It's the Little Things

15. Chapter 15

Nick

As I pull up in front of Lydia’s house, I grab one of the coffeemakers and the bag of grounds, then jog up her porch steps and knock gently. I can hear a moody Celine Dion song playing through the door.

She answers within minutes, looking cozy and breathtaking. She’s changed into another oversized shirt and sweatpants, fuzzy socks covering her feet.

She is adorable.

I’m certain I’m blushing as I hand her the coffeemaker and grounds, practically thrusting them into her arms. She takes them, looking a little stunned.

“Friends can get each other gifts, right? You said your coffeemaker was dead, so here’s a new one. I grabbed you one when I picked up one for my place. It’s nothing fancy, just what the hardware store had. But I figured you’d want a cup or two for your reading day, since it’s raining and all.”

It takes her a moment to catch up to my rambling, but then a large, beautiful smile breaks across her face, and it makes my chest ache.

She’s beauty personified, and she doesn’t even try.

I want to pull her into my lap and wrap us both in a blanket.

We could sit and watch the rain all day, and I’d be beyond content with her in my arms.

“Thank you, Nick. This is so nice. Really.”

Her words pull me back to reality, and I realize I’ve been standing here like an idiot, saying nothing.

She looks so sincere. So sweet. It makes me want to bring her gifts every day.

Fuck, why is she married?

“You’re welcome. It’s the little things, right?” I say, unable to mask the flirtation in my tone.

“This is so not a little thing. I really appreciate it.”

“Alright, well, I better go. Enjoy your book.”

She hugs the coffeemaker to her chest, her eyes glinting with gratitude beneath the porch light. The rain patters against the ground, creating a soft cocoon of comfort and possibility. I hesitate, savoring the warmth blooming between us before flashing a shy smile.

Then I turn on my heel and run back into the rain.

As I reach my truck, I glance back at her house with a lingering smile. The quiet street, veiled in shimmering rain, feels oddly peaceful. I can’t shake the warmth of her gratitude or the way her eyes lit up when she saw the coffeemaker.

For the briefest instant, I imagine what it might be like if things were different. If there were more rainy afternoons. More small gifts. More shared smiles.

But reality presses in as I climb into the driver’s seat, wiping rain from my brow before starting the engine. I let the radio play low as I drive off, feeling even more conflicted than I had before.

A little while later, I pull into my shop.

The words “my shop” always feel strange to me.

In my mind, the garage still belongs to my dad, and it would have stayed that way if life had gone differently.

The daily routines, business decisions, and big calls were always his domain, while I focused on what I loved: working on cars and getting my hands dirty.

Whether it’s body repairs, mechanical fixes, or even something as simple as changing Mrs. Mooneyham’s oil, I find genuine satisfaction in it all. I’ve always had an intuitive knack for anything with an engine, and nothing brings me more joy than diving into the work and letting instincts guide me.

Since my dad’s death, I’ve had to take over the business side of things—paying bills, ordering supplies, making payroll. None of it is my cup of tea, but I do it with a smile. This business was my dad’s pride and joy, and I’ll do everything I can to keep it thriving.

Fulsom’s Garage is a staple in Whispering Hills, and I refuse to let it be anything less than successful.

My mom, Susannah, helps enormously on the business side, but I want her to have time to enjoy her life. To read more. Spend time with my niece, Abigail. Take the girls’ trips she and her friends always talk about.

Anything she wants to do, really. She deserves it.

If we learned anything from my dad’s death at such a young age, it’s that no one is promised tomorrow. Life is short, and I’ll be damned if my mom spends all her days in a musty garage with me and the guys.

I’ll take on the burden of paperwork if it means she’s out there enjoying her life.

As I walk into the familiar space, pride swells within me at everything my dad built.

The shop has grown to include not just the main garage for oil changes, filters, and spark plugs, but also newer paint bays for custom jobs, something he loved.

There’s also the detailing area, where customers bring their daily drivers to look brand new again.

