Chapter 10
KNOX
“Fuck,” I yell, hearing the familiar clank of failure as my wrench slips off the bolt I’ve been trying to loosen for the past ten minutes.
I take a deep breath and give it one more try before uttering a few more colorful curse words and throwing my wrench across the shop. Then I grab a rag and clean my hands before falling into the stool next to my workbench.
I stare daggers at Emery’s truck, and I can’t help but think it’s just as stubborn and bullheaded as she is. Not to mention the thing is pushing thirty, and the ole pile of rust is not aging well. If she were anyone else, I’d tell her the truck is a lost cause.
But this truck is the glue holding our little deal together, and it needs to run again.
Soft tunes of classic rock fill the shop, helping me fight the ball of frustration building in my chest. If I’m being honest, it’s not just the rusted-out bolts making me want to punch something. There’s another tightly wound object that I can’t stop thinking about.
After our heart-to-heart at the fair last weekend, I had fun. And not pretend fun. I actually had a good time. And I know she’ll never admit it, but the genuine smile on Emery’s face every time I’d try to bribe the carny working at one of the game booths proved she had a good time too.
My goal was to get a genuine smile out of Emery, and I did. Not that I ever doubted I could. Now the only issue is I can’t stop thinking about her smile.
I also can’t stop thinking about how soft her hair looks or how the green in her eyes lightens to a sage color whenever she’s locked in on a thought. Or how much I need to see those tattoos that tease me from underneath those sinfully tight tank tops she wears most of the time.
Fuck. I need to get it together.
“Language, boy,” Sal mutters, dragging his boots across the concrete.
Shit. Did I say that out loud? I jump to my feet, surprised he’s here this late.
“What are you doing here, old man? It’s past your bedtime,” I smirk, leaning against the table.
Sal was like a second dad to me growing up.
I spent most of high school shadowing him and learning about cars.
I couldn’t get enough of it. I wanted to know everything there was to know about how to make an engine run.
“I was driving by and saw the lights were on, so I figured I’d stop in,” Sal explains, taking a seat on the stool I was just sitting on. “Are you still working on this truck?”
“Yeah,” I sigh, letting my eyes wander over the current thorn in my side, “it’s a fight every step of the way.”
“These old girls usually are,” he says, a hint of nostalgia laced in his voice. “Is this the girl’s truck? The one you rescued on the side of the road?”
I nod, walking over to the discarded wrench laying on the ground and bending over to pick it up. “I don’t know if she would call it rescuing, but yeah, it’s hers.”
“Thought so,” he says, pressing his hands against his thighs to prop himself up. “You’ve been working hard on this pile of junk. She must be special if you’re putting this much effort in.”
I look away and place the tool in its proper spot. There’s a clarity that washes over me when everything is clean and organized.
“I’m just trying to keep my clients happy,” I lie. Sal doesn’t know I’m footing the bill for this, or that its owner is pretending to be my girlfriend for the summer.
“Right,” he hums. Sal raises his bushy grey eyebrows, and for a moment, I think he’s ready to push for more, but eventually, he relaxes.
I’m glad he doesn’t try. That man has four daughters and extensive experience getting the information he wants.
If he weren’t a mechanic, I have no doubt he’d have a career in espionage.
But he’s right. I have been working extra hard on Emery’s truck, and between coming in early and staying late, I’m starting to worry that the carefully drawn lines of our bargain are beginning to fade. All I need to do is focus more on my goal and less on her.
“I talked to my dad about the loan,” I say, nervously tapping my hands against my sides. “I’m going to need more time to convince him.”
“I told you I’d give you until the end of summer,” Sal says, rocking back in his seat.
“I know,” I say, scratching the back of my neck. “Thank you for giving me time to get my shit together. I love this place, and I know I can do a good job with it.”
Sal smiles at me with tiny wrinkle lines crawling across his face.
He has more wrinkles than he did a few years ago, and I know this job has been wearing on him.
