50. Blair
50
BLAIR
I wipe my hands on a shop rag and watch Ransom's shoulders flex as he tightens the bolts on a tire. The question's been bugging me all morning.
"So how'd you really convince Matt to take time off?"
Ransom straightens up, a smudge of grease on his forearm. "Gave him ten grand."
"What?" My jaw drops. "Just like that?"
"I had to convince him it wasn't hush money or anything illegal." Ransom's lips quirk up. "He grilled me for almost two hours about my intentions."
"Toward me or the garage?"
"Both." He steps closer, and my skin prickles with awareness. "Actually, mostly about you. He wanted to make sure I wasn't here to hurt you again."
"Matt did that?" I hadn't realized how protective Matt was. It's sweet, and while it feels a bit condescending, it's also something a good friend would do, so I'm okay with it.
"Yep. Your employee has your back. He wouldn't take the money until he was satisfied I wasn't going to mess things up for you."
I lean against the workbench, crossing my arms. "And what did you tell him?"
"The truth." Ransom's eyes lock with mine. "That I've loved you for twenty-five years and I'm not leaving again."
My heart stumbles. Even after everything that's happened this week, hearing him say it so plainly makes my breath catch.
"He also wanted to know if I remembered how to change oil." Ransom's grin breaks the intensity. "He was a bit of an asshole about it, actually. I respect that."
"And clearly you passed his test."
"With flying colors." He picks up a socket wrench, twirling it in his hands. "Though I think the money might have helped seal the deal."
I shake my head, laughing. "I can't believe he took your money."
"Said something about finally being able to take his sister and her kid on vacation." Ransom shrugs. "Seems like a win-win to me."
I guess it is.
The phone's shrill ring cuts through our conversation. I head to the office, leaving Ransom with the Chevy he's working on.
"McKenna's Auto Repair."
Mrs. Henderson's familiar voice comes through. "Blair, dear. My check engine light came on."
"Again?" I grab my scheduling book. "Want me to take a look next week?"
"If you could. And maybe an oil change while you're at it?"
I pencil her in for Tuesday at ten. "See you then, Mrs. H."
As I hang up, my deposit book catches my eye. Crap. The bank closes in thirty minutes.
I grab the stack of checks and paperwork, then peek into the garage bay. Ransom's got his head under the Chevy's hood, muscles shifting as he works.
"Hey." I tap his shoulder. "I need to run to the bank before they close. You good here?"
He straightens up, wiping his hands. "Want company?"
"Someone needs to watch the shop." I gesture at the Chevy. "Besides, you've got work to do."
"Yes, ma'am." His eyes crinkle at the corners. He reaches for me, then stops, looking at his greasy hands. I love that he reaches for me.
I grab his coveralls and pull him down for a quick kiss. "Try not to break anything while I'm gone."
I feel his grin against my lips. "No promises."
The spring air hits my face as I step outside. Crossing the square, I can't help glancing back at the garage. Through the open bay door, I see Ransom, arms crossed loosely over his chest, watching me. I wave at him, and a slow grin curves his lips. Then he waves back. The sight makes my chest warm in a way I've never felt before. It's not love. It's deeper than that. But I don't have a name for it.
I clutch my deposit book and head toward the bank, my lips still tingling from our kiss.
I'm halfway to the bank when familiar faces emerge from Miller's Real Estate office. Maverick and Cadence step out with Sarah Miller herself.
"Blair!" Maverick waves, tugging on his loosened tie. He sticks out in his fancy suit. "Nice to see you again."
"Hi..." I glance between them and Sarah, who's practically bouncing on her heels with excitement. What could Ransom's brother possibly want with our local realtor?
"Sorry to rush," Sarah cuts in, checking her watch. "But we really need to get to that appointment."
"Of course." Cadence's grin is warm and excited. "We'll catch up later, Blair."
