Chapter 47
After seeing my mom’s boyfriend’s house, I’m pretty sure only one place in Green Valley will meet his standards. So, when Mom texts me that they’re coming for a visit, I immediately make a reservation at The Front Porch. This might come off as me trying to make a good impression or trying to schmooze the guy, but that’s not my goal. Nor do I have the opposite intention of trying to implode my mother’s relationship. Went through that phase from age thirteen to sixteen, and it was not a pleasant experience for anyone involved.
Now, I just want Mom to see I’m willing to play nice with whoever is in her life for as long as they’re there.
But I’m also not going to pretend to be someone I’m not. Which is why I don’t change out of my work coveralls before they arrive.
In his private jet.
That’s right. I don’t even need to leave the airport to meet them at their arrival, which means he’s going to see me in all my grease-streaked glory.
Around four, Thomas gets my attention with a waved rag, and I pop out my one earbud to hear a plane approaching.
“Your mom?” he asks. I let everyone know we’d have an overnight visitor.
“Should be.” I wipe my hands and stick them in my pockets, where I have some chemical hand warmers Arthur got me after a chat where I mentioned my frigid fingers.
As the delicious warmth spreads into my aching digits, I head toward the door and step out of the hangar, interested to watch their arrival. Their aircraft comes into view, and I’m surprised at the model.
After visiting his mansion, I expected “private jet” to mean something luxurious, like a Gulfstream.
Not that the one they’re in is a piece of junk. The twin-engine King Air is plenty nice. But it’s on the smaller end of the jet scale.
Maybe they didn’t think the East Tennessee Airport could handle anything bigger.
The landing is smooth, and I watch them taxi to the end of the runway, then turn toward the hangar. There’s a large, paved space for visiting planes to park, and the King Air pulls into an open section. Only when the engines quiet do I approach.
A set of stairs descends, and the pilot I spied through the windshield, flying the jet, helps my mother down the steep steps.
“Hey, Mom.” I hug her, confused. “Where’s Jeremiah?”
Did the guy decide a small-town visit was beneath him and leave my mom to come on her own?
If so, good riddance.
“This”—she gestures toward the pilot—“is Jeremiah. See? I told you that you’d have plenty to talk about.”
The man walking toward us is a handsome devil, and if I had to guess, he’s closer to my age than my mother’s. He wears a subdued smile and doesn’t quite meet my eyes as he comes to a stop in front of me.
“Hello, Robin. I’m honored to meet you.” His voice is both soft and deep.
Honored? Well, stroke my ego, why don’t you?
“Hi, Jeremiah.” I hold out my hand, and he takes it in a callused grasp. “Can I call you Jeremiah? Or, if you prefer, I can refer to you as Mr. Swanky Pants, which is what I’ve been calling you in my head after seeing that mansion of a house you live in.”
Instead of bristling or going cold, the man’s smile widens as he retracts his hand, and his gaze slides closer to mine, though still doesn’t quite meet it. But that’s okay, seeing as how I’m having to turn my right ear toward him to hear the guy anyway.
“It’s a lot, right? I bought it after I sold my first app. Mainly because I could. But the place grows on you. Has to after you get lost in it a few times.”
The way Jeremiah speaks and holds himself seems familiar to me, and I realize he reminds me of a regular who would come into the bar I worked at. The guy was abrupt and never met my eyes, but was still nice and a good tipper. He mainly came for Tuesday night trivia. His team almost always won.
There’s that ache in my chest, the one left by people I used to know.
How long until Malcolm and Donald and Benny are only memories that ache?
How long until Arthur is?
Not wanting to think about leaving Green Valley behind, I refocus on my mom and her not-so-stuck-up boyfriend.
“That sounds like a story I want to hear,” I say, smiling now at the idea of the man losing his bearings in that massive mansion. “And I’m definitely going to pick your brain about that King Air. But I’ve got another hour on the clock.” Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out the keys to my car and offer them to my mom. “I thought you two might want to explore Green Valley’s Main Street, and I can meet you for dinner when I get off. It’s a small town, but a few new shops have opened since you last came.”
“There’s a moonshine distillery, correct?” Jeremiah asks.
I nod. “Mad Marley’s Moonshine. You’re a fan?”
“I like to sample. It’s illegal to distribute Tennessee-made moonshine across state lines. We can only have it here,” he explains.
“Oh, I see how it is. I’m just the excuse for the real reason you wanted to come. Some authentic Tennessee moonshine.”
Mom and Jeremiah chuckle, and I watch as she reaches her hand for his, their fingers tangling together easily. As if their hands were meant to connect.
A tightness in my chest eases at the sight.
For however long this lasts, it looks like Mom has found herself a good one.
