thing. Means people look out for each other."
I finish my coffee and pay my bill, but my mind is stuck on Diesel Torres and the way he looked at me across the table. Like he was trying to figure me out just as much as I was trying to figure him out.
Tomorrow, I'll see him again. And maybe, just maybe, I'll get another glimpse beneath that grumpy exterior.
Outside, snow has begun to fall, dusting the streets with a fresh coat of white. Christmas lights twinkle against the darkening sky, and the scent of pine and wood smoke fills the air. For the first time since arriving in Crimson Hollow, I feel something like hope stirring in my chest.
Grandpa Joe sent me here for a reason. Maybe it wasn't just about the cabin after all.