2. Daryl
Chapter 2
Daryl
I leaned over the hood of the car, a '67 Impala, and tightened a bolt with the wrench. The smell of motor oil and metal filled my senses. Connor was supposed to be here an hour ago, but I knew better than to count on him. The guy had a knack for disappearing when you needed him most.
A cigarette dangled from my lips, the smoke curling upward in lazy spirals. The radio crackled in the corner, an old thing I kept around for company more than anything. A familiar tune started up, bells jingling and some crooner singing about a white Christmas.
I frowned, letting out a grunt of annoyance. "Ain't got no time for this Christmas crap," I muttered under my breath. My hand moved to the dial, twisting it sharply until static filled the air. Much better.
The garage was more of a home than my home, a place where I could shut out the world and focus on something real. Each turn of the wrench, each spark plug replaced, it all felt like progress. Not like the mess life outside these walls often turned into.
Connor and I were supposed to fix this car up together. A project to keep us busy after everything that happened with Mom and Dad. But he was never around when it counted. Just like always.
"Guess it's just you and me," I said to the Impala, giving her fender a pat. She was a beauty, even with her rust spots and worn-out tires. Fixing her up was my way of holding onto something good from the past.
The cigarette burned down to the filter, and I flicked it into an old coffee can I used as an ashtray. Reaching for another one, I paused, staring at the pack in my hand. Christmas might not mean much to me anymore, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t find some peace in this place.
As I lit up another cigarette, I leaned back against the workbench, looking at the car with a mixture of pride and frustration. Connor might never show up, but this car would be ready one day. Maybe that’d be enough.
The silence of the garage wrapped around me again as I turned back to work on the engine. No Christmas songs were going to interrupt this moment of quiet; not today.
I tightened another bolt, my fingers working automatically. The familiar rhythm of the task allowed my mind to drift.
The holiday market.
The thought nearly made me scoff. Crowded streets, kids running around with sticky hands, and the constant hum of Christmas carols. It turned the whole town into a madhouse. At least it meant the rest of town slowed down, giving me some peace and quiet in my garage.
"Hello?" a voice called out.
I ignored it, figuring it was someone outside or maybe just voices carrying over from the market. They could be handing out free cookies for all I cared. It wasn’t my problem.
I leaned further into the engine bay, adjusting the carburetor. My wrench slipped slightly, scraping against the metal with a sharp screech. I gritted my teeth and focused harder.
"Hello? Mr. Walker? Are you there?" The voice was closer now, more insistent.
I paused, glancing up with a frown. Whoever it was, they weren’t going away. Sighing, I set the wrench down and wiped my hands on an old rag.
"Yeah, I’m here," I called back, my voice echoing slightly in the spacious garage.
A small figure appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the bright afternoon light outside.
I straightened up, wiping my hands on a rag. The figure stepped inside, and I squinted against the light until she came into focus.
Beth Morrison.
I recognized her from the café in the nicer part of town. She was always there, serving up smiles and holiday-themed drinks.
She looked out of place in my grease-streaked garage. Her bright green eyes scanned the room before landing on me, her lips curving into a warm smile. Beth wore a simple dress, paired with a cardigan that looked hand-knitted, giving her an air of casual elegance. Her long legs were covered in navy blue tights. Her hair, golden like a summer's field, cascaded over her shoulders in loose waves.
"Hi," she greeted me, her voice light and cheerful.
I took a drag from my cigarette; the smoke curling lazily upward. "Yeah?" It came out rougher than I intended.
"Um, I'm really sorry to bother you," she began, her smile faltering just slightly, "but my car broke down." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, looking genuinely apologetic.
I let the silence stretch for a moment, studying her. She shifted from foot to foot but didn’t look away.
"Where’s it at?" I finally asked, letting the cigarette dangle from my lip as I reached for my toolbox.
"Just down the street," she replied, relief washing over her face.
I nodded and stubbed out the cigarette on a nearby ashtray. "Let’s go take a look."
Beth stepped aside as I moved past her toward the door. The sunlight outside was harsh compared to the dim interior of the garage, but it felt good to stretch my legs after being hunched over that Impala for hours.
"So, how are you doing during the holiday season?" she asked. "The café's been crazy busy with all the holiday traffic."
I grunted in response, keeping my eyes on the pavement. "Figures. People love their holiday drinks."
"Yeah, we’ve got this new peppermint mocha that’s been flying off the shelves," she continued, her excitement palpable. "And the live music nights have been a hit too."
I nodded absently, scanning the street for her car.
She hesitated before speaking again. "You should come by sometime. We’ve got this great band playing next Friday."
I glanced at her sideways, raising an eyebrow. "Not much of a café guy."
She laughed softly, a sound like wind chimes. "Well, maybe just for the music then?"
I shrugged. "Maybe."
