Chapter 2
[Tate]
“You’re pregnant?” The words echo around the cavernous garage.
A blunt question wasn’t the way I’d typically greet someone.
Especially someone I haven’t seen for nine months.
Someone who hasn’t left my thoughts, because she’d been the one to break a long dry spell and then put me into another one.
Not that I minded. I didn’t really care for one-night stands, but it had been New Year’s Eve.
Alcohol had been involved, along with a dare from my stupid cousins.
“Driver,” she’d called me, because of the authentic racing costume I’d worn. “Or do you prefer to be ridden?”
I’d never had a woman come on to me so quickly, so refreshingly forceful, and cute as a button while looking equally tough, dressed in mechanic overalls with a red bandana around the short waves of her black hair.
“Shit, Rosie.” Presently, I swipe a hand through my hair, certain Rosie is not her real name. She just looked like Rosie the Riveter that night, only sexier, with that midnight hair.
“Are you…” I choke over what I’m about to ask her next. “Are you Lumi Snowe?”
She tilts her head, while the stiff cup of a face mask rests at the crown like a maimed rhino horn. She wears mechanic overalls again, only this one is unsnapped to her waist with the sleeves tied just below her distended belly, further emphasizing her pregnancy.
How far along is she? The thought comes before I can stop it, automatic and detached, like I’m trying to solve something I have no business solving.
A brief, stupid flicker follows, wondering who the father is, and just as quickly, I shut that down.
None of my business.
Still, something tightens in my chest.
“Fuck,” I mutter under my breath.
“Who wants to know?”
“Who wants to know what?” I already forgot I asked her a question, because this isn’t where or how I expected to find her, nor did I really think I would ever see her again.
The coastal towns around here are small and separated by inlets of water and the stretch of mountains toward the bay. I never imagined it’d be this easy to run into her again. Nor as complicated as this reunion is about to get.
“Tatum Love.” I extend my hand, but she only stares down at my offering. “Tate,” I further clarify. “Hessfield Holdings.” Real estate acquisitions.
The final explanation isn’t necessary. Lumi knows why I’m here.
A hot tip told me this auto-repair garage is for sale.
With a quick glance, the space is as dated on the inside as it is on the outside.
Like someone was unaware the calendar flipped to the 2000s, with more than a quarter of a century gone.
The place is neat and orderly but doesn’t look like it’s had a deep clean since it opened sixty years ago.
The assessment might be a tad harsh, and not part of my reason for being here.
If I have my way, this place will soon be gutted.
Realizing my hand is still extended, I lower it and notice the grease on her delicate fingers.
“Tate Love,” she repeats, her crystal-blue eyes wide. “As in the love part of Lovewell Landing?”
My face heats. My connection to the history of my hometown isn’t something I wish to discuss right now.
“Are you Lumi?” I ask again.
With a heavy sigh, she glances to the side. “No. I’m Neve.” She blows out a breath while meeting my eyes with the brightness of hers.
Mesmerizing.
“Neve Snowe,” she clarifies, running her hand over her belly. Something she must have done several times already today, because the white tee stretched over her stomach has a large smudge of grease on it. “I’m her sister.”
Her sister? Fuck.
“Should you be in here? With the fumes?” She is pregnant.
Glancing over my shoulder, I take in the open bay door. Instantly, I’m sidetracked by the striking view. The lull of September waves in the distance. The nostalgic lighthouse in the periphery. Only a curvy strip of road between here and the water.
The location is perfect.
“That’s why I have the door open.”
I twist to face her again. That mask is still on her head. Grease paints her cheek. She’s a mess, and as cute as I remember.
“So, Neve. Is Lumi available?”
Her shoulders stiffen. She stands straighter while assessing my suit with narrowed eyes. “She isn’t. Is there something I can help you with?”
Gone is the flirty woman from NYE, teasing me about tailpipes and pistons. Cylinders and revving engines. All sexual euphemisms that had me smiling like I haven’t smiled in years.
“Neve,” I repeat, searching my memory for details about the four partners who own Rusty’s Wrecks. Four sisters who inherited the place when their father died. Each was a quarter owner, where one slice wasn’t happy to sell.
She’ll come around, Lumi hesitantly told me about the little thorn making previous sales difficult.
Hessfield Holdings will not fail. Our offer is insanely generous because this location is prime real estate. Waterview. Steps from the ocean. Quaint small town.
“I think it might be best if I talk with Lumi.”
“Why?” Neve’s voice is hard as she takes a step towards me. Then she pitches forward, gripping her belly. “Fidgety sticks.”
“Fidgety sticks?” I choke-chuckle at the same time I rush forward, holding my hands out like I intend to catch her. Or a baby.
Fuck, is she going into labor? Is she that far along? Does that mean she was pregnant when we—
I’m going to be sick. Quickly doing the math, it’s been almost nine months since I’ve seen her. A full-term pregnancy runs nine full months, complete at the start of the tenth month.
Then again, I’m not a baby expert, so I can’t guess as to how far along she is.
While I consider myself still young in my forties, she’s a little old to be having a baby, and it’s a thought I should not be thinking.
But now my brain is spiraling over later in life pregnancies and the health risks for a woman over thirty-five.
Stuff tucked in the recesses of my brain from a life I never lived.
Swiping my hand through my hair again, I blurt, “What can I do?” How can I help you?