I have a great crew of guys. I don’t know how I got lucky enough to find such capable employees.

Julian, one of my dad’s best friends, has worked here practically since it opened.

He’s in his mid-fifties but looks and acts much younger.

More than one woman has brought her car in just to have Julian look at it, only for him to tell her there’s nothing wrong.

My mom teases him about being a silver fox.

They’ve been friends for as long as he knew my dad.

Julian took Dad’s death as hard as I did.

I’m lucky to have him here, and he’s the first person I go to for advice regarding the business or anything else.

When Dad died, I tried to get Julian to take over, but he told me it was my responsibility as his son.

One night, after almost an entire bottle of whisky, he told me Dad had been looking forward to me taking over.

He knew I was capable of handling it. That right there is my driving force: doing all I can to make my dad proud.

I find Julian elbow-deep in the engine of a mid-2000s Mustang GT he’s been fixing up in his free time. It’s going to be badass when he’s done with it.

“Hey, man. She looks good,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder.

Julian snaps his head up, catching himself before smacking it on the hood.

“Thanks, bud. No appointments or drop-ins this morning, so I pulled her in to tinker,” he says, wiping his hands on the rag over his shoulder. “How’s your morning been?”

I had previously mentioned Lydia in passing, only barely.

I kind of had to after I came in cranky as hell because she took the last scone that first morning I met her.

Apparently hangry Nick isn’t pleasant, and Julian picked up on it right away.

I spilled the beans about the cute girl at the coffee shop who snagged the last baked good and turned me into a crabby bastard.

Julian then bought me a breakfast burrito from the diner, and I was fine.

So he knows a little about Lydia and definitely doesn’t know how attracted I am to her.

But I struggle to share this latest news.

The details of her past aren’t mine to share.

She came to Whispering Hills for a fresh start, and that means not having everyone in town know her business. So I’ll keep her confidence.

“It’s been alright, I guess. I need coffee.”

I notice him eyeing the front of my stained shirt. “Are you sure about that? Looks like you’ve had plenty.” He chuckles.

And I still have not gotten any coffee myself. Damn.

“Yeah. I ran straight into Lydia walking into Pour Decisions this morning. We both ended up wearing her entire coffee.” I shuffle over to the coffee station set up in the corner. The shop often requires long hours and late nights, and a constant coffee flow is mandatory.

“Lydia, huh? How’d that go? Other than the coffee bath you apparently took?”

I busy myself with filters and grounds, starting a fresh pot while I chew over what to tell him.

“It was good. She’s great. I think she’s settling in pretty well.”

And she’s looking fucking breathtaking while she does it.

The way her shirt went completely see-through as she stood in the rain, the thin white lace bra leaving nothing to the imagination.

God, she is sexy. So sexy without even trying.

That girl has no clue just how utterly gorgeous she is.

It’s obvious her douche-canoe of a husband hasn’t told her she’s stunning. And she deserves to hear it every day.

“Well, that’s good,” Julian says, giving a small cough. He and I aren’t above giving each other shit regarding women, but he can tell I’m on edge this morning, so he doesn’t push.

Coffee finally finished, I take two big gulps, not caring I’m probably scorching the inside of my mouth.

“I’m going to head into the office for a bit and get some work done. The car looks great, man. You’re doing a hell of a job.” I clap him on the back as I head into my office.

Julian nods and shifts his attention back to the car while I head into the office I seem to spend more and more time in.

The next few hours blur as I lose myself in payroll and end-of-the-month expenses. I’m only pulled out of my focus when my phone pings with a text.

Unknown number: Thanks again for my coffeemaker. It’s been so nice having coffee that doesn’t taste like a dead animal.

It seems Lydia has finally used my number, and I can’t help the goofy grin that spreads across my face. I managed to go a whole two hours without thinking about the beautiful blonde with the ocean blue eyes.

That’s a lie. I maybe managed five minutes here or there. That’s probably a lie too.