They hurry off down the sidewalk, Sarah's heels clicking against the concrete. I watch them turn the corner, my deposit book forgotten in my hands. What appointment? There's barely anything to see in Badger Falls, let alone?—
Movement in the diner window catches my eye. I do a double-take. Jonas, Ransom's quietest brother, sits at a table with Angie of all people. They're bent over what looks like paperwork, deep in conversation. Angie's hair is standing up on top. She tugs on her hair when she's stressed, and judging by that rat's nest, she's really fucking stressed. Why are they together? What did he do to upset her so much?
What the fuck is going on around here?
I check my phone—fifteen minutes until the bank closes. But my mind's spinning with questions. Why are Ransom's brothers scattered around town? And why do they look like they're doing business rather than just visiting?
I hurry through my deposit at the bank, making it just before closing. Coming out into the afternoon sun, I detour past the diner again, but Jonas and Angie are nowhere to be seen. What on earth could those two be talking about? I’m tempted to go straight to the grocery store to get the scoop from Angie herself, but I don’t want to be that nosy.
Well I do. But I don’t want to be obvious about it. I’m sure if I give it a day, I’ll get the gossip from someone in town, but I’m not feeling very patient.
Maybe Ransom knows what’s going on. He has to right? They’re his family.
Heading for the garage, my steps slow as I spot a bizarre sight down the block. Outside Henderson's Hardware, Earl and Pete occupy their usual lawn chairs, but they've been joined by a third person—Colton, Ransom's massive brother, squeezed into sparkly pink overalls. What the actual fuck?
"Well, if it isn't little Blair McKenna," Earl calls out, tipping his John Deere cap. "Come meet our new friend."
"Earl, Pete." I grin at the familiar faces. These two have been fixtures outside the hardware store since I was a kid. They still call me little , which is dumb, but I won’t call them on it. "I see you've got company today."
"This fancy man's from the city," Pete says, gesturing with his ever-present coffee cup. He says 'from the city' the way you'd say 'that should be hung in a museum' to a three-year-old presenting you with their 100th finger painting. Just the perfect mix of condescension mixed with sarcasm. "I guess they dress different out there."
Colton shrugs, completely at ease. "I wanted to fit in. I borrowed them from a friend. He's a dancer."
I choke as I realize exactly what dancer he's referring to. There was definitely a picture of these overalls on the singing messenger's website. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing. "Oh. Um, they look good on you." I look between them. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm just spending time with the locals. Learning about the town." Colton winks at me. "And getting the gossip. I can tell these men are the best sources of news in the whole town."
Pete and Earl both puff up a little at that, looking pleased. And Colton's not wrong. These two guys spend almost every day here, chatting, getting the goods from everyone that passes by. They're like our town's built-in Google.
"You should've seen Mrs. Patterson's face when she walked by," Pete chuckles. "Thought her eyes were gonna pop right out."
Colton grins. "My brother Jonas told me I looked like a hallucination. I think it was a compliment."
God, these guys are fun.
I don't try to hide my laugh, and thankfully, Colton doesn't seem at all offended. I like that about him.
"Speaking of Jonas," I start, but Earl cuts in.
"Blair, honey, I was just telling him about that time your daddy had to rescue Pete's cat from the hardware store roof. You remember that?"
"How could I forget? Pete wouldn't stop bringing him pies after that." Pretty sure my dad put on ten pounds that month. We ate pie for dinner more than once. Dad didn’t even try and justify it. It was food he didn’t have to prepare, so why the hell not.
I wonder if that had something to do with his heart problems?
"Best month of Robert's life," Pete nods sagely. "My Martha makes the best pies in three counties." Honestly, it was the best month of my life up to that point, too.
I try again to bring up Jonas and the others, but Earl launches into another story.
"And then there was the time Robert had to get old Mrs. Henderson's parrot out of the church bell tower?—"
"How'd it get up there?" Colton leans forward, his lawn chair creaking ominously.
