15. Emma
Chapter Fifteen
EMMA
“ I can’t believe you restore cars,” she told George as Meowmus climbed all over her lap. His little nails were puncturing her yoga pants, but she didn’t care. He was too cute.
“That’s so cool. I’ve never met a female mechanic. Not that I remember anyway,” she added wryly.
Emma had known Georgia for an hour, give or take ten minutes. But the small black woman’s warmth and sweetness had touched her. She’d felt enveloped by it, and before she knew it, she was telling Georgia her life story—the bit she remembered.
Needless to say, it hadn’t taken long.
“We’re not as rare a breed as you might think.” George offered Meowmus a ball with a bell inside. “But I admit I’m biased. I’ve been tinkering with cars since I was a kid.”
“That’s amazing, finding your calling so young.” Emma sighed. “I wish I knew what I was going to do with my life.”
Holding down a regular job had felt like an insurmountable goal after her accident. Emma had fought tooth and nail to become a barista.
It was the first step in the long road to reclaiming her life. Unfortunately, she didn’t know what the second one was.
Georgia leaned over, putting her hand on her arm. “You need to give yourself time. You’re still healing. But once you do, you’ll find something you love as much as I love fixing up old junkers.” Georgia’s eyes lit up. “Hey, do you want to learn how to do an oil change?”
Emma beamed at her. “Yes!”
“You’re on! Next time I need to do one, I’ll come get you.”
Giggling, Georgia launched into an anecdote about her latest customer at the car restoration place, a former rom-com actor who’d found unexpected success as an action star in his sixties.
They got so lost in conversation Emma didn’t notice how much time had passed until the men came back downstairs.
Rainer invited them to join them for dinner. Emma was pleasantly surprised when Garrett checked with her before accepting. And though she was a little tired, she wanted to spend more time with George.
By the time they were done with the five-course meal, she was ready to crash.
“Just roll me to your guest room,” she yawned, cuddling Meowmus to her chest as Garrett ushered her back into his penthouse.
“Will do,” he said, taking the sleeping cat from her arms when she stumbled on his absurdly shiny marble floor.
Taking her hand, he took her deeper into the inner sanctum, past several very nice bedrooms, to a truly spectacular master suite done up in greens and pale beige.
The bedroom he took her to was across the hall from it.
Garrett set the kitten in the little bed someone had thoughtfully placed next to a brand-new litter box. “I’m through here,” he said, jerking his thumb behind at a pair of double doors leading to the master bedroom—as if it wasn’t obvious that the palace suite was his.
“I can sleep with the door open if you think you might need something.”
Emma’s brain was half-asleep but that woke her up. “No thanks, weirdo,” she said, kicking off her shoes.
“Funny,” he said a touch defensively. “Here I thought I was being considerate.”
“Nope.” She gave him a pointed look. “Just weird. Also, I’ll be sleeping with my door closed. Please don’t come inside here in the middle of the night to smell my hair.”
Garrett snorted, choking on nothing. “I’ll try to resist,” he deadpanned.
He glanced at the kitten, who snuffled when he laughed. “What if Meowmus pees on the floor?”
She looked down at the marble floor. “I’ll clean it. Speaking of the floor, why is it warm?”
“There are heating coils under the stones.” He pointed at the boxes in the corner. “Your stuff is still packed up. Want me to grab you a T-shirt to sleep in?”
Emma pursed her lips, looking down at what she was wearing. Her outfit wouldn’t be the most comfortable to sleep in and she was perilously close to passing out. “Okay. Thank you.”
Leaving the double doors open, he disappeared into his bedroom.
Curious despite herself, she angled her neck, trying to see more of the room beyond the doorway. But it must have been humongous because despite the wideness of the opening, all she saw was part of the bed, a fancy leather chair, and a bit of the dresser.
Garrett came back with a long T-shirt emblazoned with the words, Ironman Mallorca.
Oh, for Pete’s sake . “If you tell me you have this because you finished a triathlon, I will stab you with a pencil.”
Pursing his lips, Garrett backed away with exaggerated slowness. “You know you’re a little violent when you’re tired.”
“Good. Remember that.” She pointed at the door. “But if you want sweetness and light, you better leave so I can get some sleep.”
“Sweetness and light?” He raised a dark brow. “It’s a regular bed. It’s not infused with the waters of Lourdes or anything like that.”
“Ooh, solid burn,” Emma trilled, giving credit where credit was due.
Then she shut the door in his face.