Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
JAKE
Three weeks into Stella’s reign as Operations Manager and the workshop doesn’t just look different—it feels different.
Cleaner. Sharper. More focused. There’s a rhythm now that didn’t exist before.
Her new systems are slick, we haven’t had a single client complaint since the infamous paint disaster, and productivity is up thirty bloody per cent.
Even José has started double-checking his work without being told—which honestly feels like a miracle on par with turning water into wine.
But the best part?
Watching Stella boss everyone around with that cool, competent tone while I quietly remember exactly what she sounds like when she’s falling apart under my fingers.
Yeah. Work has never been more distracting.
It’s Thursday arvo, and I’m behind the wheel of Mr Benson’s freshly restored ‘67 Mustang convertible, taking her for a spin around the block to make sure everything’s humming before delivery.
The engine purrs like a satisfied cat, the transmission glides through gears like butter, and for a moment, everything is quiet and smooth.
Until I pull back into the workshop and spot her.
Stella.
Standing near the roller doors, clipboard in hand, hair loose around her shoulders in those soft waves that make me want to fist them while she moans my name.
She’s wearing that fitted blue dress—the one that hugs every curve and makes it impossible to focus on anything else.
Sunlight catches her, golden streaks glinting off her hair like she belongs in a car commercial…
or one of the daydreams I’ve been having since the moment she walked through the gates.
I give the Mustang an extra rev, just to announce my arrival. Her head snaps up, eyes narrowing. It’s her you’d better not be showing off look, but I catch the twitch of her lips as she fights a smile.
“How’d she run?” she calls, as I climb out.
“Like a bloody dream,” I say, tossing the keys between my fingers. “Mr Benson’s going to piss himself.”
“Gross,” she mutters, scribbling something on her clipboard. “Make sure you note the test drive results in the?—”
She’s cut off by Logan—our favourite overly dramatic bartender—jogging toward the garage like he’s just run a marathon in thongs. His hair’s sticking up everywhere, shirt untucked, face red and panicked.
“Stella! Thank God,” he pants, doubling over with his hands on his knees. “Emergency. Actual emergency.”
“Logan?” Stella greets, instantly alert. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“It’s Julia.”
“Who the hell is Julia?” I butt in, already sensing I’m going to regret asking.
“The girl I’ve been chasing for months. Blonde, smart, smells like vanilla and heaven. She finally said yes to coffee— today ! But my car died in Grumpy’s car park, and I’ve got twenty minutes to get there, and I can’t get an Uber, and?—”
“Logan.” Stella lifts a hand. “Breathe.”
He gasps dramatically. “I need a car. Any car. Please, Stella. This is my one shot. If I don’t show, she’ll think I bailed. She’ll never give me another chance. And she’s... perfect.”
He says it like it physically hurts him. Like missing this date might actually kill him.
I glance at Stella. She’s giving him that look—a mix of you’re a walking disaster and I sort of want to protect you anyway . Poor bloke’s completely unravelled.
“Logan, we can’t just give you a customer car,” she starts. “You could borrow my Corolla.”
“God, no. You have duct tape holding your front bar on. No offence, but you work in a restoration shop and still haven’t fixed it. I wouldn’t be caught dead in that thing.”
Judging by Stella’s expression, she’s definitely offended.
“There’s nothing wrong with Gertrude,” she snaps. “She’s reliable. Beggars can’t be choosers, Logan.”
“What about the Mustang?” he pleads, pointing at the pristine convertible still cooling behind me.
“Absolutely not.” Her tone goes full boss mode. “That car’s worth over sixty grand.”
“I’ll be careful! I promise! Ask Ella—I’m amazing at parallel parking!”
“Mate, parking’s not the same as navigating a classic with no power steering and a gearbox that fights back,” I tell him, shaking my head.
“I’m begging you!” He drops to one knee. “This is it! My one shot. She laughs at my jokes. Most of them. She agreed to coffee. Do you know what that means? She might actually like me!”
By now, the rest of the crew has clocked on. José’s poking his head out from under the hood of a Holden, Chase and Asher are openly eavesdropping, Parker’s leaning against the roller door like he’s watching sport, and even Robert’s lifted his welding mask to watch Logan grovel.
“Get up, you dramatic twat,” Stella mutters, but her mouth twitches like she’s trying not to laugh.
“I don’t care if I look pathetic. I’d rather lose my pride than lose my chance at love!”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose.
Stella sighs. “What’s her name again?”
“Julia Blakely. Blonde, blue eyes, smells like?—”
“We know,” I interrupt. “Vanilla and heaven.”
Chase raises a brow. “You know she’s Arden’s little sister, right?”
That gets everyone’s attention.
Stella whips around. “What?!”
“Logan,” I say, dead serious, “do you have a death wish?”
“Maybe! Yes! No! I don’t know anymore! I’ve been trying for months!”
Her expression wavers. She’s trying to hold strong, but Logan’s desperation is hitting all her soft spots. She’s a sucker for a tragic love story—even one starring a hot mess of a bartender.