Pete snorts. "Son, you might want to be careful with that chair. Sounds like it's about ready to give up the ghost."
"Nah, it's fine." Colton shifts, and the chair lets out a sound like a dying cat. "Though it does sound a bit... musical."
"Musical?" Earl wheezes. "Sounds more like my wife's attempt at singing."
"Now, Earl," Pete wags his finger, "Margaret's singing ain't that bad. At least she don't make the dogs howl no more." He's right. She's been taking singing lessons for about thirty years, and she's gotten a little better than she used to be. The dogs don't howl anymore, they just run away.
Far, far away.
I try one more time. "About Jonas?—"
"So this parrot," Colton interrupts, completely absorbed. "Did it talk? I always wanted a parrot."
For fuck's sake. I'm clearly not getting anywhere. Spinning, I head back to the shop. Ransom's got some explaining to do.
"Oh Lord," Earl hoots. "It sure did talk. It kept yellin' 'Jesus loves you' every time the bell rang. Drove Pastor Mike near crazy."
There's another squeaking groan.
"Boy, you're temptin' fate with that chair," Pete warns.
"It's holding just fi?—"
CRACK!
I'm halfway down the block when I hear the crash. Turning back, I see Colton, ass touching the sidewalk, his sparkly pink overalls glinting in the sun. His knees are hooked on the metal frame, the back of the chair supporting his shoulders and head. The man is wedged good and tight.
Earl and Pete are doubled over laughing, tears streaming down their faces as they try to help him up.
"Hold on, son—" Earl wheezes, tugging at Colton's arm.
"No, no, other way—" Pete grabs the other side.
"Jesus loves you!" Earl cackles, which sets them all off again.
I shake my head and continue toward the garage. Let him stay there. Someone else will come along to help him out. I have bigger fish to fry.
I march into the garage, my mind spinning with questions. Ransom's bent over an engine, his coveralls rolled down to his waist, revealing a white t-shirt that's seen better days. Don't rich people throw away their shit the second it gets a stain? Something about Ransom holding on to an obviously stained, ratty t-shirt makes me feel all warm. The collar even has little holes in it. The suits were hot. This t-shirt? So much better.
Dammit. Focus, Blair.
"Why is your brother wearing sparkly pink overalls outside Henderson's Hardware?"
He straightens up so fast he bangs his head on the hood. "Ow, fuck." Rubbing his scalp, he turns to face me. "Wait, what?"
"And why is Jonas having a meeting with Angie? And what were Maverick and Cadence doing at the realtor's office? Wait. Is she his wife? I don't even know if they're married."
"Slow down." Ransom reaches for me, but I dodge his dirty hands. I will not allow myself to get distracted. Shit's happening, and I want to know what.
"Don't try to distract me. What are your brothers doing here? Did they come with you? Why aren't they at work? Where are you all staying? Why is Colton wearing sparkly pink overalls?" I wag a finger at him. "What are you up to?"
His laugh echoes through the garage. "Come here." He grabs a shop rag to wipe his hands, then leads me to the workbench. Opening the ancient mini-fridge, he pulls out two Cokes, pops the top, and hands me one.
"First off, no, they didn't come with me. I'm as surprised as you are to find them scattered around town.”
"Really?" I take a sip and give him the stink eye over the top of the can."You're saying you don't know anything about it?"
"Scout's honor." He raises two fingers in a V. I don't know much about scouts, but I'm pretty sure that's not the right symbol.
"You were definitely never a scout."
"Details." He winks, the gesture somehow both playful and evasive. "As for where I'm staying, I'm still at the B&B. I took two rooms, actually - one's set up as an office. I've got my laptop in there and about fifty pounds of paperwork spread across every available surface."
"Office?" I set my Coke down on the workbench with a soft metallic clink, my mind racing through the implications. How do you run a company as big as his from a hotel room? Better question, why would he? It's not convenient. It can't be. And he sure as fuck doesn't have time to waste working next to me in this garage. But he's here, and I haven't wanted to question it too deeply. Because I want him here.