He told me one time that he planned to pass the shop down to his son, but when God gave him four girls, he knew he was screwed.
He did try to get his girls interested in fixing cars, but each one hightailed it out of Honey Grove the first chance they got.
And then came me.
“Knox, you’re a good kid. I’ll admit, I didn’t think that you’d stick around this long, but I’m glad you did.
You work hard, and I can tell you care about this place as much as I did at one point.
Hell, we didn’t even have a customer waiting room before you suggested shrinking the office to make space for one.
I want you to have this place. But I also need that money to retire and I can’t just hand it over, no matter how much I believe in you. ”
“I know,” I reply, bowing my head. He could’ve sold this place months ago. He’s gotten multiple offers over the years, but Sal held out for me, and I don’t want to let him down.
“Your dad will come around,” Sal says, before placing one hand on my shoulder, “and if he doesn’t, I’ll make sure the next shop owner has a place for you.”
I shift my weight awkwardly. It’s a kind gesture, but I don’t want to work for someone else. I’m ready to take the next step. “Thanks, Sal. For everything.”
Sal gives me one last warm nod before walking back toward the door. “Oh, and about the girl,” he says, spinning toward me with a knowing gleam lighting up his face.
I stiffen, knowing it was na?ve of me to think he’d drop it.
“Don’t fuck it up.”
“You literally just yelled at me for swearing,” I scoff, cocking one brow.
“I’m allowed to swear, son. I’ve earned it,” he explains, adding a small shrug, “but I mean it. I’ve never seen you go out of your way for a girl, so this one must be special. Don’t waste your time playing games like I did with Nancy. I should’ve dropped to one knee the day I met her.”
I let out a dry laugh. “You’re getting soft in your old age, Sal.”
“You know what I mean,” he clarifies, wagging a finger at me. He pulls open the door and pauses before saying, “Goodnight, kid.”
I wait until I hear the door click shut before I sit back in my stool and run a hand through my hair. I was playing a game, alright. It was a harmless deal, and I had no intention of claiming a prize at the end. Well, not entirely.
My gaze settles on the rusted pile of metal, hoping it’ll give me answers. I don’t want to lose this shop. I’ve worked too damn hard to walk away now. I almost see the future I’ve been chasing, but every time I get close, it slips a little farther away.
And lately, when that image pops in my head, there’s someone else in it. I can’t see the person’s face, but I know it’s someone important. And lately, I’m starting to worry that their eyes are green and that they have wild blonde and black hair that clash perfectly.
“Here’s the deal, little dude. If I give you this ice cream cone, you can’t tell your mother about it, okay?” I say, attempting to bargain with a four-year-old.
Milo smiles widely, showing me all of his teeth. “Deal!” he exclaims, reaching for the chocolate cone.
Tonight is Henry and Emma’s date night, and being the amazing uncle I am, I offered to babysit. Milo is a cool kid, and I don’t mind hanging out with him or teaching him creative ways to drive his mom and stepdad insane.
Plus, it’s nice to have a reason to leave the shop. I was close to saying fuck it and just giving Emery my old truck. I wonder if she’d notice. Sure, mine was red, and hers was blue, but I could find a good lie to cover that up.
Milo and I find a picnic table to hang out at while he finishes off his cone. I love the kid, but if he ever drips ice cream on the newly upholstered leather seats in the old Mustang I’ve been restoring, I may have to tell him to play in the road.
I watch as chocolate drips down his hands and I couldn’t be happier with the decision. I’m about to steal a bite when my phone starts vibrating in my back pocket. I look at the caller ID and my heart stumbles.
“Hey, Bambi,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “Should I be concerned I haven’t heard from my girlfriend in over a week?”
“Probably,” she huffs, already annoyed. “I was hoping you’d forget about me and move on with your life.”
“You wound me,” I exhale, hoping she’s picturing me clutching my chest. Milo stares at me with interest for five seconds before refocusing on his cone. “What do I owe the honor of this call?”
