Chapter 10
“Well, she’s…” I purse my lips, trying to think of something nice to say about the vehicle before me.
“Something,” Connor finishes for me.
The truck is definitely rustier than the sale pictures indicated, and there are some dents that weren’t mentioned either. I guess this is why they say you shouldn’t make an expensive purchase sight unseen.
“Stinking Roger,” I mumble.
Connor makes a noise in his throat that sounds like a mix between a chuckle and a cough. Like he wants to laugh, but his body won’t let him. “Who is Roger, and what did he do to you?”
“It’s another flower name.” I sigh. “But wouldn’t it be fitting if the last owner’s name was actually Roger?”
“Sure.” He says it more like a question than a statement.
The uncertainty in his tone makes my lips quiver. “Do you think it’s fixable?” I hate the shakiness in my voice.
His hand twitches at his side as if he’s considering reaching out to comfort me but thinks better of it. “Anything is fixable.”
I turn to him, my eyes glassy. “You think so?”
Connor’s face remains stoic, but he nods. “You texted that mom on the way here and let her know you weren’t going to be able to make fifty monkey balloon animals at her son’s party.”
He’s right. I felt sick to my stomach for the entire twelve minutes and thirty-seven seconds I waited for her response.
But I did it. She didn’t even seem mad that I backed out, just that she understood and thanked me for letting her know so far in advance.
I still feel awful about it, but I guess saying no wasn’t as horrible as I anticipated.
“If you can start making changes after years of never saying no, don’t you think the car experts can get it running perfectly and make the truck look good as new?”
“You’re right.” I stand taller.
“Do you want a picture with it?”
It’s kind of him to offer, but I’m not sure anyone should ever see the level of disaster that is this truck before we fix it up.
Although, maybe the before-and-after pictures could make for some good marketing videos.
“Sure. Why not?” I pose in front of the truck with my arms up in the air and smile wide, trying to convince myself that I’m excited when right now we still have a long way to go.
Connor pulls out his phone, snaps a few pictures, pockets his device, then unhooks a measuring tape from his belt loop and moves toward the vehicle.
“What’re you doing?” I ask, turning to face the truck again. I attempt to withhold my grimace at the dirt and grime caking it.
“What does it look like?” He hops up onto the bed of the truck like he’s some kind of spider monkey or an Olympic jumper. “I’m measuring.”
“Thanks for that stunning revelation, Captain Obvious,” I deadpan. “I mean, why do you need to measure the truck bed?”
Connor analyzes the measuring tape with his tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. It might be the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. He pulls out a pencil and a small notepad from his pocket and scribbles down a few numbers. I love a man who comes prepared.
“So I know how much material we’ll need to buy.” He glances up at me. “You said you wanted wood stands, right?”
My heart melts that he was listening when I spilled all my thoughts out to him. He’s making this whole forgetting-about-my-feelings-for-him thing really difficult.
I suck in a long breath and slowly exhale. “Right, but what kind of material are you talking about buying? I figured I would get premade stands.”
“Building ’em will be cheaper.” Connor runs a hand through his hair.
I shake my head. “You don’t need to build them for me. You’re already giving me your entire afternoon; I didn’t expect you to—”
“This is your business, Shayna.” He jumps down from the truck, landing beside me with ease. “Don’t you want it to look professional?” Obviously, he already knows the answer, but I nod anyway. “And a deal’s a deal. I’m here to help.”
“You really don’t mind? Do you even know how to build something like that?” I place my hands on my hips with a self-deprecating laugh. “I, for one, know that you can’t become an expert at everything from YouTube videos.”
“I know—I threw exhibit A into the trash at your house.”
I gasp. “Did you just make a joke?”
His face remains stoic as he says, “I think I did.”
I pull out my phone and open the calendar app.
He leans over and furrows his brow when he sees what I’m doing. “Why are you typing ‘Connor made a joke’ in your calendar?”
“I’m marking the date to remember this momentous occasion.” He shakes his head at my antics. “But seriously, you didn’t answer my question.”
Connor sighs. “I think I can figure out how to build a few stands. As I said, I like projects.”
“If you’re sure you’ll have the time for it.”
“I’ll make it happen.” The certainty in his tone doesn’t leave room for further discussion. “Do you want the stands stained, painted, or natural?”
“Probably stained or natural,” I say. “I’d want to compare a piece of the wood with the galvanized metal vases once I buy those to see what looks best.”
Connor nods. “I have some ideas, but we can take a look at the hardware store. There are lots of different types of wood, so I’m sure we can find something that fits your vision.
In the meantime”—he jumps back up onto the bed of the truck—“may as well figure out the dimensions for the canopy, too.” He points to the stained and tattered thing I’m hesitant to call a canopy currently covering the back.
“I’m assuming you’re going to want this disposed of? ”
I wrinkle my nose. “Definitely.”
After taking a few more measurements, Connor rejoins me on the ground. “Ready to get it dropped off at the mechanic shop and pick out a paint color?”
“Her,” I correct.
He stares at me, stone-faced.
“I’m ready to get her dropped off.”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s an inanimate object.”
I lean forward and pat the car I’ve decided I’ll name Daffodil. “You’re hurting her feelings.” My hand comes back coated in dirt, and I discreetly try to wipe it off on a tissue from my flower-shaped purse.
Connor doesn’t notice, though, since he’s already halfway back to his truck. “Doesn’t have feelings,” he calls over his shoulder.
I shake my head as he backs his truck up to attach the flower truck to the hitch. Maybe spending more time with Connor is a good thing. If I see just how different we are, it could potentially act as a deterrent. Yeah, maybe by the end of this, I’ll finally be rid of this crush on Connor Porter.