I want him.
"But what about your work in Chicago? Your responsibilities? Your brothers must need you there. Maybe they're here to get you." I try to keep my voice neutral, but something about this situation isn't adding up. But maybe I'm right. Maybe they are scoping out the town, trying to find reasons why he should leave all of us in the rearview mirror.
They’ve barely gotten to know me. I wouldn’t blame them for thinking the worst about me, and wanting to take Ransom away.
I wouldn’t blame them, but I sure as fuck won’t stand by and let that happen.
"I haven't left anything behind." He leans against the workbench. "I'm in constant contact with Cara—my assistant. I spent a few hours getting stuff done before coming here. It worked pretty well, actually."
"So..." Hope flutters in my chest. "You're planning to work from here?"
"Told you I wasn't leaving." His eyes hold mine. "I meant it."
"What does that mean exactly?" I step closer."You can't just—this isn't—" I run my hands through my hair. "You have a life in Chicago!"
"I do." That infuriating half-smile plays on his lips.
"A huge company! A family who needs you! An actual office with walls and everything!"
"Yep." He takes a casual sip of his Coke.
"Stop being so calm about this!" I pace frantically between the tool chest and the workbench, my boots scuffing against the oil-stained concrete. My hands flutter uselessly at my sides before I clench them into fists. "You can't run a billion-dollar company from Mrs. Winston's B&B!"
"Actually, I can. Been doing it for days now."
"That's—that's just temporary. You'll get tired of it. Of the slow internet and the way everyone knows everyone's business and—" I spin around, nearly knocking over a stack of tires.
"Blair."
"And there's nothing to do here! No fancy restaurants or clubs or whatever rich people do—" I'm all sweaty. Why didn't I invest in air conditioning?
"Blair."
I whirl toward him. "And I work all day! I can't entertain you or?—"
"Who said I need entertaining?" He sets down his Coke. "I spent the morning working on cars and flirting with you. I found it pretty fucking entertaining."
"But your brothers—" I wave my hand toward the square. I don't know how to finish the sentence. Somehow 'are out there walking around my town' doesn't seem that bad. But it's not fucking normal. Weird shit's afoot.
"Are apparently exploring the town without my knowledge." His eyes dance with amusement. "Though I really want to know why Colton's wearing sparkly overalls."
"Stop making jokes!" I slam my hand on the workbench. "This is serious!"
"Why are you trying to pick a fight with me?"
The question stops me cold. "I'm not?—"
"You are." He crosses his arms. "And I'm not biting. So why don't you tell me what's really bothering you?"
I deflate, shoulders slumping. "I'm not bothered." His side eye annoys me all over again. I like annoyance. It feels better than fear, or worry, or hope. "You're changing your whole life. And what if—" My voice cracks. I press my palms against my eyes, trying to hold back the flood of emotions. "What if you wake up one day and realize this was all a mistake? That you gave up everything for... for what? For a small-town mechanic who can barely handle a night out in the city?"
"Blair—"
"No, let me finish." I drop my hands, pacing between the cars again. "What if we don't fit anymore? We're not those kids making out in fields and sharing dreams anymore. You run this massive company, and I... I fix cars and take care of Max and?—"
"And you're exactly who you want to be." Ransom's voice is firm.
"Am I?" I spin to face him. "Because right now I don't know what I want. Every time I look at you, I feel seventeen again. But I'm not seventeen. And neither are you. And what if we try this and it breaks everything? What if we can't go back to who we were before?"
"Maybe we're not supposed to go back." He takes a step toward me, but I hold up my hand.
"You can't just set up an office in Mrs. Winston's B&B and pretend everything's going to work out. Life isn't that simple."
"Why not?"
"Because!" I throw my hands up. "Because people don't do that! They don't just upend their whole lives for... for..."
