Chapter 11
SLADE
“What are these for? It’s not one of the guys’ birthdays.”
I swat Krissy’s hand away from the clear plastic grocery sack. “How was work?”
She yawns. “Fine. It was actually slow. I sat with a little guy with RSV.” She reaches into the refrigerator. “But, I heard from the labor department. I have an interview. It’s still night shift, but if I get the job, hopefully, a day shift will open up at some point.”
I pour coffee into my travel mug. “That’s what you want? The labor department?”
She nods, pulling two pieces of bread from the bag and placing them in the toaster. “Yeah. I want to specialize in women’s health, and it will be great experience for the clinic.”
“Did you decide on the townhouse or the apartment?”
The last apartment we looked at was just as nice as the townhouse, but with the lower rent comes upstairs neighbors and less privacy. I’m voting for the townhouse for safety reasons, but I'm doing my best to keep my mouth shut and let her decide.
She shrugs. “I’m going to sleep for a while and see if I can run through them one more time before I have to work tonight. They’re repainting the townhouse and replacing some of the appliances, so the lease wouldn’t start until December first.”
I grab the grocery sack and my coffee. “If you want me to go with you, text me. ”
The toaster pops. “I might see if one of the guys will go and get their opinion.”
“Not Trig.” That shit will tell her the townhouse just cause it’s bigger.
She smiles. “Fine. Maybe Wind and Millie have time.”
“You should ask Carson. He’ll tell you which one is built better and has the best finishes.”
She only shrugs.
“I’ve gotta go, but if you have any time this week, I could really use you at the shop. I have to get some things turned over.”
She unscrews the lid on the peanut butter. “You need to hire someone.”
“I have to have time. See ya.”
She pulls a butter knife from the drawer and waves it.
I pull into Sarah’s driveway instead of waiting for her at the end of mine and push my door open just as she steps out.
“Hi.” She frowns.
I extend the plastic grocery sack. Her eyes flick from me to the bag. Me. Bag. Me.
“What’s this?” She slings her large purse across her body and slowly takes it. She looks inside and then at me, her head falling to the side. “You got cookies?”
“No kid can take treats that look like breasts to school.”
One side of her mouth curls up. She glances at the cookies again and reaches into the bag. “What is this?” She pulls out the Starbucks coffee. She stares at it and lifts it to her nose, closing her eyes as she inhales.
She looks like she’s experiencing a euphoric high, and it takes effort to keep from smiling.
Her eyes drift open, and she holds the coffee out toward me.
“It was buy two. I figured you probably could use the coffee.”
Those eyes squint just a little as if she’s considering calling bull shit, but then they fall to the coffee again. When her gaze meets mine again, her head falls to the side. She blinks quickly, her lips pressing together .
“Thank you,” she says softly. “Helen was going to make something this morning before they had to leave, but Ollie will love these. And I . . .” She holds the coffee to her chest. “I owe you for every caffeinated buzz I get off these grounds.” She smiles, blinking again, and it’s breathtaking.
Her glossy, different-colored eyes have a way of making me feel defenseless, as if somehow she sees through all the layers I don’t like messed with.
When she laid down the sass last night and told me everything was hard, I felt her overwhelming exhaustion in the way she said it. All the weight of what I’m beginning to understand that she carries.
So many questions that are none of my business shot off like rockets. One after another, wondering why she seems to be doing this all alone. It’s not that I don’t understand the struggle of single parenting. I do. I saw it firsthand with my mom and then experienced it to some extent with Krissy.
With Sarah, I get the impression that it’s more than just financial strain and trying to care for two kids while working full-time and going to school.
“I’ll set these inside and be right back.”
I return to my truck.
She reappears and climbs in beside me, setting her stuff on the floor and fastening her seat belt. “Ollie is so excited about the cookies. Thank you for getting them. If you tell me how much, I’ll—”
“Sarah, it was nothing. A boy deserves to have non-offensive cookies for school.”
I back out of the driveway.
“First of all, boobs might not be appropriate for preschool, but they are not offensive. And second, you should know that I can actually bake. I was just . . .off my game.”
“Hmmm. Ok.”
She swats my arm. “You’re a punk, you know that?”
“A punk? ”
“Yeah, all blunt and bossy, but then you go and buy cookies for my son. You better be careful, or I might start to think there’s a layer of sensitivity under all that . . .”
