Chapter 7
Throw Pillows
Wyatt
Isaac had called in sick, so I spent all day in the shop.
Not that I minded. Working on cars and solving problems was my jam.
But I was criminally behind on all the paperwork for my small company, Class E Motors.
Until I hired an assistant, my only option was to work late into the night.
But before I attacked my mountain of paperwork, I took the time to wipe down my tools, just as my father had taught me.
Being a mechanic is messy work, but it doesn’t have to be.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you as a clean freak.” At the sound of Caroline’s voice, my whole body became alert. I spun around. She stood in the open garage door wearing a pink sun dress, gilded in the lowering sun.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. It had been a week since I had last seen her.
And yes, I had considered texting her when I found she had left her number and sent an obnoxious but very true text from my phone to hers.
Why not ask her out? I pretty much showed her my cards when I said, Greg’s only had one thing that I ever wanted.
I cringed every time I thought of that. I didn’t know what came over me.
I think it might have been Caroline’s startling candor.
The way she talked about her dream of having a family.
It tempted me into saying too much, too soon.
But apparently, I hadn’t scared her off.
Because here she was sashaying into my garage like a stray cat begging for scraps.
“I came to see you,” she said with an enigmatic smile. This must be about her plan to make me over.
“I told you, Caroline. I don’t need your services.”
“I couldn’t disagree more. What are you wearing right now?”
Just minutes before, I had taken off my coveralls. Underneath, I wore basketball shorts and a white tank top.
“No one expects me to dress up when I’m working on cars,” I said, returning a socket wrench to its outline on my pegboard.
“Coco Chanel maintained that one should dress everyday as if you’re going to meet your worst enemy or your biggest love,” she said.
“Which am I?”
“Enemy—obviously.”
“You keep telling yourself that,” I said, folding my arms across my chest. Her eyes followed my every move. I scratched a non-existent itch on my face as an excuse to make my bicep pop. Caroline watched with fascination. “So did you just stop by to get a better look at my guns?”
“Shut up!” She scowled. “I’m here to help you.”
“You mean the makeover? Hasn’t anyone ever told you, Caroline?
No means no.” She stifled a laugh. Trying to make Caroline laugh was my new favorite pastime.
“In any case, I don’t have time,” I said as I turned off the lights in the garage.
The open bay doors let in enough evening light for us to see.
“I have endless paperwork to do tonight.”
“This is a pretty car,” she said, purposefully ignoring my comment. Caroline ran a hand over the hood of the 1975 BMW I had nearly finished restoring. “Was this the original color?”
“Yes, this time we matched the paint exactly. It depends on the customer’s wishes.”
She peeked through the window. “Leather seats! Nice! Are they original?”
“No, we don’t bother restoring cars to their original condition. There’s nothing original about an electric motor. Our cars are for everyday use. We do everything we can to make them comfortable and safe and just as fast and convenient as any luxury vehicle on the market.”
“You sound like a car commercial.”
“I certainly hope so.”
“And when you say ‘we,’ you mean ‘you’? You don’t have a partner or anything? Right?”
“Yeah, it’s just me. And one mechanic, Isaac.”
“Not your dad?”
“No, he abhors what I do.” I chuckled. “He says it’s a crime against humanity, destroying vintage cars. But I think cars should be driven every day, not just to car shows.”
Caroline nodded. “I feel the same about clothes. Fine, save a few pieces and put them in a museum. But it seems a shame to leave a beautiful dress in the closet.” She continued her inspection of the car.
“Wow, this is gorgeous. I bet it was expensive.”
“Some people have more money than they know how to spend,” I said. “Which is good for me.”
“Life’s not fair,” muttered Caroline.
“True. But I’d argue that even if we aren’t the super-rich, we are still some of the lucky ones.”
“I suppose.” She twisted her pearls. “But sometimes I don’t feel lucky—at least not compared to Charlie.
” I didn’t know what to say to that. My brain was only half functioning; the other half was freaking out that Caroline was here at my shop.
“That’s why I came by. I’m having dinner with my brother tonight.
Charlie’s a venture capitalist, remember. And he told me to bring you.”
I stopped in my tracks. “You play dirty.”
She had a triumphant face, just like when she won that game of Hearts. She thought she had me because of her brother and the promise of him investing in my company, but the truth was, I could never say no to Caroline’s obnoxious winning face.
