Chapter 2
May
April showers bring May flowers, and May brings in people who need their vehicles ready for extracurriculars. Trucks and Jeeps only used to go off-roading in the warmer months come in for a tune up, and everyone else flocks to the shop to fix their air conditioner.
I love my job, I do, but if I have to tell another person the reason they’re not getting cold air is because they don’t have freon I might just pull my hair out.
I prefer more complicated fixes. Give me an engine rebuild or a drive shaft replacement, and I get tingles all over. I love a problem that allows me to get my hands dirty and leaves me with an ache in my muscles at the end of the day.
I’m currently underneath a 2017 Subaru Outback changing the transmission.
The owner of this car is a twenty-something year old college student with a penchant for off-roading.
Usually these things last a good ten plus years, but with the wear and tear on the transmission from shifting and accelerating, he’s replacing it sooner.
I’ve just finished draining the transmission fluid when there’s a knock on the hood. I roll out on the creeper and find Patrick standing with his arms folded across his chest and a smug smirk on his face.
“I’m a bit busy, Pat,” I grumble, but it’s half-hearted. I like Patrick, and without him, I’d only have Merv to talk to.
That wouldn’t end well.
Merv’s great, but he fancies himself some kind of guru. He likes to speak in riddles, like a really bad fortune telling machine. Just last month he told me, “Don’t let your fear cloud the visions of your future.”
No idea what he meant by that, but it’s coming from a good place. His favorite type of advice to give is romantic advice, but I can only handle so much from a man with four divorces under his belt.
“Remember the van from a few months ago?”
I give Patrick a bland look. “You’re going to have to be more specific. We work on a lot of vans.”
“Oh, you remember this one. Radiator hose was loose. Big, bearded guy with a silly name?”
“The one who lives in that Valentine’s town on the other side of the mountain?”
Of fucking course I remember him. My body remembers the spark that passed between us.
I remember the way my stomach swirled with butterflies when his hazel eyes bored into me, like he was seeing directly into my soul.
I haven’t felt such visceral attraction to man in…
well, maybe ever. I don’t need a man when I have battery operated companions and no desire to date.
My toys take care of me better than any man has.
Do they make me feel unbelievably desirable or like I’m worthy of a great love?
No.
But that’s okay. They give me orgasms and don’t hurt my feelings by telling me I’m working a “man’s job” or I should lose a few pounds. And if they die, I can recharge them instead of wondering what I did wrong.
Despite the fact I’m not looking for a man, I went home that night and instead of picturing one of the many men from my books while I used my battery operated friends, all I could picture was blonde hair and hazel eyes.
I imagined what his beard would feel like tickling my skin as he did filthy things to me, and all the dirty words that would slip between his plush lips.
I came harder than I ever have.
The day after he was in the shop, I went to lunch with my mom’s best friend, Kelly, and told her about the weird interaction.
I swear she was vibrating in her chair from excitement.
Despite my arguments against love at first sight, the spark between us being just static, and the impossibility of us ever seeing each other again, Kelly insisted I keep an open mind.
“You never know when love will fall into your lap. You remember how your mom and dad met. Don’t brush it off just yet.”
I remember the stories my dad used to tell about how he knew she was the one the minute he walked into my mom’s hair salon.
He kept going back to get his haircut every two weeks until he finally got the nerve to ask her out.
They got married six months after their first date and then had me a few years later.
My dad never dated anyone else after she died.
He said he couldn’t give another person his heart because I held one half, and my mom held the other.
He was never the same after she passed.
I don’t want to end up like that, losing someone after giving them my whole heart.
Love is scary as fuck.
“Yeah, Saint Valentine,” Patrick says. “He’s back with more van problems.”
“Okay? So take care of it.”
“See, I would, but he specifically asked for you. Says he’d feel more comfortable since you’ve worked on it before.”
The transmission on this doesn’t need to be done for two more days, so I have time to check out whatever’s wrong. I don’t know why he asked for me, but I like to keep our customers happy. Repeat business and word of mouth is how we stay open and the bills get paid.
With a heavy sigh, I stand from the creeper before heading to the sink to scrub as much grease as I can from my fingers.