I lead them through the main building, making introductions to Benny and Thomas as we pass by. Jeremiah leaves his credit card number to rent the space he parked in and to refuel tomorrow before they head out. Then, they drive off, and for the final hour of work, I ponder the man I made incorrect assumptions about.
Shame on me, I guess. But I’m glad to be wrong.
At a quarter till five, I clean up my station, then head to the bathroom. There’s no shower, but the place is spacious and clean, and Malcolm stocks the sink with strong soap that is the best at getting grease out from under fingernails. Doesn’t get it all, but after a decent scrub of my hands and using damp paper towels to wipe down the rest of my body, I feel clean enough to slip on my dress for the night. It’s the same one I wore to the Jam Session. Yes, I admit it; I only own one dress. It’s not that I don’t like dresses. I’ve just had so few occasions to wear them over the years.
I wrangle my hair into a high bun, swipe mascara on my lashes, and spray some perfume in my cleavage.
According to the mirror above the sink, I’m the hottest thing this shop has ever seen, and that’s the best I can hope for. The last touch is my hearing aid, knowing I’ll want it on in the restaurant tonight. I shove my dirty clothes in my duffel, along with my boots, slip on a set of flats, and leave the bathroom.
Only to be greeted by a wolf whistle.
Thomas leans against the office desk, wearing a shit-eating grin that tells me he was the one to instigate the sound effects. Malcolm and Donald sit at the nearby table, glancing up from their aviation magazines.
Suddenly, I feel self-conscious. Not because I think I look bad and not because I think any of these men are staring at me in a lewd way—despite Thomas’s greeting.
I’m overly conscious of my blatant femininity in this normally masculine space. Most days, I do my best to simply be a great mechanic and not bring gender to the forefront.
But my dressy attire has made it impossible for anyone to ignore the fact that, under this outfit, I have boobs and ovaries.
It shouldn’t matter. I know it shouldn’t. The fact that it might infuriates me.
But I can’t rage the world into compliance. Not if I want to run this shop.
“You look awfully purty,” Thomas proclaims, hand over his heart.
I try to wear an unaffected smile. “I’m taking my mom and her boyfriend to The Front Porch.” The words sound defensive to my ears, and I try to breathe through the insecurity.
“He’s got a nice set of wings.” Malcolm nods, dropping his attention back to his reading material. “You ask him about the King Air?”
I decide to take Malcolm’s complete disinterest in my appearance as a good sign. “I plan to.” I heave my pack higher on my shoulder and aim toward the front door. “See you guys tomorrow.”
They offer parting words in return as I step outside. The sun has set, and the evening is downright frigid.
Luckily, Arthur waits outside.
The sight of him sets off an eager thrum in my body. I feel like I’ve barely seen him these past couple of weeks. As predicted, Thanksgiving and the following Black Friday set off a wildly busy mail-delivery season, even in our small town. Arthur has been working six—sometimes seven—days a week and stumbling through the door late into the evening. He’s even consented to eating my frozen meals, too tired to cook for us.
Not that I’m complaining. It’s not Arthur’s job to take care of me.
Although he does still insist on taking care of me every night in his bed. His body might be dragging the moment he steps in the door, but under the covers, his hands are firm, and his thrusts are powerful, and he makes sure I come every time.
The guy spoils me.
And tonight, his one free night this week, he’s agreed to have dinner with my mom and Jeremiah.
Damn it. If he keeps being this great, I’m going to fall for him.
Who am I kidding? I fell a while ago.
When Arthur spots me, the big man climbs out of his car and jogs my way, taking my bag from me and wrapping a warm arm around my hunched shoulders.
“You’re cold,” he chides me. “And beautiful.” That second one sounds like a complaint, too, which has me chuckling. I climb into his heated car and groan, feeling toasty for the first time since this morning when I woke up, snuggled into Arthur’s side.
When he slides behind the wheel, I reach up to readjust my hearing aid. I’m worried how the device will deal with feeding me noise in a crowded restaurant, but I hope since The Front Porch is a nice place, there won’t be too much background noise.
“Work good?” Arthur asks.
“Mostly. I was kind of distracted.”
“You meet him?” Arthur is a conscientious driver, guiding the car toward town at exactly the speed limit.
“Yeah.” I shrug. “He was nice. He flew them here himself, in his own plane.” At the memory, I smile. “That was more shocking than if they’d shown up in a G6.”
Arthur grunts an acknowledgment.
I lean over to squeeze his thigh. “Thanks for agreeing to come to dinner with us. Guess this is our first double date.”
Arthur drops one hand from the wheel to lace his fingers with mine, brushing his thumb over my knuckles. He doesn’t say anything, but I don’t need him to.
Having him by my side is enough.