Chapter 6
MOLLY
This was not a walk of shame.
It wasn’t.
More like a saunter of shame up Gavin’s cute little sidewalk to his front door.
Molly lifted her hand to the doorbell attached to the stucco exterior, pressing the button.
“I think we can just go in,” Ollie said, reaching for the doorknob.
Molly shook her head. “We can’t just walk into someone
else’s house.”
Affronted, Ollie lifted his finger to point to the house. “We were just in there.”
“And now we’re not.” Molly did her best to use her not-the-time-to-argue tone, but it came out weak even to her ears.
The door swung open, and Gavin stood across the threshold. A brief look of shock passed over his face before an odd smirk settled on his mouth. “Back for more?”
Oh, yes, please.
The internal monologue thing? Not helping.
“Mom wants to know what you know about cars,” Ollie said, since Molly’s tongue had stopped working.
Turned out, not a lot. But Gavin had the phone number to a mechanic and tow truck, which was how Evelyn ended up watching the boys a teensy bit longer and Molly ended up being driven to Brothers Automotive by Gavin Frank. Gavin, who skillfully inserted himself in her crisis of the moment.
The initial problem? Just a battery. She needed a new one. That’s why it hadn’t started.
The deep-down issues? Varied and many. Starting with the need for a new radiator, coolant something, some kind of plug thing, and a hose doohickey.
Also, two bottles of wine and a table to curl up under and cry.
She was in a professional garage with tools and lifts and tires, but all she saw was the bottom line on the paper in front of her. It was a big bottom line.
Huge.
A number she only liked to see in the plus column of
her bank account. A number that meant either stunt camp would not happen or she’d have to dig into that nest egg and put off house hunting for another six months.
Neither of these things was appealing.
She didn’t kick the wheel well of the vehicle because then she’d have to add any damage she inflicted to the estimate the mechanic presented on the hood. The hood and the tires being pretty much the only things that didn’t need replacing.
Lesson learned—don’t put off maintenance over and over again. Oil changes are actually important to vehicle longevity.
“How about a patch instead?” she asked, eyeing the bottom line of the estimate one more time, then glancing away. At that price, she should buy a new car. But she had just committed to stunt camp.
Being an adult sucked.
“Just to get me through for a bit,” she added.
“Molly, I think it really died,” Gavin said under his breath.
She shushed him.
The guy sold toaster tarts—he’d probably never owned a used car in his life. Also, he wasn’t a mechanic. Thus, he didn’t know what car death looked like.
If she ever needed to know what toaster tart death looked like? He’d be her go-to guy.
“Something just to get us through until it really dies?” She gave Gavin a death look she hoped he understood.
He said nothing, so maybe her point got through.
The mechanic guy—nice, good-looking guy with a huge…estimate—gave her an eesh look. “You could replace
the battery. Patch up the leak. But I don’t know how long that would buy you.”
“What kind of timeframe would we be looking at?” Hours. Days. Months. Years?
He scratched at his temple. “Could get you a week.
Could get you through the summer.”
Through the summer sounded great. She could save up, acquire some new sponsors, a few extra speaking engagements. Yes. They should do that one.
“What would that cost?” she asked.
He scribbled on the paper while she watched the number go down dramatically to one that didn’t make her want to hit the liquor store on the way home.
“I like that number.” She pointed to the number. “Let’s do that one.”
Mechanic guy scowled. “I can’t guarantee the work on a patch like this. You could be back here next week.”
“Or August.” She did little jazz hands because she was Molly.
He gave her a grin. Actually, he was kinda cute. Not Gavin handsome, but cute.
Gavin cleared his throat and nudged her arm. “Can I talk to you?”
“No.” She shook her head. Waved him away. “I’m negotiating.”
“Look, ma’am…” Mechanic guy said.
The ma’am thing? Yeah, he wasn’t so cute anymore.
“I have to be honest. This is your best bet.” Mechanic guy tapped the first number. “Or you scrap the car.”
Nope. Not cute at all.
“See. Sir,” she said, putting extra emphasis on the “sir”
part. “The thing is, I have to be honest, too. I like this number better.”
And she could only drive sometimes, and carefully. Besides, she worked from home. She didn’t really need to go anywhere. Much.
“We can do the work, but you’ll have to sign a waiver.” Mechanic dude looked like he was sorry.
He didn’t need to be sorry. This was a solution everyone could get on board with.
“I like waivers.” She grabbed her wallet from her purse to deal with the damage. “Waivers are my favorite.”
Mechanic dude went to go handle the paperwork. She was ready to go home.
“That wasn’t a negotiation.” Oh, look, Gavin was still there. Hooray.
“Then what was it?” She walked in to one price. Left with another. That was the definition of a negotiation.
Gavin put his hands at his waist. “A bloodbath.”
“Because I won?”
“Molly?” He glanced to the floor, then back up. “I know…” He cleared his throat. “I do consider you a friend.”
“I think that’s the second nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” she said, squeezing his biceps through his button up dress shirt, and then immediately regretting it because, actually, he had nice biceps and she probably shouldn’t touch them.
“What was the first?” he asked.
Um…the only other time he’d said something nice to her? “When you said I looked pretty at the wedding.”
Why did she blush when she said that? It wasn’t like he told her he wanted to rip off her dress and ravage her in her cotton panties. But something about the way his eyes traced over her made her suddenly very aware of her cut-off shorts and ratty T-shirt.
Whatever was going on with her nerve endings today needed to knock it off.
“You did,” he said. She could’ve sworn he added, under his breath, “You do.”
But she was probably misunderstanding after all the money talk with the mechanic. Money talk had a tendency to make a girl light-headed.
“That’s why it was a nice thing to say.” She did not squeeze his biceps this time. Didn’t even touch him. Go me! “Right.” He didn’t look away. “Look. If a friend needs a loan or a—”
She held up her hand. “I’m going to stop you right there.”
Before he put his foot in his mouth by offering her money when she had money. Just not enough money for a down payment, stunt camp, and a car overhaul.
“Why does this have to be difficult?” he asked. “Friends help friends.”
They weren’t quite that type of friends. Maybe they’d get there in the next two decades, especially since he’d saved her kid’s life with the whole diving in after him thing.
She gulped. Not thinking about that right now.
What mattered was that they were still getting into the tolerating each other stage of things.
He wanted to know why this was so difficult? Because she could do it her damn self. She didn’t need a bailout. Never had. Never would.
She’d already come up with a solution on her own.
A patch to get her through until she could buy all the things—stunt camp for her kid who never asked for anything, and a new radiator for the car that asked for everything.
And a nice two-story house near her current duplex so she could still check in on Agnes regularly.
Sometimes she actually felt like she was getting ahead with the whole mom thing, and then something like this happened to put her back in her place.
But the one thing that would make her feel like even more of a failure would be to take money from Gavin. Or anyone, for that matter.
But especially from Gavin.