Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
RILEY
On Sunday, I spend hours watching the video links that Rebel sent me. She curated a bunch of useful trainings on auto shop management.
I latch onto the tutorials like a life raft in a storm.
Studying is a perfect distraction from yesterday’s horrifying incident.
“Good customer dialogue is imperative when running a garage,” the white-haired man on the screen informs me.
I jot down ‘good dialogue’ in my notebook.
Do I need to leave the house to have great dialogue with customers?
Can I just manage the garage from my living room?
I groan and turn the video off. Wrapping my fingers around my cell phone I give in to the terrible habit that I picked up at exactly 7:05pm yesterday when I returned home from the fair in a heap of embarrassment and shame.
I open social media.
And type in: Nathan Campbell.
His smiling picture stares up at me from a bright, colorful grid.
One picture is of Nathan in black and white, his face turned to the sea as the wind ruffles his dark hair.
He used to have such thick hair. I loved the way it curled slightly at the ends and I used to wish I could run my fingers through it to test how soft it was.
Another picture is of Nathan showing off his Black Ink Collective special edition jersey. He beams a toothy grin.
That smile won the hearts of many girls at Carleton Oaks High School.
Too many girls, if you ask me.
The last picture is of Nat in his official league jersey thanking his fans for all the thoughts and prayers.
He hasn’t updated the account since then.
I wonder if his leg is okay?
Does it still hurt…
Nope.
No.
I can’t do this again. It took me years to get over my one-sided crush.
At that moment, my phone buzzes.
Dina: When are you coming to see me?
I bite down on my bottom lip as guilt strikes me in the center of my chest.
Riley: This week. I promise.
Dina: Bring candy. These geezers aren’t letting me eat any sugar in here.
I sigh heavily and run my hands down my face as my thoughts whirl like a tornado. There’s something about Nathan that makes me feel like an awkward, clueless girl again, but I’m an adult now. I have people to consider, secrets to keep, a life to rebuild.
I’m mortified that he found out who I am after I tried to avoid him. I’ll have to answer for that someday. Maybe not tomorrow, but Nat will corner me eventually.
He’s persistent like that.
Feeling restless, I pull on a giant hoodie, stick sunglasses over my face and head outside to take out my trash. It’s overkill to dress like this, sure, but Nat seems to be everywhere in this small town. I can never be too careful.
I look both ways as I cut across the parking lot to the garbage containers in the alley next to my apartment.
As I draw near, I hear cans clanking together. I hold my breath but, when I turn the bend, there’s no six-foot five hockey player lurking in the shadows.
It’s one of my neighbors.
At least I assume she’s one of my neighbors. I doubt any sane person would come all this way just to steal our garbage.
“Hey,” I say, taking one of the garbage bags and dumping it in.
“Hey.” The woman does a double-take when she sees my getup and her short black hair swishes behind her like a fan. “You okay?”
I stop with my hand into my bag of empty soda bottles. Is the fact that I avoided my childhood crush for days only to have a spotlight blare down on me while my full government name was announced tattooed on my face?
The woman gestures to her eyes, which are impressively big. “You’re wearing sunshades. At night. And a hoodie. In the heat.”
In other words, I look ridiculous.
Sheepishly, I take the sunglasses off and hook them in the collar of my blouse. Then I throw back the hood dramatically, like a superhero revealing her identity.
And the day is saved. Thanks to… ‘Reduce, Reuse and Recycle Girl’.
The woman’s eyes widen and a friendly smile lights up her face. “You’re Riley Carter.”
“How do you know that?”
“You fixed the go-cart at the fair yesterday. It was in the nursing home group chat.”
“The what?”
“I’m Cordelia. I work at The Pink Garage.” She offers a handshake.
A fellow mechanic?
I shake her head. There are callouses on her fingertips. If I didn’t believe her before, I surely do now. Cordelia’s hands are the hands of a tradeswoman.
“I like your jacket,” I point.
“Thanks. I like your sunglasses. They’re very James Bond.”
“You can have them if you want. My spy days are behind me.” And I mean it. I will never again peek at Nathan Campbell’s social media. The snooping I did ten minutes ago was the last time.
“Thanks.” Cordelia laughs. “But I think they’ll look better on you than me.”
