Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
RILEY
Nathan Campbell wants to be my boyfriend.
Is this really happening or am I currently conked out on my pillow while my hyperactive imagination churns out the echoes of my childhood fantasies?
I pinch my cheek and feel the ache in my skin. Ouch.
Nat tilts his head to the side, observing me. “Did you just… pinch yourself?”
I stop short of extending my hand and asking if he can pinch me too. Just to confirm.
I’m an airplane maintenance technician. You can never go wrong with a double or triple check.
Nat chuckles as if I’m the cutest thing in the world and my brain melts.
Okay.
Think, Riley. Think.
If I’m real and Nat’s real, maybe there’s a bigger conspiracy? Maybe there are cameras around the corner and someone is going to jump out and yell ‘Whoops! It was a prank!’
My eyes dart around the small kitchen, darting from the rusty refrigerator to the tiny stove to the three overhead cupboards. I doubt anyone could hide bulky camera equipment in here.
So what does that mean?
It’s just me.
And Nathan Campbell.
And the question that’s still dangling in the air.
I feel a gentle touch on my chin as Nat turns my face back to him. “You with me, Carter?”
“Uh…”
Uh? Is that the best I can do?
I spent two-thirds of my life desperately and embarrassingly in full-on, down-bad, Bruno Mars-catch-a-grenade-and-other-mass-weaponry-for-you love with this man. And now that a literal fantasy is playing out right in front of me, I can’t think of a better thing to say than ‘uh’?
Nat’s smile is crooked and a little unsure. “You don’t have to say anything right now. You can think about it for as long as you need.”
Think about it?
What on earth is there to think about?
Nat backs away from me and I want to claw at his shirt and pull him close again. I want to grab his face and mush my lips on his and then pepper the skin from his neck up to his hairline with kisses.
But that would be too much.
So far, Nat has no idea that I’ve been obsessed with him for years and I can’t give him the ick this early on by being too much. I don’t want to scare him away.
Nat picks up the broom and continues sweeping.
I clear my throat and cross my legs as elegantly as I can. “Nat.”
His head swings around.
“I…”
Just then, my phone rings.
I look at the screen.
Unknown Number.
Conflicted, I hesitate to answer. It could be a customer, but I’m in the middle of something important. Can’t they wait?
The call persists.
With a groan, I tell Nat, “I need to take this.”
He lifts his chin in a ‘go on’ gesture.
This is not how I expected the morning to go and I am deeply annoyed at myself for hesitating.
I should have thrown my arms around Nat, told him that I’ve been his rabid and loyal fan since the day I learned that boys weren’t gross and admit that all the times I pushed him away recently was from self-preservation.
I should have told him I would gladly take him as my boyfriend if I could pretty please with cherries on top be his girlfriend in exchange.
But now I have a business call to answer and the moment is ruined and I hate everything about this picture.
“Hello.” I dig deep to sound as professional as possible. “This is Riley Carter.”
“Are you the one who fixed my wife’s car the other day?” An aggravated voice fills my ear.
“I’m not sure.” I hesitate because this customer sounds livid. “What’s your wife’s name?”
“It’s Belinda.”
We haven’t had that many customers, so I instantly pair the name to a face. Belinda is the woman who walked into our garage early this week asking for help with her brakes.
“Yes, we worked on the car for your wife. Is there a problem?”
Nat stops and looks over, his green eyes perusing my face.
“Yes, there’s a problem,” the caller says aggressively. He might as well have added ‘you idiot’ to the end of the phrase. “My wife took our car to your auto shop just a few days ago and this morning, we broke down in the middle of traffic.”
My back snaps pin-rod straight and my voice shifts from professional to concerned in an instant. “Are you still in traffic now? Have you called a tow service?”
“We’re calling a tow now and we’re bringing this car right back to your shop.”
“We’re not currently open, but first thing eight o’clock—”
“Eight o’clock? My wife took our car to you. She gave you the money. She upheld her end of the deal. Now, our car broke down because you didn’t fix it properly and you’re talking about showing up at eight? Are you serious right now? What kind of circus are you running?”
“Sir, if you’d calm down—”
“I told her to take the car to The Pink Garage. At least they don’t do shoddy work.”
