Chapter Two #2
Carter chuckles and answers before I can. “It’s when your Cheerios go bad before you can eat them.”
I roll my eyes as he smiles back at me.
Amelia scrunches her nose. “I don’t like Cheerios. I like Fruit Loops.”
Carter nods. “Fruit Loops. Noted.”
He goes through a roundabout and then pulls into a back alley.
As if sensing my trepidation about being in a stranger’s truck in an alley—with duct tape—he nods to the back door of an establishment. Large black block letters spell out: CRISS COFFEE CORNER. “What’s your poison?”
I can practically smell coffee, though it’s only in my head, and my mouth waters. “Tall. Black. Sugar.” I dig into my purse, but he’s out the door before I can give him cash.
While I’m waiting, a car pulls into a spot a little way down. A woman gets out, regards the tow truck for a moment, then carefully treads to the back door. When she opens it, I read the block letters: GIGI’S FLOWER SHOP.
Before she’s inside, she glances my way, just now noticing someone is in the back seat. She waves. I stupidly look behind me to see who she’s waving at, then awkwardly wave back as she smiles and disappears into the shop.
Carter is back much quicker than I expected, standing by my door, hands full, motioning for me to open it.
When I do, he extends his arms inside. One hand is holding a steaming coffee.
I inhale as if it’s the first coffee I’ve ever smelled, the cup I had a few hours ago reduced to a disregarded memory.
Then he hands me a bag. “I didn’t know what Amelia would like, or what she’s allowed to have, or if she has any allergies. Damn, I should have asked you before.”
“She’s not allergic to anything.”
“Good. There’s a variety of treats inside. Take your pick.” He fishes something out of his pocket. “I got bottles of water and juice.”
I stare at all of it, incredulous. He must have just spent close to twenty dollars on two people he doesn’t even know. I put down the coffee and reach inside my purse for my wallet. “What do I owe you?”
He waves me off. “My treat, as you’ve gotten off to a decidedly bad morning.”
“I can’t let you—”
“Kenna, seriously, it’s no biggie. I know the owner.”
Surely that doesn’t mean he gets it for free. But I don’t push the issue. It’s actually quite refreshing to run across someone who won’t take money from me.
“Thank you,” I say as he resumes his spot in the driver’s seat. “This was very thoughtful of you.”
I look inside the bag, which smells as divine as the coffee.
With all our things packed up, and pretty much everything else in our apartment—with the exception of the included furniture—having been thrown out, we had nothing left to eat for breakfast this morning but cereal bars. Fruit Loops cereal bars to be exact.
Amelia leans over and takes a peek. “Mommy, can I have the sprinkle donut? Please, please?”
I don’t miss how Carter’s mouth turns up even though I can only see his right side.
“Not in the car, sweetie. It’s too messy.”
Carter snickers. “It’s a tow truck. A few sprinkles might even class it up.” He turns slightly. “Go ahead and eat it, pumpkin.”
“Pumpkin?” Amelia half-squeals. “That’s not my name. My name is Amelia.”
“I know,” he says, meeting my gaze for the tenth time in the mirror. “But you have orange hair, like a pumpkin.”
“My hair is red,” she insists.
He holds up a hand. “I stand corrected.”
I hand her the donut and a napkin and take a bite of the warm, delectable croissant I also pulled from the bag.
“Wow, this is good.”
“If you like that, you should try the bakery down the street. Ava’s coffee is second to none, but her breakfast selections can’t rival the bakery.”
For a second, a sad feeling washes over me that I won’t be here long enough to try the famous bakery. As we pull out of the alley and back into the roundabout, I find myself looking longingly down the small-town street that reminds me of a Norman Rockwell painting.
Eating the rest of the croissant, I stare at the back of Carter’s head now that his eyes are focused on the road.
He has dark hair, much darker than mine.
It’s cropped in the back so it doesn’t spill over his collar, but it’s a bit longer on the top.
It’s the kind of hair you can run your fingers through and get a good grip on.
His hooded coat’s been pulled low. Perhaps he sat on the hem of it.
And over the top edge of it, I catch a glimpse of ink.
He’s got a tattoo on his neck. Or maybe his back.
I’m not quite sure why, but I really want to know what it is and how far it extends.
Wayward tingles shoot through my center, and my cheeks flush.
This is the first man I’ve had a reaction to in a long, long time, and it startles me a little.
I chalk it up to hero worship. After all, the guy is kind of saving me.
And he’s done nothing if not act like my knight in shining armor.
If you can call a tow truck shining armor.
To take my mind off the heat inside me, I focus on the photo again. “Is that your son?”
The biggest smile I’ve seen yet splits his face as he glances at the picture and then angles slightly back toward me. “That’s Christian. This photo was taken several years ago. He’s fifteen now. Best thing that ever happened to me.”
The pride in his voice is unmistakable. Strike another one up for my savior. He’s the proud single dad of a presumably disabled son.
I put my hand on Amelia’s knee. “I know the feeling.”
“Here we are,” he declares as we turn into a parking lot.
I look out the window and up at the large sign over the storefront and garages. It reads: Cruz-In Auto Repair Shop.
I scoff, waving my hand at the sign. “I’m not sure I want my car fixed here if the owner can’t even spell the word Cruise.”
Carter laughs. It’s a low, deep, belly-laugh that I really, really like. Maybe I like it because I haven’t heard a man laugh like that in a long time. Maybe ever. Maybe I like it because it seems so genuine and honest. Maybe I like it because of how my heart is flipping over in my chest.
“I’m the owner,” he says, still laughing. “Or one of them anyway. It’s my name. Carter Cruz. C-R-U-Z.”
“Oh,” I say, embarrassed. Where’s the do-over button when you need it? “Well, that makes a lot more sense now.”
He pulls around to the backside of the shop where there’s a huge warehouse.
“You aren’t going to take it directly into a bay?” I ask, worried that my car may not be as big of a priority for him as it is for me.
“The bays are where we do things like oil changes and engine repairs.” He motions to a large garage door on the warehouse.
“This is where we do collision repair. I mean, your car will need both, but I’ll assess it here first.” He hops out, raises the large door, then gets back in the truck and expertly backs into the large stall.
“Come with me. You can wait in our reception area while I check it out. Do you need anything from the car?”
I hold up the diaper bag, which hasn’t been used as a diaper bag in a while, but is now a catch-all for anything Amelia might need for the car trip. “We’re good for now.”
I unbuckle Amelia, sling my purse and the bag over my shoulder, and get my cup and the paper bag, still heavy with a muffin and other pastries.
The parking lot between the warehouse and the shop is slippery, and Amelia’s feet start to come out from under her.
“Easy there,” Carter says, scooping her up into his arms. “It’s slick, and we haven’t spread salt back here yet.” He holds a free arm out to me. “Take my arm. Can’t have you falling and suing me.”
How ironic that this man thinks I’m a person who would jump at the opportunity to take money from someone.
I roll my eyes, but grip his arm anyway, because, yeah, adding a broken leg to this already awful morning is not on my bingo card.
He holds his arm tight against his body, pressing my hand firmly into the side of his torso, where even through his coat I can feel his tight core muscles. And despite the frigid temperature, warmth spreads throughout my body.
I can’t help the intrusive thought I’m having.
Is it terrible of me to want the repairs to take a while? I mean, the guy is nice to look at.
And unlike everyone else I know, he hasn’t asked a single thing of me.
Yet.