Chapter Ten #2
Trevor and I have been friends for a long time.
Way back when, he bought the old classic car and started fixing it up as a hobby.
When he went off and became a military doctor, it mostly sat here in the warehouse gathering dust. He’d work on it here and there when he was home from serving overseas, but then he almost never got a chance to finish restoring it.
He went through a hell of an ordeal last year, and it cost him his memory.
We’re talking every single memory of his entire life, and he’s still not regained it to this day.
Miraculously, he retained all of his medical knowledge and was able to continue practicing medicine after recertifying.
The true miracle, though, is how his marriage didn’t crumble.
It took a while, but he and Ava found their way back to each other and are the proud parents of a bouncing baby girl.
“Day off?” I ask.
He laughs. “I have all my days off. I’m still working mostly nights in the ER.”
I don’t bring up the fact that he wouldn’t be if he’d taken that cardiothoracic fellowship in Atlanta because, to be honest, I’m more than a little glad he didn’t go.
Opening a wall cabinet, he pulls out the new dashboard bezel that came in last week, holding it just about as carefully as he holds his daughter. He unboxes it and slides into the driver’s seat. He says something, but my attention is still focused on Kenna’s car.
“Carter!”
I whip around. “Uh… what?”
“I asked if you could hand me that flathead screwdriver to pry out this old bezel.” His forehead lines scrunch together. “You okay? You seem a little off.”
Off. Well, that’s one way to describe me.
Distracted. Concerned. Curious. Protective. Hell… maybe even a little obsessed.
I dig through the pile of tools on the nearby bench and hand him the flathead.
He takes it, but continues staring at me. “Does your peculiar demeanor have anything to do with the petite brunette and her red-headed kid you were seen with at Donovan’s yesterday?”
I scrub a hand across my jaw. “Jesus, seriously? It’s been less than twenty-four hours.”
He shrugs. “You’re asking that of the guy who was the center of town gossip for the better part of last year.”
I pull over a rolling stool and sit. Trevor pivots so he’s sitting sideways in the seat looking directly at me, having turned all attention away from the dashboard.
This is one thing I’ve always loved about our friendship.
We can, and often do, talk about shit men normally don’t talk to each other about.
I guess when you work for hours together over a car, things just come out.
He sits patiently while I explain everything that’s happened over the past day.
Damn. Has it really only been one day?
His jaw hangs open as I finish. “So let me get this straight,” he says. “You towed her car and now she’s… living with you?”
“I know, I know. It’s bizarre. But there’s something about her, Trev. She’s strong but vulnerable. She’s a great mom, and she’ll do anything for her kid. She seems so honest and down to earth, yet there’s something she’s hiding. Something she’s scared of.”
“And you got all that from spending a few hours with her?”
“Dude, she’s a complete contradiction. She drives a hundred-thousand-dollar car, yet can’t stay in a hotel that requires ID and a credit card.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“I’ve been asking myself that since yesterday, man. I mean, who in this day and age pays for everything in cash? She wanted to pay me two thousand dollars for crashing in my basement. Who carries that kind of dough on them?”
“Let’s see…” He pinches his jaw in mock thought. “Tucker McQuaid, Chris Montana, Wyatt Ashford—”
I hold up a hand. “Okay, fine. You got me there. But this girl is not like them. She wears sweatshirts and jeans without designer logos. Her sneakers look like they’re a few years old.
” I glance over my shoulder at her car. “Her vehicle, though? That confuses the shit out of me. It seems so out of character for her.”
He laughs. “You’ve known the woman for less than a day and you already know her character? Cruz, you’re in deep.”
I scoff. “You think?” I rub my eyes. “What the hell is wrong with me? I’m not like this.”
He smiles and clasps my shoulder. “None of us are man, until we find the one.”
I roll my eyes. “What would you know about finding the one? You don’t even remember the first time you saw Ava.”
“Touché. But, hey, I’ve seen it in movies. And it’s the way I feel about her now. You just got there quicker, my friend. Love at first sight is a real thing.”
“Get the fuck out. Dude, she’s gone in a week.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. If you really like this girl, that just means you don’t have much time. We need a plan.”
“Plan?”
“To get her to stay. Romantic shit. You already swept her off her feet by towing her car and giving her a place to live. Keep it going.”