“Should I call Lumi?” She said Lumi is her sister.
“Or maybe your…” My throat tightens. “Boyfriend? Or your husband?” Holy hell, has she gotten married in the past nine months? I can’t see her left hand, tucked under her belly as she’s still bent forward.
“Subtle,” she barks, slowly standing upright while continuing to hold the underside of her stomach. “If you wanted to know if I was still available, you should have led with that.”
Stunned, my lips gape, and I blink once. Not one ounce of flirtation rests in her comment, only a pound of sass.
“Well, what do you need?” I toss my arms outward before swiping through my hair again.
It’s a nervous habit. My hair is a little longer than when we met, and it’s probably sticking up everywhere from how anxious she’s making me.
Especially as she stares back at me, her mouth falling open to say something before she clamps it shut.
“Nothing,” she grinds out. “I don’t need anything from you.”
The sharpness of her retort causes my brows to lift. What have I done to her?
Unless she knows. Unless she somehow found out the buyer isn’t Bucky Beaver Body Shop, but a parent company. They aren’t interested in renovating the garage but demolishing it. But she can’t know that. Not yet. Disclosures haven’t been revealed. Contracts haven’t been signed.
Only money has been offered. That’s why I’m here. To persuade Lumi Snowe to convince one prickly sister that it is time to sell.
But the longer I look at the pinched lines in Neve’s face and the clench of her jaw, the sale is the last thing on my mind.
“Are you in pain? Are you in labor?” My voice cracks like I’m a prepubescent teen and not a competent, forty-two-year-old businessman.
She shakes her head. “Slow down, Driver.” She holds up the hand originally holding her belly and places her other hand on her lower back, arching backward a bit. “It’s way too early for labor. I’m not due until—”
She cuts herself off, while I’m hanging by a thread over here. Like a spider dangling from a web. And I fucking hate spiders.
“Let me call someone for you.” Someone better equipped to handle this situation.
I’m not her guy. I was just a one-time thing. A stupid dare.
“There’s no one to call,” she says quietly, glancing toward the small waiting room off to the left of the garage. “It’s only me.”
I stare at her, noting a pinch of sadness underneath her declaration.
“And I need to sit down for a second.”
Without further explanation, she spins toward the waiting area.
I rush past her to open the door.
She scowls, grumbling, “I can open my own doors.”
“I don’t doubt it, but allow me just this once anyway.”
“Only once?” She arches a brow, reminding me of our night.
Let me make you come, I begged.
Just once? she teased.
Multiple times, I promised.
Who was that guy? I was so not myself that night. Something about her just made me carefree. Made me say things I typically didn’t say. And do things I’d rarely do.
Like give a beautiful woman all the orgasms she asked for before she gave me a few also.
She sweeps by me as I hold open the metal-framed glass door, and she takes a seat on a high stool behind a small counter.
The waiting area is cleaner than the garage.
Still worn but more welcoming with a few plants near the window and a black industrial mat that looks recently vacuumed.
Three orange chairs rest near a coffee cart with a small coffeemaker, actual mugs, and condiments.
“You should put your feet up,” I tell her, noticing how her shorter legs hardly reach the low rung on the stool.
“Here.” I grab a plastic chair and set it near her, taking the liberty to lift her lower legs and set her feet on the seat.
“Whoa,” she says, holding up her hands. “What are you? The pregnancy police?”
I chuckle, fingers twitching to comb through my hair again. I did want to be a doctor once. Instead, I went to business school.
Now, instead of delivering babies, I deliver dull documents and complicated contracts.
“Can I get you something? Water? Gatorade?” She needs to keep her electrolytes up.
Neve chuckles. The choppy sound is closer to laughter than her previous sarcasm. “I’m good. Little Wrench says it’s time for a break.” Her voice lowers, almost a coo, as she glances down at her belly, resting like a large pumpkin in her lap.
Neve instantly appears softer. Sweeter. Even with the mask on her head looking like the broken horn of a unicorn, she’s so pretty, especially when she smiles.
I watch her hands smooth over her stomach in soothing circles.
“Little Wrench?” I chuff.
“Yeah, ever hear the saying ‘she threw a wrench in my plans’? Well.” She waves around her abdomen like it’s a crystal ball.
My throat thickens, and I blink rapidly, willing away a sudden cloud in my eyes. “You’re having a girl?” I instantly picture her. A miniature Neve with raven hair, eyes like the summer sky, and sunshine on her cheeks.
“That’s what they tell me.” She chuckles, good-naturedly this time.
“Got a name picked out?”
She tilts her head as I stand behind the plastic chair, leaning forward, hands braced on the back like my stomach is suddenly contracting.
“You don’t like Little Wrench?” Her eyes dance, the turquoise color light and playful.
“I mean, it’s cute, but I might be partial to Rosie.”
I don’t know why I say it, but our eyes lock for a second. Her breath hitches. My pulse hammers. We shouldn’t go back to that night. To what we did, how we did it. Multiple times.
We don’t need to go back.
I mean, look at her. She’s pregnant with some lucky bloke’s baby, and he’s an idiot because he isn’t here.
It’s only me, she said.
What an asshole that guy is.
I’d give anything to have a baby. Not something guys typically say, but I’m a man who always wanted love and marriage and a baby or two in a carriage.
Funny how life never works out the way you plan.
Like meeting an incredible woman on the eve of a new year, only to lose her the next day.