“What if I drive?” I offer. “Five-minute trip. I drop him off. No risk to the car.”
She opens her mouth to object, but Logan jumps in. “Please! I’ll never ask for anything again. Except maybe coffee recs. And tips. And maybe therapy referrals if this goes sideways?—”
“Logan,” she cuts him off, one brow raised.
“Right. Sorry. Please?”
The workshop has gone dead quiet except for the sound of José crunching popcorn. Where the fuck he got that, I have no clue.
“If anything happens to that car...” Stella warns.
“Nothing will happen!” Logan springs to his feet. “I swear on my grandmother’s grave!”
“Your grandmother’s not dead,” Stella points out.
“Then I swear on my future grandmother’s grave!”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I swear on my own future grave!”
“Logan, stop swearing on graves,” I laugh. “It’s morbid.”
“Fine! I swear on... on...” He glances around desperately. “On the sacred bond of friendship between bartender and patron!”
“That’s not a thing,” Stella says, though she’s clearly fighting a smile.
“It is now! I just made it a thing!”
The crew erupts in laughter. José’s nearly doubled over, Asher’s wiping tears from his eyes, and even Chase shakes his head in amusement.
“This is ridiculous,” Stella mutters.
“Nothing will happen to it. It’s just another test drive. I’ll even log it,” I promise.
“And Logan—you owe me,” she warns.
“I’ll name my firstborn after you!”
“You don’t even have a girlfriend, you won’t be having kids for a long time,” Parker deadpans.
“Then I’ll name my first espresso machine after you!”
“Better,” Stella says, finally smiling.
“Let’s go before she changes her mind,” I mutter, tossing Logan the passenger-side keys and sliding into the driver’s seat.
We’re halfway to the roller doors when Stella calls out, “Logan!”
He whips around. “Don’t say no!”
She smirks. “Put the top down. If you’re rocking up in a classic Mustang, at least make a showstopper entrance.”
Logan beams. “Stella, you’re a goddess among mortals!”
“I know. Now go get your girl.”
As I start the engine, the V8 rumbles to life. Through the windscreen, I catch her gaze—clipboard clutched tight, professional mask firmly in place—but the grin tugging at her mouth gives her away.
“Ready?” I ask Logan, who’s bouncing like he’s downed five energy drinks.
“Born ready. Except, like, not actually born ready, ‘cause babies can’t drive—but you know what I mean.”
“Logan.”
“Right. Shutting up.”
The top goes down, the breeze kicks up, and we cruise toward the coffee shop like two idiots in a car worth more than both our lives combined. Logan’s tapping his knees, nervously practising conversation starters. I don’t have the heart to tell him they’re terrible.
“Think she’ll be impressed?” he asks, checking his reflection in the side mirror.
“Mate, if showing up in a cherry-red Mustang doesn’t win her over, she’s not the girl for you.”
“You reckon?”
“I do. And if she is the girl for you, she’ll love that you made this happen.”
When we pull up to the café, I spot her—blonde, wearing a sundress, standing under the awning like she stepped out of a bloody rom-com. Her face lights up when she sees the car... and Logan.
“Is this your car?” she calls out.
Logan grins wider than I’ve ever seen. “It’s... complicated. But today, yeah. It’s mine.”
She laughs, looping her arm through his as they head inside. Before disappearing through the doors, he throws me a double thumbs-up like we’ve just won a grand final.
Mission: bloody accomplished.
Back at the shop, the crew’s waiting like I’ve just returned from war.
“How’d it go?” Chase asks.
“She was impressed. He’s in.”
The guys cheer. Parker fist-pumps. José does a little victory shimmy. Robert nods solemnly, proud to be part of the operation.
“Now Logan’s going to think he can borrow cars whenever he wants,” Stella says, arms crossed but smiling.
“Yeah, well,” I reply, sidling closer, “you did a good thing.”
“I did a crazy thing.”
“Sometimes the best things are crazy.”
Her gaze softens, but there’s still a guard there. I lower my voice so only she hears.
“Watching you boss everyone around and still have room for hopeless romantics? Sexy as hell.”
“Jake,” she warns, though her blush betrays her.
“What? I’m just saying—the woman who restructured an entire business also just helped a panicked bartender woo a Blakely. You’re part Wonder Woman, part fairy godmother.”
“I am not a fairy godmother.”
“No? Then why tell him to put the top down?”
She rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. That blush is still blooming.
“You’re trouble, Jake Walsh.”
“And you bloody love it, Stella Lloyd.”
She doesn’t deny it—just walks back to her office. A few minutes later, I catch her glancing at her phone, trying to be subtle. I know that look—curious, hopeful, warm.
Sure enough, twenty minutes later, we both get a photo in the group chat: Logan and Julia, sharing a giant piece of cake, smiling like they’ve just won the lottery.
And right there in the middle of her office, Stella Lloyd—boss, planner, clipboard queen—does a tiny, happy dance she clearly thinks no one can see.
But I did.
And it was the best part of my day.