I cackle. “One, I’m a mechanic with a teenage boy to raise. I don’t know the first thing about being romantic. And two… well, I don’t need a two. One was enough.”
“I’m calling bullshit. Aren’t you the very person who just last year told me to ‘do better?’ Weren’t you the guy who drove all the way out to your cabin to bring me a box of love letters from my wife?
The guy who said you envied my relationship with Ava and—correct me if I’m wrong—told me, and I quote, ‘I want what you have.’ Carter, maybe this is your chance to have it. ”
“This is ridiculous.” I stand and push the stool away. “We’re sitting here conspiring on how I can get this virtual stranger, who’s only here because her car is smashed up, to fall for me in a week?”
“Or maybe…” He climbs out of the front seat. “Maybe her car is smashed up because she was supposed to meet you.”
“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. “You think her car veering off the icy road is some sort of cosmic intervention?”
He lifts a brow. “Stranger things have happened.” He widens his arms, holding them out to either side. “Case in point.”
“Carter!” Mia yells from the back door of the shop. “Your pee break over yet? I got a call!”
I thumb to the door. “Mia’s on towing duty. I’ll see you later.”
~ ~ ~
Hours later, after working my ass off fixing the stubborn carburetor on Mr. Ridenhour’s Honda—if for no other reason than to not have to think about her—I’m driving myself home in one of the spare shop vehicles doing nothing but thinking of her.
Romantic shit.
That’s just not me. I think the most romantic thing I’ve done in my life was bringing flowers to Denise right after she gave birth to Christian. And if I’d known then that she’d bolt at the first sign of difficult times, I’d have reconsidered it.
Not only that, I don’t want to do anything to scare Kenna away. Like coming on too strong. Anyway, if her crashing into that pole was some kind of fate or cosmic intervention, then whatever happens is meant to happen and nothing I do can change it.
Right?
I park in the driveway, use the keypad to open the garage door, and smile when I see my car has obviously been driven. There are water puddles under each tire. I’m glad she was able to go out and get whatever she needed.
On the other hand, that most likely means we won’t be eating together again, which wipes the smile right off my face.
Opening the rear lift gate, I’m happy to discover she didn’t try to lug the heavy boxes downstairs.
I consider pulling the car out of the garage and further down the side driveway, closer to the basement door, but I really don’t want to play musical cars with the clunker I drove home.
Instead, I pile one box on top of another and carry them into the kitchen.
Christian looks up from where he’s sitting at the table doing some homework. “They’re downstairs. Haven’t seen them all day.”
“I didn’t even ask.”
He grins at me. “But you were going to.”
I don’t touch that comment with a ten-foot pole.
After setting the boxes down by the basement door, I remove my coat then knock.
When there’s no response, I knock louder.
Still nothing. I press my ear to the door, not wanting to open it even though there’s still no lock—something I’ll remedy later.
I hear noise. The television perhaps. Maybe she just doesn’t hear me and I should at least open the door and call down to her.
But when I knock once more and Kenna still doesn’t answer, I resolve to give her the privacy I promised, and head back to my room for a quick shower.
“What’s for dinner?” Christian asks when I return. “Want me to get it started?”
I glance at the door to the basement, wishing I’d be cooking for four. Heck, if I’m wishing for things, I might as well wish that Kenna was standing in front of the stove, swaying her hips like she was last night. Hell, watching her do that was part of the reason I was up all night.
I’ve seen women do things like that before. In bars. At parties. I’ve even danced with some myself over the years. So why did the sight of Kenna moving her body to the beat of the soft music cause such a carnal reaction within me?
“Dad?”
I spin back around. “Yeah, um, how about I grill some steaks? You can choose what we have with them.” I thumb to the boxes. “I’m going to take their things downstairs first.”
Back at the door, I press my ear against it and no longer hear anything. Except for a giggle echoing up from below. Amelia’s giggle. It makes my heart soar. I haven’t even known the little girl for thirty-six hours, and she already has me wrapped around her little finger.
Denise wanted a girl. She was actually upset—as in she pouted, rolled her eyes, and declared ‘boys are disgusting’—at the ultrasound.
That should have been my first clue that she was going to be a shitty mom.
But I was young and didn’t know any better.
And while having a kid before I’d even graduated from high school wasn’t on my list of life plans, I didn’t have any gender preference whatsoever.
Another giggle filters up, and I swear to God my whole heart melts.