Chapter 4 #2
“Just like it sounds—an old car that’s been sitting in a garage or a barn or in someone’s front yard.”
“And how do you find these barn finds?”
“I have a lot of contacts in the community. When another collector finds a car they think I might like, they call me. Because I replace the engine, a lot of cars that don’t work for collectors are perfect for me.
” I had never heard Wyatt say so much about himself.
I wanted to hear more. “I also go to estate sales, and some weekends I just tool around the countryside looking for old cars in fields.” His whole face lit up as he talked about his business.
He reminded me of a little boy talking about a new game.
“There’s nothing like finding a vehicle coated in dust in the back of an old shed and giving it a new life.
” I nodded along. I knew what he was talking about.
“So basically we do the same thing,” I said. “Except instead of working with cars, I work with people.”
“I never thought of that,” Mo said thoughtfully.
“I’m curious,” I continued. “Say you have a client who asks for a Porsche, how long till you find one?”
“Not that long,” Wyatt answered. “I can usually find something online in a few days, sometimes a couple weeks. I have a growing list of casual collectors who might be willing to sell an old car. Sometimes I find a similar car, but not exactly what the customer asked for. Often it’s a better choice.
Some people like it when I offer them something unique. But most don’t.”
“I have the same problem with my clients,” I said. The more Wyatt explained his work, the more I saw the parallels between our professions. “Though it’s probably easier to get someone to try a new dress than to pay to refurbish a vintage car they’ve never heard about.”
“Oh, definitely,” he said. “Each car costs a small fortune.”
“That’s why you need investors.” Mo chimed in. “With more money, you could purchase every barn find and build another warehouse to store them.”
Wyatt turned to his dad, a little baffled.
“That’s exactly what I want to do. Plus, hire a few more mechanics.
And maybe an accountant. I want to build some inventory, so that I have a dozen or so vintage cars ready to sell for impulse buyers.
” Wyatt’s whole face was aglow with enthusiasm.
This was not his usual nonchalant cool guy persona.
And I really liked it. “People always ask for the same cars: a Mustang, a Porsche, a Bronco, and I like all of those makes. But there are so many great options out there. If only my customers could see them all shiny and new, they might branch out and find the ride that suits them best.”
“That’s exactly how I feel about my clients. Some only want brands they know. They aren’t willing to branch out and try new designers. Even if it’s a really cool brand.”
“That’s frustrating,” said Wyatt with genuine sympathy. I took this as an opening for another pitch.
“You realize you’re doing the same thing to me?”
“How’s that?” he asked.
“You’re rejecting my vision.”
Wyatt raised an eyebrow. “You have a vision for me, Caroline?”
“I’m working on one. I’ve started a Wyatt Knox Pinterest board.”
I held up my phone and snapped a photo of his bemused smile. I got the picture before he raised a hand to block his face. I got a shot of that, too. Both were going on his Pinterest board.
“Thank you!” I said smugly.
“I still haven’t agreed to this.”
“What would you say your style words are?” I persisted.
“Style words?” Wyatt asked, mystified.
“Yes, I find having a few words or a phrase to describe your look can help when selecting clothes and accessories. For example, my style phrase is California Royal.”
“California Royal.” He laughed. “Sorry, Caroline, that doesn’t clear things up at all. Are you saying you’re royalty?”
“Are you saying I’m not?” My flirtatious comment surprised me. In general, I was terrible at flirting. I didn’t know how to be anything but straightforward and awkwardly blunt. But Wyatt was such an incurable flirt, I found myself jumping into his lighthearted banter.
“Apologies, Your Majesty,” he said.
“Accepted. But seriously, that’s kind of the idea.
I know I’m not royal, but I want everything I wear to signal I’m worthy of adoration.
Also, ‘royal’ denotes old-money, family, and class—all things I aspire to.
California conjures carefree romance, natural beauty, and a hint of glamour. So, again, what are your style words?”
“I have no idea, Your Majesty.” He was teasing, but I didn’t mind the nickname.
“Well then, what is your dream car?”
“Easy, a 1994 Land Rover Defender 90.”
“That’s very specific.” I took my phone out of my purse and repeated back what he said as I typed it in. “1994 Land Rover Defender 90?”
“Yes, that’s the one. You looking it up?”
I nodded. The Jeep-like vehicle appeared on my screen. It was a beauty. I immediately pinned it to Wyatt’s Pinterest board. So this was how Wyatt Knox saw himself: I admired the car’s clean lines, then glanced up at the man sitting across from me. I couldn’t wait to put him in a suit.
“What do you think?” he asked with a hint of vulnerability.
“I like it—a lot. Looking at this car, a few words come to mind: rugged, powerful... maybe traditional?” My eyes flicked to Wyatt, who watched me expectantly. “No, not traditional, that’s the wrong connotation. What about classic, yeah, classic. That’s perfect for you. Is this your car?”
“Not yet. I don’t have the cash to splurge on that for myself. It has a V8 engine. That sort of power is harder to replicate with an electric motor. But some day,” he said with a wistful look.
“Okay, so we have your style words,” I said them aloud as I typed them into my phone.
“Classic, rugged, and powerful. You’re doing pretty good with classic and rugged.
Though I think you should focus a little more on the classic and less on the rugged.
But with a haircut and few tweaks, we can fix that.
Now we need to work on the powerful.” I was already imagining Wyatt in a few power suits.
“Let me fix your wardrobe. And you’ll soon have enough money to retrofit your own Defender. ”
Mo liked my speech, I could tell. He looked ready to give me a standing ovation. But Wyatt’s eyes narrowed.
“Caroline, I already told you, there’s no way you’re going to get me to do this.” He laughed dismissively. He saw my work as a joke.
“You only say that because you underestimate me. I’m not one to back away from a challenge.”
“I never underestimate you, Caroline,” Wyatt said softly, setting down his knife and fork.
He sat up a little taller. “But I am not a challenge.” His eyes flashed.
“I am not a pawn in whatever strange game you two are playing.” He looked between his dad and me.
“I’m not an old car. I’m a man with my own thoughts and feelings.
” His eyes locked with mine. “And you’d do best to remember that. ”