The accusation stings, but I force myself to remain professional. “We’d be happy to look at the car again. Since this is an emergency, I’ll open the garage early to accommodate your tow truck. What time do you estimate it’ll arrive?”
“Don’t know. Maybe about twenty minutes.”
My heart beating double-time, I hop down from the counter full of adrenaline, but my body hasn’t caught up yet. My legs are asleep and they buckle when I land on the ground.
Nat helps me as I wobble on my feet. His fingers around my hand are firm and comforting.
“What’s wrong?” Nat mouths.
Swallowing my rising panic, I shake my head.
“I swear,” the customer continues belligerently, “I should have listened when Earl told me your shop was a waste of time. He said you’re a bunch of scammers and con artists.
Well, if you think you can con me out of my hard-earned money, you can think again!
You’re fixing what you’re supposed to or I’m suing. ”
I stop in my tracks and stare straight ahead.
‘Earl’ is the name of the first customer I worked with who got angry when he saw my estimate.
I’ve been trying really hard to forget about the ‘Earl incident’, but it seems like the bad reputation I earned with that customer is spreading like a bad seed to others.
The dial tone rings in my ear.
They hung up.
Nat presses his hand to my cheek. “Riles, you’re so pale. What was that call about?”
“Customer… broke down…” I speak in fragments, my eyes scanning the room in search of all the things I need. Keys. Steel-toed work boots. License. Shop keys.
Where did I put the shop keys? I can’t find them anywhere.
Twenty minutes.
Should I call Jimmy and Carlos? They worked on the car while I was test driving the church van with Blade, but what if they don’t answer? It’s almost seven o’clock, but that means nothing. I still haven’t managed to get the mechanics to come to work on time.
I’m a horrible manager.
It’s all my fault.
‘Because of your stupidity, every woman who comes after you will have to work hard to prove she’s not an idiot!’
I try to drown out the voice of my ex-supervisor.
Solve the problem in front of me first.
Shop keys.
Where are my shop keys?
“Hey, hey,” Nat whispers as he steps in front of me and grips my shoulders.
“I don’t have time, Nat,” I mumble. “I don’t know where I put my shop keys. I have to find them. I have to go fix this.”
Rather than let me go, Nat wraps his arms around me and pulls me to his chest. The moment I feel his embrace, the pressure swirling inside my heart loosens a bit.
Nat hugs me tighter. “The shop keys are in the key dish on top of the dresser near the door. I put them there last night.”
I try to push away.
Nat holds me fast.
It feels good, but it also feels undeserved. “I have to go.”
“You’re in panic mode. You won’t be able to find a solution when you’re this frazzled.” His hand cups the back of my head and runs over my hair in a soothing gesture. “Take a deep breath first.”
The problem with the customer looms over my head and I find it hard to listen.
“Come on, Riles,” Nat coaxes me. “Just for a second.”
I follow his instruction. With my head nestled against Nat’s shoulder, I inhale his cologne and the subtle woodsy fragrance that is distinctly him.
Slowly, my shoulders relax and my pulse settles down. Nat notices the shift in my demeanor because he steps back and brushes a lock of my hair behind my ear.
“Now, how can I help you?” he asks, staring intently at me.
“Can you get the shop keys while I get some things I need from my room?”
“Done.”
I rush to my bedroom to pull on a clean jumper, fasten my feet into work boots and rush outside. When I get there, Nat is by the door with my keys and a tumbler with a cover on it.
“You have a water cooler at the shop, right? I put the lime slices and a plastic container of honey in here. Fill it with warm water when you have a moment and drink. It’ll help with the headache and the nerves.”
“Okay.” I snatch the keys from him and take the mug only because he put in so much effort to prepare it for me.
And then I’m out the door.
But something doesn’t feel right.
I stop in the middle of the hallway, turn around and sprint to where Nat is waiting in my doorway, watching me.
Stuffing the mug and my keys in the crook of one elbow, I grab his shoulder, pounce on my tiptoes and press a kiss to his cheek.
His eyes widen.
“Thank you,” I say breathlessly and then I fly down the stairs as fast as I can.