“As a fellow mechanic, I have a question, and I hope you don’t think it’s rude.”
“Shoot.”
“Do you actually ride or is all that leather just for the aesthetic?”
She points to a Harley that’s sitting prettily under the moonlight. I hadn’t paid attention to it when I was sneaking outside, but now it’s all I can see.
My eyes fill with stars. “Wow. She’s beautiful. I’ve always wanted a Harley.”
“You should totally give it a try. I can’t imagine life without my bike.”
We start chatting about motorcycles until someone above us raises their window.
“Pipe it down!” An old man’s shaky voice fills the air. “I’m trying to watch The Price Is RIght!”
“Sorry!” Cordelia raises a hand in apology.
“How come I haven’t seen you since I moved in?” I finish dumping the rest of the recyclables and walk with her up the stairs. “I would have noticed that Harley. And even if I didn’t, with a muffler that size, I would have heard it.”
A stain brushes across her cheeks. “I—uh—spend a lot of time at my boyfriend’s place.” She ducks her head shyly.
“Nice. Let me guess. Your boyfriend is a biker and he got you into it?”
“Goodness no. He hates bikes.” She giggles. “And his daughter is obsessed with them. When it comes to bikes, it’s two against one now, so he’s always very stressed.”
“Sounds like he has his hands full.”
“Yeah. You should come over some time. My boyfriend is an amazing cook.”
“Thanks, but I’m a little busy right now.”
“Of course.” She bobs her head in understanding. “Since we’re neighbors and fellow mechanics, feel free to call me if you ever need help with the shop or your mom...”
I stiffen. “My mom?”
“I heard you moved here because your mom’s in the Happy Go Lucky nursing home.”
My jaw drops.
Cordelia notices and puts a hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry. Was that a secret?”
“Rebel told you?”
“I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“It’s fine.” I realize now that I did tell Rebel a family member was moving into the Happy Go Lucky nursing home. She must have assumed it was my mom.
I stop at my door which is closer to the stairs than Cordelia’s apartment, lost in thought.
Cordelia clears her throat. “Well, I’m glad to finally meet you. Rebel was singing your praises for weeks, so I couldn’t wait to talk to you.”
“I hope her trust in me wasn’t misplaced.”
“You’ll do great. I can already tell.”
I wish I had Cordelia’s confidence. I’m supposed to manage three mechanics who have terrible work habits, fix a shop that’s a complete eyesore, and I’ll have to apply my aviation maintenance training to a completely different field.
“I’m sorry again. For mentioning your mom,” Cordelia says. “I won’t repeat it if you don’t want me to.”
“It’s fine.” I don’t correct her about who’s in the nursing home. It’s a lot to explain to a neighbor I just met.
Cordelia waves goodbye and then turns back halfway to her door. “Oh, do you like hockey?”
I freeze.
“Fastest way to get a feel for the town is to come to a hockey game. They’re having a training camp right now, but the team has scrimmages every Friday night. Two-thirds of the town shows up. It’s a whole thing. You should come.”
My smile tightens. Come and watch Nathan Campbell on the ice, all handsome and tall in his hockey gear?
“I’m not really into hockey,” I mumble.
“Oh.” Cordelia bobs her head. “Okay then.”
“Goodnight,” I say in a rush as I barge into my apartment and slam the door closed.
Inside my apartment, I take a deep, calming breath. I really hope Rebel hasn’t told anyone else about my family member in the nursing home. If town gossip reaches Nathan, then Chris will find out and after that…
I cringe at the thought.
Too worried to keep watching training videos, I head to bed and eventually fall asleep.
The next morning, I get ready for the day with a bit of dread in my heart.
I’m the first one to arrive at the garage.
Which is… fine. I am pretty early.
But it would have been nice if someone else had taken the initiative to show up early too. Being earlier than the the lead mechanic was an unspoken part of the job back in avionics.
The shutters make a loud, groaning sound as I push them up and step into the garage. The air smells stale and I go about pushing up all the shutters to let in a breeze.
When I’m done, I hear footsteps approaching.
“It’s about time,” I say with a bit of an edge, ready to lay into the late employee.
“I agree,” a deep voice that does not belong to Carlos, Jimmy or Blade rumbles behind me. “Hello, Riley.”