Me: You’re very welcome. I hope you threw that other coffeemaker away.

I add her to my contacts, stopping myself from adding a red heart beside her name like I want to. For now. I’ll probably add it later.

Lydia: I did. I felt like I needed a hazmat suit to take it to the dumpster. It was terrible.

Me: I’m sure you’d rock the hell out of a hazmat suit.

Lydia: Well, yeah. Obviously. Safety orange is my color ?

Me: I think every color might be your color.

Lydia: You just might be the sweetest guy ever. Thank you again, Nick. It was honestly the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever been given.

Me: It’s the little things, Lydia.

And for the millionth time, I remind myself how screwed I am.

A few minutes later, my phone pings with another text. I try and fail not to lunge for it, thinking it might be Lydia.

Norah: Hey, big brother. Are you free this Friday for Mom’s birthday dinner? I know her birthday is Saturday, but she has plans with her book club to go out.

Me: Yep. No problem. I’ll head over after I close the shop. Is she still insisting on cooking?

Norah: Of course she is. Heaven forbid someone else uses that fancy-ass stove of hers.

Me: I figured. Are you still getting the cake?

Norah: Yep. Can you grab a couple bottles of wine?

Me: You bet. Will you have Abby?

Norah: Of course. Mom would have a fit if I didn’t bring her for her birthday. Ben was fine with switching days with me.

Me: Good. I miss my girl. See you then, sis.

Norah: Love you, big brother.

Me: Love you too.

My family has always been the type to show our feelings and let the people around us know they’re loved, but since Dad’s death, we’ve become even more adamant about saying “I love you.” We rarely leave or hang up the phone without saying it.

I want my sister, mom, and Abby to always know how much I love them.

Abby is one of my favorite people on the planet, and that little girl has her Uncle Nick wrapped around her finger. She knows it too. I don’t even care. Uncles are meant to spoil their nieces. I’m pretty sure it’s written somewhere.

I glance at the time and decide to call it a day. After my whole morning got thrown off, I never made it to the gym like I usually do.

These days, I spend more time behind a desk than under a hood, and I hate that. If I’m not careful, it’d be easy to let myself slide.

I’ve always taken care of myself, but when your dad dies young from a heart attack, it changes how you see everything.

The gym is only a few doors down, so I grab my bag from the truck and head over.

It’s packed. Nearly every machine and bench is taken. Figures. Maybe something will open up by the time I change. I’m not picky, but I prefer lifting to cardio, even if most days I force myself to do both.

I throw on gym shorts and an old cut-off tee, lace up my shoes, and head back out. When I spot an empty treadmill, I head over. Good enough.

I grab a towel, hop on, and shove in my earbuds. I drape the towel over the screen so I don’t obsess over the clock. I’ll just run until I’m spent.

And that’s exactly what I do. My mind drifts to a certain pretty blonde.

My thoughts start to spiral. What’s she doing tonight? What book is she reading? Has she talked to her dick of a husband? What kind of movies does she like? What did she make for dinner? What’s her favorite food?

I like cooking, and I can picture making her dinner, something she really loves, just to see that smile again.

I doubt her husband ever did anything that thoughtful for her. From what little I know, the guy doesn’t seem to have a gentlemanly bone in his body.

When I finally pull the towel off the screen, I realize I’ve been running for over an hour. Damn. This girl has my head all kinds of screwed up.

I slow the machine, wipe it down, and head for the locker room. I’m drenched in sweat and suddenly exhausted. I’m ready to go home. Alone. Always alone.

I can’t even remember the last time I had sex with a woman. When I was younger, random hookups and short flings were enough. It was easier that way. If everyone knew it wasn’t serious, no one got hurt.

But I outgrew that a long time ago. I’m not that guy anymore. I’m ready for something more.

I’ve never even brought anyone back to my place. Never shared my bed. It just never felt right. Until now.

How has a woman I’ve only known such a short time got me feeling this much, this fast?