Chapter 16 #2
“One long lunch,” I press, thumbs stroking her waist the way that makes her breath catch. “We could go to that new place in town you mentioned. Make an afternoon of it. I’ll push back my meeting with Clemens; he prefers after hours anyway.”
“I really shouldn’t?—”
My phone buzzes. A text from Chase.
Chase
Yasmin and Ella are on their way. Backup plan.
Thank fuck for forward-thinking mates with resourceful girlfriends.
“Actually,” Chase cuts in, suddenly brightening like he’s had a genius idea rather than a desperate one, “that’s great. You’ve been working too hard. You deserve a break, and you are right, Batman’s Kinky Cousin really should be here for the meeting.”
“I appreciate the concern,” she says—but I can hear the ‘but’ coming, “but?—”
“STELLA!” a cheerful voice calls from the workshop, cutting through whatever protest she was about to make.“Surprise!”
We all turn as Yasmin and Ella stroll into the workshop, grinning like they’re up to something.
Yasmin’s in a flowing sundress and sandals.
Ella’s in leggings and a T-shirt that says I’ll get over it, I just need to be dramatic first’ with a unicorn on it that matches her unicorn slippers she’s wearing.
They are completely out of place in our grimy workshop.
“What are you two doing here?” Stella asks, confused but pleased to see them.
“Girls’ lunch!” Ella announces with the kind of enthusiasm that only she can pull off. “Yasmin and I decided we needed some quality time with our favourite operations manager. I know my husband is overworking you, and he wouldn’t dare argue with me.”
“I can’t just leave work for?—”
“Actually,” Yasmin interjects smoothly, “we already called Emily and Megan. They’re meeting us at the new bistro on Main Street. It’s all arranged.”
I have to admire the efficiency of their plan. They’ve thought of everything—even roped in the rest of Stella’s friends to be involved. It’s like watching a military operation disguised as a social event.
Stella looks between us, and I can see her suspicion growing. She’s too smart not to notice that this feels orchestrated, but she can’t quite figure out why we’d go to such elaborate lengths to get her out of the workshop.
“This feels like an ambush,” she says.
“It’s an intervention,” Ella chirps, like that’s less suspicious. “You’ve been working yourself to death. When’s the last time you did something just for fun? Also, what’s the point of being the boss if you can’t play hooky?”
“I have fun.”
“Work doesn’t count,” Yasmin says, smiling.
“Neither does sex with Jake,” Ella adds, making me choke on nothing as heat floods my face.
“Jesus, Ella,” I mutter. She grins, unrepentant.
“What? I’m just saying you need friend time too. Girl talk, gossip, complaining about men—the important stuff.”
Stella narrows her eyes at me; I can see the cogs whirring. She knows something’s off; she just can’t place it.
“You’re all acting very strange.”
“We’re acting like people who care about you,” I say—technically true, even if our motives are complicated. “Come on, one afternoon off won’t kill you. The workshop will survive without you for a few hours.”
“The workshop will still be here when you get back,” Chase adds—probably a bit too eagerly. “I promise I’ll call if anything urgent comes up.”
“Plus,” Yasmin says, looping an arm through Stella’s with practised ease, “we already made reservations. It’d be rude to cancel.”
I can see her wavering. She’s a sucker for social obligations and the guilt of disappointing people. It’s one of her more endearing traits, even when it works against her.
“Fine,” she says at last, and I have to resist the urge to sag with relief. “But just lunch. I need to be back by four.”
“Deal,” Ella says quickly, already steering her towards the exit like she’s afraid Stella might change her mind. “We’ll have you back by four-thirty.”
“Four,” Stella says firmly.
“Four-fifteen,” Yasmin counters.
“Four-ten. Final offer.”
“Done.”
As they hustle her out, Stella’s need to manage everything flares. “Jake, if anything explodes while I’m gone?—”
“Nothing will explode,” I promise. The last thing we need is an actual emergency on top of this manufactured one.
“And Chase, remember to?—”
“I’ll handle everything,” Chase assures her, making shooing motions with his hands. “Go have fun. Relax. Forget about work for a bit.”
The moment they’re out of sight, Chase slumps against his desk like a puppet whose strings have been cut. “That was too close.”
“Think she suspected anything?”