“I wanted to check on my truck,” she says. It’s faint, but I can hear the strain of her voice pushing through the line.
I clear my throat and rest my elbows on the table. “It’s taking longer than I thought it would, but I’m hoping to have it back to you by next week.”
Emery is quiet, and that always makes me want to fill up space with a dumb joke or some lame anecdote to lighten the mood. But when I reach for the words, I can’t find them. “What is it, Bambi? Do you need something? I told you I can get you a rental.”
The silence festers, and I can picture her biting her lip in deep concentration. “I found a buyer for the armoire I just finished upcycling, but they don’t have a way to pick it up. I was hoping my truck would be ready so I could deliver it. I really need this sale.”
“Oh,” is all I can think to say, but then my hero complex kicks in and we’re off to the races. “I can deliver it.”
There’s another pause on her end, but I can hear her breathing, so I know she’s there.
“No, you don’t have to do that. I can figure something else out,” Emery says, tripping over her words. She is cute when she’s nervous.
“No, I can do it. Plus, that’s what a boyfriend would do, right?” I ask, trying to convince her through our shared lie.
I wait for her reply, fully expecting her to fight me more.
Even when we were kids, she’d give me a hard time about helping her with things.
I loved how independent she was, but I loved it even more when she let me fill whatever hole was in her life at the time.
I just liked being needed, but I really liked being needed by her.
“Are you sure?” she asks, surprising me with a very non-Emery response. “I don’t want to mess with your day.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” I murmur, eyeing Milo in all of his chocolate-stained glory, “and thankfully I have my helper with me, so it should go extra smooth.”
“Helper?” Emery asks, intrigue laced in her voice.
“He’s young, but he has a great work ethic, and he’ll do the job for basically free.”
“You’re not talking about yourself, right? Talking in third person is weird even for you, Knox,” she replies, and I can feel the heat of her mouth twisting inside my mind.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask with the dumbest grin on my face. Even Milo looks at me with narrowed eyes that say, ‘play it cool’.
“I think you know what it means,” she teases, making my heart flutter. I’m starting to think banter is my love language. If that’s even a thing.
“Mhmm,” I hum. “On a serious note, is it okay if I bring my nephew? I’m on uncle duty tonight.”
“Sure,” she responds without a second thought. I was sure she’d push back on the kid thing—then again, I have no clue where she stands with kids. Not that it matters, of course. It’s not like I can already picture our nameless daughters who give their dad just as hard a time as their mother.
Fuck. Maybe I should tell Emery to start being mean to me again.
“Should I prepare myself for a mini version of you?” she asks.
“You better believe it, Bambi,” I reply, glowing with pride at the small human in a puddle of ice cream. “We just have to go pick up my truck and we’ll be over. Shouldn’t be longer than thirty minutes.”
Low rustling fills the speakers. “Wait until I get there to move anything,” I add, knowing her stubborn ass already has the large piece of furniture halfway out the door.
She replies with a half-hearted grumble. “Fine. I’ll see you when you get here,” she says, hanging up a second later without so much as a goodbye. I shake my head and place the phone back in my pocket.
“You up for an adventure, little dude?” I ask Milo.
He instantly perks up as excitement hums inside his tiny body. “Yes!” he shouts, holding up two very sticky hands.
“But first, let’s get you cleaned up. You know the rules.”
Milo doesn’t say anything. He just holds up his hands, ready to be whisked away.
“Exactly.” I nod, scooping him up and carrying him toward the restroom. He giggles the entire way, kicking his legs like I’m hauling him off to jail.
Once Milo is squeaky clean everywhere, down to the dirt underneath his fingernails, we head for the Mustang. He’s still buzzing like we’re on our way to rob his favorite toy store and not play delivery boys for the evening.
In his defense, I’m buzzing too. I just wish I knew how to make it stop.