After we’ve dropped Daffodil off at the mechanic shop, we walk next door to Pat’s Auto Body. The little bell on the top of the door rings as we step inside.
Pat pops up from behind his desk with a wide grin.
“Connor, long time no see, my man.” He goes in for a typical bro hug, but stops mid-motion when Connor only extends his hand.
It results in an awkward handshake with Pat partially clapping Connor’s shoulder.
My cheeks burn with secondhand embarrassment.
He turns to me with open arms. “Shayna, you haven’t aged a day.”
I wrap my arms around him, giving him a quick squeeze. “Nice to see you, Pat.”
“It’s better to see you.” He flashes me a wide smile.
I feel Connor’s eyes on us. When I pull back, he’s looking at Pat with enough fire to burn a forest.
Pat clicks his tongue as he looks back and forth between us with a grin. “You know, I wasn’t sure how you two would work, but now that I’m looking at you together, I totally see it.”
My brows knit together. It feels like I jumped in mid-conversation.
I have no clue what Pat’s talking about.
I look to Connor for some clarity, but with the steely look on his face, I don’t think I’m going to get an answer.
It looks like he wishes he could wring Pat’s neck.
I’m not exactly sure why, but seeing him all protective is insanely attractive.
I add that to my mental list of things I need to forget about Connor Porter.
1. The way his strong, calloused hands felt on my face.
2. How he was able to bring me down from a panicked state and make me feel safe.
3. The way he effortlessly lifted and carried me to safety out of a burning building.
4. The feeling of his strong, muscular arms wrapped around my body.
5. How irrationally hot he looks when he gets protective over me.
I could be making it all up in my head. I mean, he was voluntold by his sister to help me with this project rather than being a willing volunteer.
And he probably feels protective of me in a familial sense.
Or maybe I’m reading him all wrong and this glare-filled look is his new resting state.
It’s not like I’ve been around him much in the past nine years since he graduated high school and left his family—and me—behind without a glance back.
Meanwhile, I’ve been the silly younger girl still pining after him.
The hopeless romantic in me won’t settle for less than someone who makes me feel that fairytale, swept-off-my-feet, knight-in-shining-armor kind of love.
I’ve given other men a real, fair shot, but no one has ever made me feel like Connor does.
Not after one date, and not even after ten.
I know it’s not fair to hold men to a standard, but even though Connor’s not perfect, he’s made me feel all those things.
So, how could I possibly accept less when I know there’s so much more out there?
“Like I said, we’re not together,” Connor grumbles. “Just helping out my sister’s friend.”
Oof. There it is, the dose of reality I needed to remind me why I created my mental list of all the things I need to forget about him.
My sister’s friend.
Not even his friend. That’s all I am to him. He’s helping me out as a favor to Mallory. Nothing more. I wish his words would burn my crush to ash, but my optimism seems to be clinging on for dear life, refusing to let me give up hope.
“Oh, yeah. We’re so not together.” I let out an awkward laugh, acting like the very idea of us being together is ridiculous.
Pat raises his eyebrows before flashing me a flirtatious smile. “In that case, what’re you doing Friday night?”
I feel Connor’s eyes on me, but I refuse to look up at him. What should he care if I go on a date with someone else? I’m just his sister’s friend.
But I don’t think Pat is the kind of man I’m looking for.
I’ve always had a thing for more reserved guys—okay, really just Connor.
But definitely not guys who look like they have asked out their fair share of women and know exactly what to say to get a woman to say yes.
Unfortunately for him, charm isn’t on Pat’s side this time.
“Sorry, Friday nights are for the girls,” I say.
Connor shifts next to me, but I still don’t look his way.
Pat’s smile doesn’t dim, confidence oozing from him despite the fact that I tried to let him down gently. “Another time, then.” I force a smile as Pat retreats to his desk. “I know the truck will be with the mechanic for a bit, but have you decided on a color?”
Before I can open my mouth to respond, Connor answers for me. “Yellow.”
Pat looks up from the color swatches in his hand to Connor. After a moment, he dips his head in a subtle nod. “Sure thing.” He selects a few of the cards and walks back to us. “Do any of these stand out?”
One shade immediately catches my eye among the swatches. Sunshine Yellow. It’s as if it was created for my new business, Sunshine Blooms.
“You’re welcome to take them if you want more time to decide.” Pat tilts his head with a smirk, making a dimple appear. “Maybe when you bring them back, I could take you on that date.”
Connor’s hands ball into fists at his sides. I wrap my hand around his arm, in case he’s thinking about doing something crazy, like punching Pat, and gesture with the other one to the color. “No need. I know what I want.”
Pat blows out a low whistle. “Are you sure you want a color that…bright?”
“She said that’s what she wants.” Connor practically growls the words.
“It’s perfect.” I clap my hands, trying to rid this space of whatever weird tension is in the air.
“All right.” Pat puts the sunshine swatch on top before glancing up at me. “I’ll keep you updated.” Connor clears his throat, and Pat says, “Or you?”
“Run all communication through me.” Connor’s tone leaves no room for discussion. “I’ll make sure any important news gets relayed to Shayna.”
The way he’s taking care of me would make me go weak in the knees, but I lock those babies and remind my silly, hopeful heart that he’s only doing it for Mallory.
Pat offers him a tight smile. “All right, I’ll be in touch. Y’all have a good day, and Connor, you better be at our next pickup game. A deal’s a deal.”
Connor escorts me out of the building with a hand to my lower back.
It’s not him being possessive. Don’t read into it, Shayna. I repeat those sentences to myself like they’re my new mantra until Connor finally removes his hand once we’re outside. Maybe spending more time with him isn’t the cure for a crush after all.