“Fine, I’ll go—and thank you.”
“This is not a date.” She said far too fast.
“I got it. You wouldn’t want to be seen dating the low-life mechanic.”
That comment hit its target. Caroline’s face fell.
“You know it’s not that.” Did I? I didn’t think I would ever understand why she had been willing to date Greg, but could barely give me the time of day. “But you certainly can’t go dressed like that.” She waved a hand at me.
“Of course not. I wouldn’t go like this. I need to shower.” I was sweaty and covered with grease and dirt.
“Great, and I’m going to pick your outfit.”
“I can dress myself,” I said forcefully.
“But I can dress you better.”
“Fine, just this once. To be clear, I’m not hiring you.”
“Not hiring me yet. Where do you live?”
“Don’t you know?” I asked. Her face was blank. Either she was a great actress, or my dad hadn’t told her. I pointed to the ceiling.
“Here?” she asked with incredulity bordering on disdain. “Is that even legal?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Aren’t there zoning laws and stuff?”
“It’s legal. And this way I have 24-hour security at the shop.
” This was hardly an exaggeration. Since I started my business, I had put in long hours, and I rarely went out.
Caroline followed me out of the garage into the parking lot.
The shingled building was built in the style of a carriage house with three garages and a gabled second story.
An old-fashioned signboard ran across the building.
In an old-timey font, it read: Class E Motors with a lightning bolt at the end.
She pointed to the metal warehouse on the other side of the parking lot.
“Is that building yours, too?”
“Yeah, it can hold up to a dozen cars. It’s already almost at capacity.”
“How much land do you own here?” She waved to the woods behind the shop and the golden pastures beyond the car barn.
“About ten acres. Plenty of room to expand,” I said with some pride. “That’s why I’m excited to speak to your brother.”
“It’s pretty here.” She faced the garage and the grove of trees immediately behind it.
“I think so.” I opened the red door leading to my apartment. As we climbed the staircase, I tried to recall the state of my place. I was generally tidy. But “Inviting Caroline Bingham to my place” was definitely not on my Bingo card this morning.
Caroline stepped into my living room and let out a delighted sigh, “I could live here!” I knew her reaction had nothing to do with me.
Still, my foolish heart skipped at the throwaway comment.
“I didn’t expect so much light,” she said, walking through the room slowly.
She took in the large windows, the soft sectional, and a wall of bookshelves loaded with plants, books, and family photos.
It was a welcoming space. My mom had done an excellent job designing my apartment, creating a living area that was both open and cozy.
“My mom helped with the design.”
“I love the view.” Caroline stood by the large window, looking out over the woods behind the garage. “I would have never guessed you had such a cool apartment.”
“Did you think I lived under the viaduct?” I teased.
“No, but not this. Wyatt!” She pointed to the shelves on the wall. “You’re a plant lady! Look at those ferns.” She lovingly examined the green fronds. Then turned to me. “How do you do it? I always kill plants.”
“It’s all your snark. You have to say nice things to them.”
She made a face and continued to the kitchen with stainless steel counters and restaurant-grade appliances. The wooden shelves, stocked with cookbooks, potted herbs, and some of my mom’s favorite dishes, made the industrial kitchen a little more homey.
“A pink cake stand?” She held up the ruffle-edged dish.
“It was my mom’s.”
“She had excellent taste,” Caroline said, setting the stand back on the shelf.
She circled back to the living room and began inspecting my bookshelf. She was being terribly nosy. But I didn’t mind. I kind of liked it.
“I’ve always wanted a home with lots of books,” she said, running her hands along the spines of my sci-fi and fantasy novels.
She picked up a framed photo of my mom and me together, standing by the Grand Canyon.
“I liked your mom.” She set it back on the shelf.
“Me too.”
“Do you mind talking about her?” Caroline didn’t sound nervous the way people often did when I mentioned my dead mother.
“Not at all. I love to talk about her. But it makes people uncomfortable.”
“I felt uncomfortable that summer,” she said. “When I found out. I wanted to say something to you and your dad. But I didn’t know what to say. Also, I spent most of that reunion hiding from you.”
“And my beard,” I quipped.
She frowned a little. “I’m trying to be serious here. This is not the time to bring up the kiss.”