“Bitterness,” I offer.
She bites her lip to hide her grin.
Her long brown hair is down in waves today, held back by a headband. I have the urge to reach over and tug a strand.
I shift my gaze to the road. What the actual hell? I run a hand over my beard and then place it firmly on the steering wheel, gripping it tightly.
“You know, you can keep your little disbelieving hum to yourself, sir. I can bake my ass off. I just need to not be in the middle of a meltdown while I’m doing it.”
I glance at her out of the corner of my eye against my will. She finally has a coat on, but her legs are only half covered by a black pleated skirt, and I really shouldn’t know that. I stab the rolling asphalt before me with my eyes, needing them to stay glued.
Sarah is beautiful. The kind of beautiful that’s intimidating because she never flaunts it or expects attention from it, even though her eyes alone would stop traffic.
“How’s your hand?”
“It’s fine,” she says plainly, gazing out the window at the crisp fall morning.
“It’s cold this morning. It’s nice to see you wore a coat today.” There’s an insane part of me that wants to push her buttons and watch her get a little riled up.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her head swivel in my direction. I want to grin, but I bite it back.
I turn into the law firm parking lot.
“What in the hell is it with you and coats? You know, Lionel, some people are just hot. All those layers can be suffocating and confining.”
I stop my truck in front of the door, and she pushes her’s open .
“You should try wrangling two kids with a big ass puffy coat. It’s like being a marshmallow over a fire. You expand with heat until you melt into a big gooey mess.” She huffs, gathering her things.
“Sarah.”
She stops with one leg hanging out.
“Have a really nice day.”
Her eyes flick between mine before her eyelids drop just the slightest bit lower. “You are the biggest shit, you know that?”
She tries really hard not to smile, and it tugs on the place in my belly that hasn’t sensed feeling in so long that it takes me a moment to recognize.
Shit.
She steps out and slings her purse across her body, then grabs her lunch bag.
“Your car will be ready in the next couple of days.”
“Really?” I hear the excitement in her voice, but that means no more mornings like this, which is for the best.
“Yeah.”
“Great.”
“You have a ride home?”
Her head falls to the side. She sticks her thumb out, bending and flexing it. “Sure do. This and hiking my skirt up a little higher . . .” She widens her bold eyes. “Works like a gem. It’s free, too.”
I clench my jaw, and she smiles that smile that pinches something deep inside. I avert my gaze back to the windshield, needing to focus on what’s ahead.
She pushes the door closed, but just before I hear it latch, she yanks it back open.
“Hey, Slade.” She leans into the truck, and I meet her stare. “Be careful. You keep playing like that, and people might think there’s a fun personality trying to escape that big body.”
A smirk appears on that pretty face as she closes the door.
I push out a breath, making sure she enters the building before putting my truck in drive. I want to press the accelerator and peel out, running far and fast. This woman poses a threat to my long-held plan and resolve. The one where I’ve been happily committed to a simple, mundane life. Alone.
I pull out of the parking lot toward the garage, my mouth curling into a smile, and all I can think is . . .
Fuck.
______
I grab the key fob from the board and hit the button. The garage door rolls open to the dark parking lot.
“What are you doing?” Carson asks from the workbench, cleaning up for the night.
“The wheel bearing is in for Sarah’s car.” I head to the lot to pull her car in.
“You’re putting that on tonight?”
The cold air fills the garage. “She needs her car. If I put the bearing on tonight, we should be able to squeeze in the brakes tomorrow, and then Trig can install the tires.”
I unlock it and climb in, wanting to ignore that it smells like her. Light, sunny, and fresh. I hold my breath as I pull it into the garage.
Carson puts the door down behind me. “Seriously, you’re working tonight?”
“The schedule is completely full.” I toss the keys to him, and he returns them to the hook.
“You want some help?” He strolls over.
“What’s it going to cost me?”
He ignores my question and rolls the jack over. “I’m not sure we’ve ever worked nights before.”
I grab the jack stands, hearing the amusement in his tone. “Your ass can go to the gym if you’re going to read into this.”
He places the jack behind the front passenger tire. “I was just thinking you need to hire another mechanic if we’re working nights. But now that you bring it up, it does seem like this particular job might be getting special treatment.”
I kick a stand in his direction. “I’m thinking about hiring someone.”