5. Beth
Chapter 5
Beth
I wiped my clammy palms on my coat just as Daryl stepped into the office. For a moment, we stared at each other. His presence filled the room, rugged and imposing. He had that same intensity I'd seen in his eyes before, like he was constantly ready for battle. His dark hair was messy, falling into his face, and a few days' worth of stubble covered his jawline. He looked like he hadn't slept well, shadows beneath his eyes hinting at restless nights.
His worn leather jacket clung to him, the creases and scuffs telling stories of long days and harder nights. He moved with a kind of silent strength, each step deliberate. His eyes locked onto mine, and I felt a mix of determination and nerves battling within me.
"Beth," he finally acknowledged me with a slight nod.
"Daryl," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glanced at the basket in my hands and then back at me. "More cookies?"
"No, not this time," I said with a small smile. "I thought maybe you could use some coffee."
He took a deep breath, as if considering the offer more than the drink itself. "You didn’t have to do that."
"I wanted to," I said simply. "Besides, I make a mean cup of coffee."
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable but not outright dismissive this time. It was progress, even if it was small.
"Look," I began, "I know you're not big on all this holiday stuff, but the tree lighting is really something special around here. It’s more than just Christmas lights; it’s about community."
He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting to the ground before meeting mine again. "Why do you care so much?"
The question took me by surprise. Why did I care? Maybe because I saw something in him that reminded me of myself after my breakup—closed off and hurting.
"Because no one should be alone during the holidays," I said softly. "And maybe because I think you could use a friend."
He seemed to chew on my words for a moment before letting out a long sigh. "I'll think about it."
I cleared my throat, feeling a bit sheepish. "So, um, my best friend Ellie lent me her grandfather’s old car that she inherited after he died to drive until you fix my car, and honestly? She hasn’t gotten it checked out. But anyway, the car happened to stall down the street. But I was coming over here anyway to tell you this stuff. It's just... a coincidence."
Daryl raised an eyebrow. "Your car stalled?" he asked slowly.
"I swear I didn't do it myself," I insisted, holding up my hands defensively. "I wouldn't even know how."
His eyes twinkled slightly, and for a moment, I thought I saw the ghost of a smile. "Come on, Morrison," he said, shaking his head lightly. "Let's go see what's going on with that car."
We stepped outside into the crisp winter air, the cold biting at my cheeks. The sky above was a dull gray, promising more snow later. Daryl walked beside me with an air of resigned determination, and I couldn't help but feel a small victory at having gotten him to agree.
Luckily, the car was only a block away, sitting there with its hood slightly ajar as if it had given up on life. We reached it quickly, and Daryl immediately set to work, popping the hood open fully and peering inside.
I stood nearby, watching him work with deft hands and a focused expression. The silence stretched between us, but it wasn't uncomfortable. There was something soothing about watching him in his element.
"What happened?" he asked after a moment, not looking up.
"It just sputtered and died," I explained. "No warning or anything."
He nodded slightly, tinkering with something under the hood. "Sounds like it could be the battery. Your friend needs to take care of this thing if she wants it to last.”
"Do you think you can fix it?" I asked, hugging myself against the cold.
Daryl glanced up at me briefly before returning to his work. "I'll see what I can do."
As he continued his inspection, I found myself studying him more closely. There was a certain grace in his movements despite their roughness, a practiced efficiency that spoke of years of experience.
"Why did you really come here today?" he asked suddenly, catching me off guard.
"I told you," I replied honestly. "I wanted to invite you to the tree lighting and bring you coffee."
He paused for a moment before continuing his work. "And what if I say no?"
"Then I'll keep trying," I said with a smile. "Because everyone needs a little holiday spirit."
He didn't respond immediately but seemed to consider my words as he worked. Maybe there was hope yet for breaking through that tough exterior of his.
"Damn," Daryl called out from under the hood, pulling me from my thoughts. "We're going to have to push the car to the garage."
"Push it?" I echoed, a bit incredulous. "Like... with our hands?"
He straightened up and looked at me, wiping his hands on a rag he had pulled from his back pocket. "Yeah, you're going to put the car in neutral and steer. I'll push from the back."
"Wait, what?" I couldn't help but laugh a little. The idea seemed absurd.
He sighed, clearly not amused. "The battery's dead. We can't jump it here; I don't have the equipment with me. Pushing it is the only option unless you want to leave it here overnight."
I glanced around at the empty street, feeling a bit silly for my initial reaction. "All right," I conceded. "How do we do this?"
"Put the car in neutral," he instructed, motioning towards the driver's seat.
I climbed into the car and shifted it into neutral as he had said. "Okay, now what?"
"You steer while I push from behind," he explained patiently. "It’s not as hard as it sounds. Just keep the wheel straight and guide it towards the garage."
I nodded, feeling both nervousness and determination. I didn't want to mess this up, especially after Daryl had been kind enough to help.
He moved to the back of the car, positioning himself behind it with a look of focused determination on his face. "Ready?" he called out.
"Ready!" I replied, gripping the steering wheel tightly.
With a grunt of effort, Daryl began to push, and slowly but surely, the car started to roll forward. It wasn't as difficult as I'd imagined; in fact, there was something almost comical about the whole situation.
We moved at a steady pace down the street towards his garage. The cold air nipped at my cheeks, but I felt a strange warmth inside from this unexpected teamwork.
