Chapter 15
There’s a firm tap against my boot, and I glance down to see Malcolm at the bottom of my stepladder. My boss knows this is the best way to get my attention when I’m working, seeing as how I often have my earbud in my right ear and, like most work days, I opted not to wear my hearing aid.
I know it doesn’t always make sense to everyone, but sometimes I prefer to just rely on my right ear. Daren would often hunt me down and hand my aid to me. I never told him how that made me feel like a child. He wasn’t the one in charge of how I dealt with my hearing loss.
Malcolm assumes I don’t have the aid in and am always listening to music. Even though I keep the volume low to avoid additional damage to my good ear, shouting at me doesn’t guarantee I’ll hear him.
He only resorts to yelling my name when he’s feeling particularly grumpy. Like the day of the flower incident.
I pop out my AirPod. “What’s up?”
“Got someone for you to meet. Come by the office when you catch a break.” He strides away, command given.
For a second, I worry this is another Daren thing. Like maybe my ex has sent a singing candy gram to try to win me back. Not that it would help. More disruptions at my job would only piss me off further.
But that could be what Daren wants after Saturday.
Damn, he was furious.
I savor the sweet taste of revenge and ignore the bitterness that lingers on the back of my tongue. The sour note that reminds me that my heart is still broken, and no matter how much I piss off my ex, it won’t change the fact that he cheated on me.
After considering Malcolm’s summons, I doubt the visitor has anything to do with Daren. If it were another delivery person with a gift, he’d have grumbled about me taking care of it. If it were Daren himself, Malcolm would’ve said so.
But he said meet, like this is a new person.
Malcolm doesn’t bring around new people. He’s a stuck-in-his-ways kind of guy, which is why his mention of retiring was such a surprise. I thought I’d have to wait another decade before I could even bring up the idea of buying the shop off him. Now, I plan to do it at the end of spring, when I graduate with my bachelor’s in business. A degree I’m getting to prove to Malcolm how serious I’m taking the idea of running Green Valley Aviation.
I finish replacing a light on the Cessna’s tail section, then climb down and head toward the front office. When I open the door, I find Malcolm lounging in the ancient chair behind a metal desk. I think he bought the piece from the local high school when they did a sale of their old furniture. There are graffiti scrawls on the side, including initials with hearts, a few not-quite-scrubbed-off penis drawings, and an interesting take on the Pythagorean theorem—a2 + b2 = fuck you.
On top of the desk sits Jumpseat. The cat doesn’t bother to glance my way, too busy pawing a pencil toward the edge of her perch. The feline is plenty friendly, but also a sneaky asshole sometimes. Every morning, whoever opens the shop must spend the first part of their shift playing Find the Cat because we can’t open the massive hangar door until we stick her furry butt in the office, where she won’t wander off.
Letting Jumpseat out of the shop is a good way to land at the top of Malcolm’s shit list.
My eyes skip over my boss and the cat to take in the newcomer. Leaning a hip on the corner of the desk is a tall white man, maybe late thirties, with messy brown hair and an oddly familiar face, though I don’t think I’ve ever met him before in my life.
“Robin,” Malcolm says, “this is Thomas. My son. He’s gonna be working in the shop.”
“Your son,” I repeat, off-balance as I try to remember if he’s ever mentioned having offspring before. I study the man again. This time, I pick up the similarities. Narrow face, long nose, murky green eyes.
Then, Thomas grins widely, which throws me even more because Malcolm never grins. Barely ever smiles. I’ve maybe seen him crack a pleasant expression twice.
“Well, look at that, Pop. You hired a lady mechanic. How progressive of you.”
Oh, look. I guess I hate Malcolm’s son.
The older man scowls. “She’s a mechanic. Lady or not doesn’t matter.”
That has me blinking twice. It’s not that I thought my boss was a misogynistic asshole, but I tend to run into a decent number of close-minded men in my career. Aviation has been a man’s world for a long while and is slow to catch up with the times.
Thomas waves his hand, still smiling. “I wasn’t saying it was a bad thing. I just like to know you’ve grown.” He leans forward, as if sharing a secret with me. “Dad was very big on my mama not working when I was younger. Said she should stay in the home.” He raises his voice but makes like he’s talking to himself. “What was her response? I can’t quite remember.”
Malcolm grumbles something, and I don’t know if it was actually unintelligible or if my hearing just didn’t pick up on it.
Thomas snaps his fingers. “That’s right. She said she’d stay in someone else’s home if he tried that nonsense.” The man turns an admittedly charming smile on me. “She worked as a schoolteacher till retiring two years ago.”
I study the younger Stetson and realize I might have been too hasty in judging him. Maybe he’s not a total prick.
“Yes. Fine. Shut it.” Malcolm shoves up from his seat. “Like I was saying, Thomas will work here. He grew up with planes. Knows ’em.” The man turns squinted eyes on his son. “Some things have changed since you left. Got questions? Ask Rob. I don’t have time for your teasing.”
And I do?But I keep my mouth shut and a blandly pleasant expression on my face. I’m not about to have Malcolm think I’m lazy because I don’t want to babysit his grown son.
Especially when this guy’s sudden appearance has me worried.
“Nice to meet you, Robin.” Thomas holds out his hand, and I accept the shake, noting that while marks of my work stain my palms, his are clean.
“You too.” I offer him the most genuine smile I can manage while worry gnaws at my gut. “Happy to help.”
But what am I helping with exactly?
Seems telling that right when Malcolm starts talking about retiring, his son shows up in Green Valley.
His son, who apparently knows planes.
His son, who I can tell Malcolm is fond of despite his grumbling.
Did I just get asked to train my next boss?
With a clatter, Jumpseat’s pencil falls to the floor, mimicking the nosedive of my hopes.