"For love?"
The word hangs between us, heavy with twenty-five years of history and hurt and hope.
"Don't." My voice comes out as a whisper. "Don't say that unless you mean it."
"I've meant it every time I said it. Every fucking time."
That's the part that's terrifying. Because I want it. So much. And yet I can't stop questioning it. I should shut up. Just accept that he's here and jump in with both feet. But my fucking sense of self-preservation won't let me.
"Don't run from this." Ransom's voice drops low, dangerous. He pushes off the workbench, his movements deliberate, calculated.
I back up instinctively. "I'm not running."
"Yeah? Looks like running to me." Each step brings him closer. My heart pounds against my ribs as I retreat, the garage suddenly feeling much smaller.
"I'm being practical." My voice wavers. "Someone has to be."
"Practical?" He prowls forward, his eyes never leaving mine. "Was sending a four hundred-pound stripper to my office practical?"
My back hits metal - the hood of Mr. Johnson's Buick. Nowhere left to go.
"That was different. You weren't listening?—"
"No." He plants his hands on either side of me, caging me in. His face inches from mine, close enough I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes. "That was you sending me an invitation. You fucking called me here."
"I never—" The words catch in my throat as his nose brushes mine.
"Twenty-five years." His breath fans across my lips. "Twenty-five fucking years I've measured every woman against you. And they all came up short. You know why?"
I shake my head, barely breathing, my heart hammering against my ribs like a caged thing trying to break free.
"Because they weren't you. Simple as that." His voice roughens, scraping low and raw against my senses. "I've waited my whole life to get back to you. And now you think I'm going to change my mind? That anything could make me walk away again?"
Something breaks loose in my chest—a wall I've kept standing for decades. The careful fortress of logic and reason I built to protect myself from this exact moment crumbles like sand. "You mean it."
"Every fucking word."
And for the first time since he crashed back into my life, I let myself believe him. Really believe him. All the way believe him.
The truth of it settles into my bones, rearranging everything I thought I knew. All these years, I'd convinced myself he'd left because I wasn't enough—not normal enough, wasn't woman enough. But looking into his eyes now, I see what I couldn't before: I was always enough. I was everything.
Sometimes, it’s no ones fault. Our timing wasn’t right back then. And that hurt both of us.
But now, the only thing keeping us apart is the shit in my head.
And I’m so done with it.
I stare up at him, my heart thundering against my ribs. The truth burns in my throat, demanding to be spoken. All these years of burying it, of pretending it wasn't there, of building walls to keep it contained—and still it lived, breathing quietly in the darkest corners of my heart.
"I love you." The words fall from my lips, simple and devastating. "I never stopped. God knows I tried. I dated other people, I focused on work, I built this whole life without you in it. But the love wouldn't stay buried."
His eyes widen, darkening as he processes my words. His hands slide from the hood to cup my face, thumbs brushing my cheeks with a gentleness that makes my knees weak.
"Say it again." His voice cracks, raw with emotion. He had to know. Didn’t he?
"I love you, Ransom Kyle." My fingers curl into his shirt, anchoring myself to him. "I've loved you since I was seventeen, watching you try to fix Mrs. Henderson's ancient Volkswagen. You were covered in grease and swearing up a storm, and all I could think was 'this is it, this is the person I want to spend my life with.'"
A sound escapes him—half laugh, half sob. He presses his forehead to mine, his breath uneven. "Blair." Just my name, but he says it like a prayer, like salvation.
"Even when I hated you, I loved you." I close my eyes, letting the truth pour out. "Even when I wanted to never see you again, the love was there. It's always been there."
His hands tremble against my skin. When I open my eyes, there are tears tracking down his cheeks.
"I thought—" He swallows hard. "I convinced myself you'd moved on. That you'd forgotten."
"How could I forget?" I brush away his tears with my thumbs. "You're carved into my bones, Ransom. You always have been."