Chapter 17 #2
I blinked. Wow, I’d really been lost in my head. “Yup.” Heat crawled up my neck as I held his gaze.
With an understanding half smile, he jumped out and jogged around to my side to open the door.
Inside the shop, I breathed in the smell of oil and cleaner. Maybe needing help wasn’t so bad when you had someone worth relying on. Maybe.
A few of the guys working shot me concerned looks.
The small-town gossip mill and The Vine were clearly in working order.
That niggling feeling of annoyance I’d felt earlier over being treated like an invalid resurfaced.
But I couldn’t fault their concern because it was kind of them.
After a few hushed words from Greyson, they accepted me as a new shop feature.
Between me and Rosie Cotton, we were killing it in the mascot department.
Greyson brought out his comfy office chair and set it up in the corner out of the way so I could make myself at home and watch.
He offered me the use of his office if I wanted a quiet place, but I didn’t want the company of my thoughts these days.
I had books, a blanket, a neck pillow, a bubble tea, and an attractive view. What more could a girl want?
There was nothing quite like the sound of a ratchet. Don’t laugh. I knew it was weird, but something about the sound was soothing to my ears. And the view of Greyson using it wasn’t half bad either. He was very competent at his work.
Against the backdrop of shop noise and my foray into an incredibly addicting novel set in the PNW, Greyson talked on the phone with a supplier. “No, I need the AC condenser fan assembly.” Pause. “It’s for a 2018 Honda Accord with a 2L turbo charge.”
Nothing about that made any sense to me, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was just making words up.
Although I was convinced if I said, “I’m looking for a green leprechaun 1000 horseramp engine with twin piston cups and Scottish thrust,” he would know what I was talking about.
Clearly I understood Elvish better than mechanic lingo.
“Pais?”
“Hmm?” I blinked rapidly, Greyson’s voice tugging me from my musings about elves and car parts.
“Need anything?” he asked, wiping his grease-stained hands on the rag he kept tucked into his coverall’s pocket.
“Nope. I’m good.”
He smirked. “I know you are, but that’s not what I asked.”
I rolled my eyes. “I need nothing.” My stomach chose that minute to emit a whale serenade of growls. “Okay, maybe lunch.”
“Want me to call in some takeout?”
“What are you thinking?”
He shrugged. “Maybe a sandwich from the deli?”
I fished out my sunshiny phone and waved it at him. “I can do that. Reuben on rye?”
Greyson fumbled the rag. “Yeah. You remember?”
Then I blinked. Did I? It had sorta just popped out before I could think about it. “I’m not sure. You just seemed like a rye-bread, no-frills guy.”
One of the other mechanics muffled an amused snort. I’d forgotten we had company.
“I’ll be anything you want, love.” Greyson winked at me, then turned back to the vehicle he’d been working on.
Be still my heart.
After a thoroughly delicious lunch—Reuben on rye for him and a BLT on sourdough for me—the rest of the day flew by quickly.
I finished an entire book and could have finished a second if there hadn’t been a steady stream of noncustomers.
You heard right. Noncustomers. Apparently word got out that I was at the shop, and folks kept dropping by like I was a circus exhibit. It was exhausting.
When the fourth noncustomer cornered me, Greyson had enough. With a few gruff words and a post on The Vine, he declared visiting hours were over. If I wasn’t so peopled out, I’d probably laugh, but it was incredibly sweet of him.
Before we headed home, Greyson offered to swing by the library. According to Dr. Reba, my processing-and-information part of my brain should still be okay after the accident. And while nothing sounded better than home and a nap, I was anxious to test just how true her professional opinions were.
“Hi, Flo,” I said, approaching the counter with Greyson trailing behind me.
Flo stared at me, scandalized. Like my saying her name was a personal affront to the special league of librarians. (Which did not exist—I checked.) “How do you know my name?”
“Uhh . . . because you’re the one who recommended Lloyd Alexander to me.
” I shrugged, like that explained everything.
Which in a way it did. I never forgot who gave me my favourite book recommendations.
And as far as fantasy went, Alexander was a gold standard after Tolkien.
But in this case, there was another hint. “It’s also on your name tag.”
Flo harrumphed, fidgeting with the tortoiseshell glasses hanging off the classy pearl chain around her neck. “I thought you were tabula rasa. A blank slate.”
“Only seven years’ worth apparently. Consider yourself one of the lucky ones.
” I glanced around the quiet library. Taking in the wide front windows, the beige interior, the big front desk where Flo perched at the computer with her persistent expression of sucking on a lemon.
The Serenity Springs Public Library was like a time capsule—nothing ever changed.
If it weren’t for Greyson protectively flanking my side, I could almost believe no time had passed at all since Juliet first brought me here on summer break after freshman year.
“Are you here about your schedule?” Flo prodded.
I blinked at her, then glanced at Greyson. I hated that my brain was a sieve.
“You work here,” he gently reminded me.
“Oh. Yeah. Right.” That’s literally why you’re here, Paisley Grace. I twisted the wedding ring on my finger and rocked lightly on my feet. “Yes, the doctor recommended I try doing my job again and seeing how much of the performative tasks I do were retained.”
Flo nodded knowingly. “Retrograde amnesia only touches the memory bank of the brain.” She shuffled a few things on the counter, then motioned for me to come around to her side. “Greyson, go grab an assortment of items—I don’t care what—and have Paisley ring them up,” she bossed.
I stifled a giggle, which had Greyson smirking at me before he disappeared down the aisles.
Florence Hughes was a regular grouch. Juliet hated when I compared them, but it was true. Except Flo took joy in being bossy. Juliet was a closet softy.
When Greyson came back with a stack of assorted items, Flo motioned to the computer and gave me a hard stare. “Have at it.”
No pressure. Without much thought, I slid the stack closer to me and started scanning.
Lloyd Alexander’s The Book of Three.
Kelsi Jacobs’s A Love to Remember.
Rosemary Sutcliff’s The Silver Branch.
Andi Travers’s Act 13.
The man had good taste, I’d give him that. After quickly scanning the remaining items, I used the library card he handed me to pull up his file in the system without difficulty. “Signed, sealed, delivered.” I slid the books and card across the counter to him with my best customer service persona.
“Does that make you mine?” he asked in a low, library-appropriate timbre.
My cheeks heated. Not only did he have good taste in literature, but music too?
Flo grunted in reluctant approval, breaking the tension. “Well, you aren’t any worse than the summer interns.”
Recovering, I grinned at her. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Flo. Thank you.”
Greyson coughed lightly, covering up an actual laugh. Somehow, knowing I was responsible for that laugh made me giddy.
“So what do you say?” I said to Flo. “Am I good enough to come back to work?”
Flo sniffed and shifted a few books around on her desk. “If you’re up to it, I’ll see you next Tuesday morning.”
“I’ll be here with bells on.”
Her eye twitched—the exact reaction I was hoping for. “I sincerely hope not,” she said with a final harrumph.