Chapter 6 Landon
Landon
The phone buzzes against my nightstand. I crack one eye open, groaning when I see Joon flashing across the screen. Seven a.m. Nothing good happens when Joon calls me before I’ve had coffee.
I swipe to answer. “What’s wrong?”
“She’s here,” he says without preamble. His voice is low, like he’s trying not to wake someone. “Marcy. In the lot. Sleeping in her car.”
I’m sitting up before my brain even processes the words. “What?”
“I was bringing in the parts delivery and I saw her, huddled in the backseat. There’s frost on the inside of the glass, Landon. I don’t—”
“I’m coming.”
I shove my bare feet into ice-cold boots and snatch my coat off the hook, not bothering to zip it.
Outside, my breath clouds in front of my face, the January air burning my lungs with each inhale.
My truck's engine groans in protest when I turn the key, and I back out of the driveway too fast, gravel spitting under the tires. My fingers drum against the steering wheel, the heat still blowing cold air as I drive. It’s usually a fifteen minute drive but I make it in eight.
I pull into the shop’s parking lot and skid to a stop.
Her little sedan is parked near the side of the shop.
The windows are clouded over, the outline of her curled up in the backseat is barely visible through the frost. I can't swallow.
My hand freezes inches from the door handle, fingers trembling.
What if she doesn't move when I touch her?
The thought thrums through my mind, sharp and uninvited.
I shake my head and rap on the glass. "Marcy!”
She jerks upright, eyes wide and unfocused, brown hair sticking out in all directions. There’s a beat where her grey eyes blink at me like she’s not sure if I’m real, then she reaches for the handle. The door creaks open.
“Landon?” Her voice is rough, sleep-clogged. “What time—?”
"It's too damn cold to be sleeping out here." The words come out like gravel, and I clench my jaw, trying to soften the edge. I exhale, watching my breath cloud between us. "Come on. Let's get you inside."
Her eyes drop to her lap as a flush spreads from her neck to her cheeks, turning the tips of her ears pink against her tangled hair. Her fingers tremble as they search the seat beside her.
"I was fine," she mutters, yanking at the strap of her bag where it's wedged beneath the driver's seat. But even as she speaks I can see her teeth chattering, her fingers shaking.
"Your lips are blue.” I grab her bag, the canvas strap cold against my palm, and jerk my head toward the shop. "Come on."
She curls her shoulders forward as we cross the lot, each step hesitant.
The January wind tosses strands of her hair across her face.
She tries three times to push it away, her fingers trembling so badly she can't tuck it behind her ear. The door is unlocked, and when we finally step inside, the blast from the old wall unit hits my cheeks like needles, making me realize how numb my own face has become. If I’m cold, she must be freezing.
Joon’s behind the counter, his brows pinched. “I made tea.”
I lead Marcy to the couch in the break area and pull one of the thick shop blankets off the back. It smells faintly like motor oil and cedar. She hesitates before letting me wrap it around her shoulders, her hands clutching the edges tight.
“Thanks,” she says, so quietly I almost miss it.
I hold out the steaming mug. Her fingers stretch toward it, blue-tinged and trembling, but when they brush the ceramic, they curl back like burnt matches.
Without thinking, I capture both her hands between mine.
They're small ice blocks against my callused palms. I bow my head, exhaling in long, steady breaths against her knuckles.
A hiss escapes through her teeth, her shoulders hunching forward as pink creeps painfully back into her fingertips.
I don’t look up from her hands as I ask, “You want to tell me why you were out there instead of in a warm bed somewhere?”
Her shoulders rise, then fall. “The Airbnb was more than I thought. The cleaning fee—” She stops, jaw tightening. “It doesn’t matter. I’m an adult and can sleep where I want.”
I exhale slowly. Pride. She’s clinging to it like a life raft. I get it. I’ve done the same.
“You could’ve told me,” I say.
Her eyes flick up, sharp. “And what? Let you feel sorry for me?”
“Not pity,” I say, meeting her gaze. “Concern.”
She pulls her hands from mine and finally reaches for the mug. She curls her fingers around it and stares into the amber liquid.
The shop phone's shrill ring cuts through the silence and I hear Joon answer.
A few moments later he pokes his head in the back.
"Nova's other job needs her all day today. Something about someone’s kid getting sick.
" He taps his pen against the work order board where six tickets already hang. "We're on our own."
I nod, already running through the list of things that need to get done. “We’ll manage.”
The phone rings again and the morning is already off to a hectic start.
I leave Marcy with her tea next to the heater.
Soon Joon and I are getting elbows deep in grease.
I force myself not to check in on Marcy.
I don’t want to crowd her. After last night I don’t want to scare her off.
Especially if I need to convince her to let me help her find a place to spend the night.
It's a couple hours later before Joon and I head back to the lobby to grab fresh coffee.
We stop short when we get inside. I blink twice, wondering if I've walked into the wrong shop.
My fingers trace the counter where coffee rings and grease smudges used to overlap like crop circles.
The credit card reader gleams. Joon bumps into my shoulder, his eyes fixed on the magazine rack where last month's Auto World sits at a perfect right angle to Mechanic's Monthly instead of spilling onto the floor.
Even the welcome mat, worn thin in the middle from years of boot traffic, has been coaxed back into its proper place, the frayed edges tucked neatly against the doorframe.
And on the desk? The scattered avalanche of papers has been tamed into tidy stacks. Marcy is perched in the chair behind the counter, pen between her fingers, flipping through the last few pages like she’s on a mission.
I lean a hip on the counter, watching her. “You didn’t have to do all that.”
Her shoulders lift in a quick shrug, eyes still on the paper. “I didn’t want to just sit here like a lump while you were working. Figured I could at least make myself useful.”
Joon whistles low. “Useful is an understatement. This desk hasn’t looked like this since… ever.”
She glances up, a hint of color in her cheeks. “Guess I’m just good at making order out of chaos.”
I lean back, crossing my arms. “You looking for work?”
Her head snaps up. “No—”
“Because I could use someone who can catch things like that. You could run the front desk, keep the books straight, help with ordering. Work off what it costs to fix your car.”
Her brows knit. “What about your sister? I thought she worked here?”
“Nova’s been filling in as a favor until we find someone new. Even if you only take the job for a couple weeks she won’t mind the break. You won’t be stepping on any toes.”
She looks behind me to Joon and back again. “Landon, I—”
“You can use the bachelor apartment upstairs,” I cut in. “It’s empty. Warm. Close to the shop. Joon used to live there but he got a bigger place.”
Her lips part, then close again. She runs her thumb along a chip in the mug's handle, nail catching on the rough edge. The tea inside ripples with her trembling. Her gaze darts to the window where her car sits, frost still clinging to its windshield.
"Think of it like a trade," I say, tapping my knuckles once on the counter. The sound makes her flinch. I soften my voice. "Your organizational skills for us fixing your car. And a room where the temperature doesn't drop below freezing."
For a long moment, she stares at her hands, her jaw working like she's chewing on her pride. Then she nods—small, almost imperceptible. "Okay.Deal.”