Sometimes, I wish I could have soft, smooth skin and pretty nails like other women, but long nails would get in the way of my work, and any nail polish would just chip off. Maybe one day if I marry rich, I can stop working and have pretty nails.
Ha, like that’ll happen.
Even if I didn’t need to have a job, I would still work on cars for fun.
I’m nervous for some reason. Before I head into the lobby, I try to shake the feeling, but my heart rate picks up when I see him standing there, looking as handsome as I remember.
Saint Valentine from Cupid’s Cove, Oregon. His van smells like spices and vanilla, and I felt like I was ruining it with the smell of the shop when I moved it last time.
“Hi. Mr. Valentine, right? We met a few months ago.” I hold out my hand for a handshake, and his hazel eyes lock in on it. A wave of self-consciousness washes over me. Is he put off by the stains that are practically part of me now?
“Yes. Please, call me Saint.” His voice is deep and warm, wrapping around me like a weighted blanket. His massive hand grabs mine in a gentle handshake, and a shock runs up my arm.
This time it has to be static from the mechanic dolly.
The way his hand engulfs mine makes me want to swoon.
As a five-foot-nine plus size woman, I’ve never felt small and dainty, but standing next to Saint, I do.
He’s got a good six inches on me, and his frame is broad.
The way his black T-shirt stretches across his chest and clings to the softness of his belly makes something tingle between my hips.
Dark-washed jeans hug his thick thighs, and I briefly wonder if they have to be custom made.
He looks like a lumberjack and a Viking had a baby with the blonde hair in a bun, the beard, the flannel, and the work boots.
“Saint,” I roll his name around on my tongue. Five letters. One syllable. Simple, easy to remember. I have to suppress a sigh at how good it feels to say. “What brings you in?”
He still hasn’t let go of my hand, and I flex my fingers against the warmth of his palm. It must bring him back to his senses because he drops my hand and shoves it into the pocket of his jeans while the other motions to the van in the parking lot.
“The check engine light came on, and I didn’t want to drive all the way to Cupid’s Cove in case something major was wrong. Can’t be breaking down at the top of the mountain.” He gives me a lopsided grin, his full, pink lips tipping up on one side.
It makes more butterflies flutter in my belly.
“Of course. We wouldn’t want to risk your safety. Did you hear any strange noises or feel like the van was driving differently?”
Saint shakes his head. “No, nothing like that.”
“When did you notice the check engine light come on?”
“About twenty minutes ago.” His hand rubs the back of his neck, and his cheeks turn slightly pink, like he’s nervous.
Why is he nervous?
“I know it’s probably nothing, and you think I’m silly—” he starts, but I shake my head.
“It’s not silly to take car safety seriously. I’m happy to take a look. If I could just get your keys, I’ll pull it around.”
Saint fishes the keys out of his pocket, his fingertips grazing mine again when I grab them. A shiver threatens to work its way up my spine at the contact, and I can’t brush it off as static this time.
No, there’s something about this man.
“Thank you so much, Mikey. I’m sorry if I’m taking you away from something else.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure we’ll have you out in a jiffy.” I give him what I hope is the reassuring smile I use on nervous customers.
I head out of the front door and get in his van to bring it to the open bay.
The inside of his vehicle still smells faintly like vanilla, but the familiar scent of chocolate chip cookies has me glancing back behind the seat.
I take in the variety of baking supplies and containers of cookies sitting on the floor behind the passenger seat. Saint must be a baker.
My mouth waters when I see the perfectly golden-brown treats. My dad wasn’t the best baker, but he had perfected my mom’s chocolate chip cookie recipe and would make them at least once a week when I lived at home.
I shake off the nostalgia and start the van up, double-checking the dashboard to see if the check engine light is on. It is, but there’s no other indication of what the problem could be.
I turn it off, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel as I contemplate what could be wrong. My gut is telling me it’s not something with the engine, and my intuition is rarely wrong.
I locate the lever to open the gas tank door and hop out. At first glance, the gas cap looks like it’s fine, but when I poke it, it shifts.
I roll my eyes and remove the cap fully before twisting it back on until I can hear the click to confirm it’s secure.