"You're doing great," Daryl's voice came from behind me, surprisingly encouraging.
"Thanks," I called back with a smile.
As we neared his garage, I carefully guided the car into position while Daryl continued to push with steady strength. Finally, we came to a stop just outside his shop.
Daryl walked around to the driver's side window and leaned in slightly. "See? Not so bad."
I let out a relieved breath and grinned up at him. "You were right."
Once we had the car positioned outside his garage, Daryl didn't waste any time. He opened the large, metal door with a practiced ease and gestured for me to guide the car inside. I did as instructed, maneuvering it carefully into the garage.
As soon as I put it in park and turned off the ignition, Daryl was at the hood again. I climbed out and stood nearby, watching as he popped it open and began his inspection. He moved with a confidence and familiarity that spoke of years spent in garages just like this one. It was clear he knew every inch of an engine.
I leaned against a nearby workbench, taking the opportunity to observe him. His focus was unwavering, his hands deftly moving from part to part as he examined the battery connections. The muscles in his forearms tensed and relaxed with each motion, and I could see a faint sheen of sweat on his brow despite the cold.
Daryl's garage was a mix of organized chaos—tools neatly arranged on one side, while various car parts and pieces lay scattered on another. It felt like a place where real work got done, where problems were solved.
"Looks like the battery needs replacing," he muttered to himself, more than to me.
I watched him for a moment longer before deciding to speak up. "Is it bad?"
He looked up briefly, his eyes meeting mine for just a second before returning to the engine. "Not too bad. Just old."
There was something almost soothing about watching him work. His movements were methodical, almost rhythmic. I could see why he might prefer the solitude of this place over social interactions—here, things were straightforward.
"Can you fix it?" I asked, feeling slightly foolish for asking such an obvious question but wanting to fill the silence.
"Yeah," he replied simply, already reaching for a wrench. "I'll replace the battery and check the connections."
I nodded, even though he wasn't looking at me. "Thank you."
He didn't respond verbally but gave a small nod of acknowledgment.
I texted Ellie what happened, but she didn’t seem to mind. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if she orchestrated this whole thing.
For a while, we fell into a comfortable silence—the only sounds were those of tools clinking and metal parts being adjusted. The air smelled faintly of oil and rubber—a scent that somehow felt reassuring in its familiarity. I couldn't help but wonder what had led him to become so closed off from others. There was clearly more to Daryl Walker than met the eye, and maybe... just maybe... I'd get to learn what that was someday.
I walked around the garage, my eyes drawn to the car in the corner. It was an old Impala, partially disassembled with parts strewn about. Despite its current state, I could see the potential for beauty.
"Are you building this car?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.
Daryl looked over from where he was working on my car. "Fixing it up."
I took a few steps closer, inspecting the sleek lines and imagining it restored to its former glory. "You're doing an amazing job," I said earnestly. "It looks great."
"Don't matter what it looks like," he replied, his voice steady and pragmatic. "What matters is, can it run."
I smiled at his straightforwardness. There was something admirable about his focus on function over form. As I continued to look around the garage, my eyes roamed over various tools and projects in progress. The place felt alive with activity, each piece telling a story of its own.
Without realizing it, I started humming a tune. It was one of those melodies that had been stuck in my head all day—something Christmasy and poppy, cheerful and lighthearted. Before long, the hum turned into soft singing.
Daryl's hands paused for a moment as he listened, but he didn't look up. He continued working, but I could sense a subtle shift in the atmosphere. My voice filled the space between us, creating a connection through music.
I let myself get lost in the song, feeling a sense of comfort wash over me. There was something therapeutic about singing—an escape from reality, even if just for a moment.
As I finished the last few notes, I realized what I'd been doing and blushed slightly. "Sorry," I mumbled, feeling self-conscious.
Daryl finally looked up from his work, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Not bad," he said simply before returning to the engine.
His words were few, but they carried weight. In that brief moment of shared understanding through music and machinery, I felt like we had made progress—no matter how small.
The silence returned as he continued fixing my car and I wandered around the garage, but it was no longer uncomfortable.
"I'm going to have to keep it for another day," Daryl said finally, closing the hood of my car with a decisive thud.
"What do I owe you?" I asked, reaching for my wallet.
"This one's on me," he replied, brushing off my attempt to pay.
We walked into the lobby of his garage, the warmth inside a welcome contrast to the biting cold outside. As we entered, my eyes caught sight of something I hadn't noticed before—a guitar propped up in the corner. My eyes widened in surprise. How had I missed that?
"Is that yours?" I asked, pointing to the instrument.
Daryl's expression tightened slightly. "Yeah," he muttered, clearly not wanting to discuss it further.
Before I could press him, he changed the subject. "Need a ride somewhere?"
I considered his offer for a moment. "Actually, yes. Could you take me to my café? And then... maybe pick me up tonight for the ceremony?"
He gave me a skeptical look, one eyebrow raised in doubt.
I gave him what I hoped was puppy eyes. It didn’t always work–sometimes I looked constipated, or so my father said through laughter–but maybe…
Daryl sighed, grunting in resignation. "Fine," he said. "But that doesn't mean I'll enjoy it."
"We'll see about that," I replied with a grin.
He groused under his breath but led me outside to his truck.
As we climbed in and drove towards my café, I couldn't help but feel a small sense of victory. Maybe getting Daryl Walker into the holiday spirit wouldn't be impossible after all.