Her car came into view—a small white sedan parked at an awkward angle on the curb. I could see why she’d need help; it looked like it had seen better days.
"There she is," Beth said, relief evident in her voice. "I’m really sorry to drag you out here like this."
"No problem," I muttered, already circling around to pop the hood. The engine looked like a mess of tangled wires and old parts. Typical for a car its age.
Beth hovered nearby, her hands twisting nervously together. "Do you think it’s serious?"
"Hard to say yet," I replied, reaching into my pocket for a flashlight. The beam cut through the dimness under the hood as I poked around.
"I’ve been meaning to get it checked out," she admitted, sounding almost guilty.
I glanced up at her briefly before focusing back on the engine. "Well, better late than never."
Beth shifted from foot to foot again. "So... how long have you been working on cars?"
"Long as I can remember," I said, tightening a loose connection and checking for other issues.
She nodded thoughtfully. "Must be nice to work with your hands every day."
"Has its perks," I agreed.
A silence settled between us then, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. I could hear her breathing softly beside me as I worked.
After a few minutes of tinkering, I stepped back and wiped my hands on my jeans. "Looks like your alternator’s shot."
Her face fell slightly. "Is that bad?"
"Not great," I admitted, meeting her eyes finally. "But fixable."
I glanced at Beth, noting the concern etched on her face. "We're gonna have to get it back to the shop," I said, tucking my flashlight back into my pocket. "I'll tow it."
Beth's shoulders relaxed slightly. "Okay, how do we do that?"
I pointed to my garage down the street. "Got a tow rope back there. I'll hook it up to my truck, and we'll get your car back in no time."
She nodded, a small smile appearing. "Thanks, Mr. Walker. I really appreciate it."
I shrugged, heading back toward the garage with her following close behind. "No big deal." I paused. "And my name's Daryl."
We walked back toward the garage in side by side.
“Do you like sweets?” she asked suddenly, her voice breaking the quiet.
I paused, glancing over my shoulder at her. “Depends,” I grunted.
“I’ve been working on this new cookie recipe,” she continued, her tone brightening. “It’s a cranberry and white chocolate chip cookie with a hint of orange zest. Perfect for the holidays.”
I glanced over, meeting her gaze. She looked genuinely excited about this cookie of hers. “Sounds… interesting.”
Her smile widened. “I’ll bring some by for you to try. You know, as a thank you for helping me out.”
I just nodded, not quite sure what to say. Sweets weren’t really my thing, but I wasn’t about to crush her enthusiasm.
Beth seemed to take my grunt as an agreement because she kept talking about the cookies.
We reached my garage, and I grabbed the tow rope from the cluttered workbench. Beth stood just inside the doorway, her eyes darting around the space like she was taking in every detail. She didn’t say anything, but her curiosity was clear.
"Come on," I said, heading toward the tow truck parked outside.
The old Ford had seen better days, but it got the job done. I tossed the rope into the bed and walked around to the passenger side. I pulled open the door for her; the hinges creaking in protest.
"Thanks," she murmured, climbing in and settling into the seat.
I closed the door firmly before making my way to the driver’s side. Sliding in behind the wheel, I turned the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life with a familiar rumble.
“So, those cookies, right? Everyone who’s tried them so far loves them,” she said proudly.
“Sounds like you got yourself a hit then,” I replied.
She beamed at me, her earlier nervousness completely gone. “I hope so! Maybe you’ll like them too.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her I wasn’t much of a cookie guy. Instead, I gave another noncommittal grunt and focused on making sure everything was set up properly for the tow.
I pulled up behind her car and shifted into park. "Stay put," I instructed before getting out.
The cold air bit at my skin as I stepped out of the truck and grabbed the tow rope from the bed. Kneeling by Beth’s car, I hooked one end to her front bumper and then secured the other end to my truck’s hitch. Years of practice made quick work of it.
Once everything was set, I climbed back into the driver’s seat and glanced over at Beth. "Ready?"
She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Ready."
With that, I eased the truck forward slowly until I felt the tension on the rope. Her car rolled smoothly behind us as we made our way back to my garage.
I hopped out of my truck and moved to unhook the tow rope. Beth joined me, looking relieved and grateful.
"That went smoothly," she said with a grin.
"Yeah," I replied, coiling up the rope and tossing it into the bed of my truck. "Let's get your car inside so I can take a closer look."
She nodded eagerly, already moving toward the garage door to open it for me. As we maneuvered her sedan into the bay next to my Impala project, I felt an odd sense of camaraderie forming between us.
Beth turned to me with that ever-present smile of hers. "Thank you again for all this."
"No problem," I replied gruffly but found myself returning her smile just a bit.
As we stood there in the dim light of the garage, surrounded by tools and half-finished projects, it felt like maybe things weren’t so bad after all.