“Hard to tell. Your girlfriend is scarily observant. She notices things most people wouldn’t even think to look for.”
“Tell me about it.” I rake a hand through my hair, the stress of the last few minutes catching up with me. “She once figured out I’d eaten her leftover pizza just from how cheerful my ‘good morning’ sounded.”
“How the hell did she manage that?”
“Apparently I get a guilty look when I’ve done something I know she won’t like, and I overcompensate by being extra cheerful. She can read me like a book.”
“Remind me never to lie to her about anything important.”
“Good plan. When’s Doc getting here?”
“Any minute.” Chase checks his watch and grimaces. “Think the girls can keep her busy for two hours?”
“With Ella and Yasmin? They’ll probably keep her out until dinner. Those two could talk for hours about anything.”
As if summoned, the familiar rumble of Doc’s old pickup rolls into the car park. The sound’s unmistakable—the engine needs work, the muffler’s been patched too many times, and there’s a distinctive rattle that speaks to decades of hard use.
Through the window I see him climb out—tall and lean despite sixty-something years, grey hair under a worn baseball cap, in coveralls that have seen better decades.
He moves with the careful precision of a body that's absorbed years of labour, and there’s something in his posture that speaks to the weight he’s been carrying.
“Right,” Chase says, straightening, trying to look professional rather than like a man who’s just executed an elaborate deception. “Let’s get this over with.”
Doc walks into the workshop like he owns the place which, technically, he did until a few months ago. But there’s something different now—less of the confident ownership he used to project, more of the hesitant uncertainty of someone returning to a place that’s no longer quite home.
He takes everything in with a critical eye—the changes we’ve made since Stella took over. Fresh paint in the office,better lighting, actual organisation replacing his old, controlled chaos.
“Boys,” he says with a nod, voice carrying equal parts familiarity and distance. “Place looks good. Really good.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Chase says, and I can hear the genuine respect in his tone despite the circumstances. “We’ve made some improvements.”
“I can see that.” Doc’s gaze sweeps the floor, tallying every change. “New paint in the office, better lighting, realorganisation...” He pauses at Stella’s pride and joy—the coffee machine that’s spoiled us. “And this beauty. Someone here knows quality equipment.”
“That’s Stella’s doing,” José says, looking up from the engine he’s working on—blissfully unaware of the emotional landmine he’s about to step on. “She insisted on decent coffee.”
My stomach drops as Doc goes still. Something sharp flashes across his expression—like he’s been hit by lightning.
“Stella?” he asks, voice raw enough to tighten my chest.
Oh, shit. Exactly what we were trying to avoid.
Chase and I share a look of pure panic. In all our careful planning to get her out, we never told the boys not to mention her. It seems obvious in retrospect, but hindsight is a cruel mistress.
“Our operations manager,” Parker adds helpfully, oblivious to the bomb he’s just detonated. “Best thing that ever happened to this place.”
Doc goes very still—so still I wonder if he’s stopped breathing. Colour drains from his face. He looks pale and shaken in a way that’d be concerning if I weren’t more worried about what it means.
“Stella... what’s her last name?” he asks, barely above a whisper.
“Lloyd,” Parker supplies cheerfully, still focused on his work and missing the tension hanging thick enough to cut. “Why? Do you know her?”
The question lands like a death sentence. Doc’s face cycles through shock, recognition, guilt, and something that might be hope.
“Stella Lloyd,” he repeats quietly, testing the words. “She works here?”
“She runs this place,” Robert says proudly, finally looking up from his welding and sensing that something important is happening. “Turned us from a bunch of disorganised mechanics into an actual business. Woman’s a miracle worker.”
“How long?” Doc’s voice is barely audible now.
“About two months,” Chase answers, reluctant now that he sees how badly we’ve fucked up.
Doc sits heavily on a nearby stool, looking like he’s been hit by a truck. His hands shake as he takes off his cap and scrubs a hand through grey hair.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, but in the sudden silence of the workshop, it sounds like a shout.
This is not going to end well. In fact, it’s going to end as badly as anything has ever ended in the history of things ending badly.
Because in about two hours, Stella’s going to come back from her lovely girls’ lunch, expecting everything exactly as she left it. Instead, she’s going to walk into a workshop where her estranged uncle is sitting there looking like he’s seen a ghost.
And when that happens, all hell is going to break loose.