Chapter 9
The silence is stifling on the ride back down the quiet country road until Parker stops at the abandoned Jeep, parking us nose to nose.
When we get there, I climb out of the truck and head over to pop the hood of the Jeep, then rifle through the reusable shopping bag on the passenger seat to find my wallet.
Gravel crunches under my shoes as I march back to where Parker is leaning against the Jeep’s front bumper.
“Here,” I say, shoving some money into his hand. I ignore how warm and strong his fingers feel when they briefly make contact.
“What’s this?” he asks, not taking it from me.
“For the food,” I explain. “You covered my bill at the restaurant, remember?” I’m sure he does, but he could be playing dumb now so he can hold it over me later.
“I don’t want your money, Sloan.”
He crosses his arms, and after a few seconds, I drop my hand, tucking the money back into my purse.
“Really? No argument? You’re in a better mood than I expected,” Parker notes. “Especially considering you broke down on the side of the road,” he points out, turning so he’s facing the road as well, his shoulder inches away from mine.
I want to be irritated, but after meeting Veronica, I’m finding it difficult to stay angry.
Much as I hate to admit it, if I hadn’t broken down, I never would have been in that diner in the first place.
With a grin, I mirror his pose and together we stare out at the empty field ahead, wide-open and sun-soaked.
Until now, the fight in me has been shriveling like a paperback novel left out in the rain.
Finally, the sun is starting to dry my pages.
“I’m starting to think things might be turning around for me.”
I look up to find his loaded gaze on me, the two of us standing closer than I realized. He goes to say something, but the jovial beep-beep of a horn cuts him off.
A weathered white and blue tow truck drives past us and does a sloppy three-point turn before stopping behind my car.
The hazard lights flick on and a shorter guy with a mop of shaggy blond hair hops out.
He pushes it back from his face by sliding on a red baseball hat backward and strolls towards us.
“Hey buddy! How’s it hangin’?” The newcomer slaps Parker’s hand, who, to my enormous surprise, doesn’t fight the enthusiastic hug his friend gives him. When the stranger spots the Jeep’s popped hood, his face falls.
“Uh oh. You didn’t try to fix anything, did you?”
Parker holds up his hands. “I wouldn’t dare.”
“Sweet.” The mechanic gives me a nod, that easy grin showing his white teeth. “If he had, I would have said that’s your problem. Poor guy is mechanically challenged.” He backhands Parker in the gut, shooting me a conspiratorial wink.
“Sloan, this is Sam. His dad owns the garage in River Glen.”
Sam’s blue eyes dart back and forth between us, his knowing grin widening. He raises his eyebrows knowingly at Parker, and I clear my throat pointedly to stop their silent communication.
“I’m so sorry we dragged you out here.”
Sam waves me off, and I realize he’s hardly stopped moving since he arrived.
He looks like he’s in his late twenties, maybe a couple of years younger than me.
I wonder how he knows Parker, but they seem close enough.
He’s a full head shorter than Parker, about my height.
The biggest difference is that Sam is instantly likable.
“No worries,” he says with a grin, pointing at Parker. “I owed this guy a favor. Let me get a look at this puppy.” His head is buried in the hood for all of three minutes before he spots the problem. “Looks like some faulty spark plugs. Not super common, just bad luck.”
I raise my eyebrows pointedly at Parker.
“Good news is, it’s not expensive.” Sam lets the hood fall shut and brushes his hands off. “Bad news is, I’ll have to take it in to get it fixed. That cool with you?”
I nod.
“Thanks again, man,” Parker says when he’s finished hooking the Jeep up to the tow truck.
“I should be thanking you for not doing any more damage to it. He’s just like his old man, he’ll break an engine by lookin’ at it,” he says to me, jerking a thumb at Parker. He hands me a business card with the shop’s address and contact info.
“You know Parker’s dad?” I’d assumed Parker’s wasn’t from here. If his friend knows him, maybe he’s more permanent than I gave him credit for.
“Yeah, he—”
“When will the car be ready?” Parker cuts him off before he can say any more. Sam rolls with it, completely unfazed by the interruption or the bite in Parker’s tone.
“Could be a few days if we need the parts, but I’ll give you a call when it’s ready.”
“Thanks,” I say, my mood improving with the knowledge of Parker’s particular brand of kryptonite.
“You’re still down for The Cabin tonight, right, buddy?”
Parker’s eyes dart to me briefly before he gives Sam a curt nod. His friend’s blue eyes light up as he turns to me.
“You should come! It’ll be fun. It’s nothing wild, but if you like pool and—oof!” Sam doubles over as Parker smacks him in the gut.
I gesture at a scowling Parker. “I’m sure it’ll be a barrel of laughs if this one’s going, but I have to work. Thanks anyway.”
Sam chuckles, then casts Parker another knowing look before he waves goodbye and drives off. For the first time in what feels like a lifetime, I’m looking forward to spending an evening buried in work, and I can’t keep the smile off my face as I climb into Parker’s truck.
“Sam seems nice,” I say when the silence becomes too much. It’s a poor attempt at conversation, even for me.
Parker grunts.
“So, is he a family friend, or …?”
“No.”
My fingers drum against the dark blue denim covering my knees. “Are you allergic to human conversation, or what?”
One of his big hands tightens on the wheel, and he drops the other to the gear shaft between us, flexing his fingers. “Jesus Christ, you don’t give up, do you? My dad worked at the shop for Sam’s dad, that’s how I met him.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard.” Beyond the windows, one farmer’s field after another rolls past as we bump along the uneven road, and I wish there were something more to look at.
“What does he do now?”
Parker’s eyes dart to me briefly, then back to the road. “Who?”
“Your dad. You said he worked there, past tense.”
“Nothing, he … nothing.”
We reach the driveway and roll down beneath the leafy canopy of trees.
“Didn’t like being a mechanic then?”
The gravel crunches as he stops abruptly in front of the house.
“Next time you need rescuing, don’t expect me to come running.”
The thanks I was about to offer dies in my throat when I look over at him. His eyes may as well be laser cutters, the way he’s trying to burn a hole in the windshield. Glowering right back at him, I slam the truck door as hard as possible.
He pulls away in a cloud of dust. I’m guessing there’s a zero percent chance of this being something we’ll laugh about later.