7. Charlotte
From the steps of Beverley High School, Charlotte sat with Paul, waiting as the floats from the Homecoming Parade circled back to the campus parking lot.
School had ended early for the parade, but Charlotte had more on her mind than the Homecoming festivities as Paul remarked, “I can’t believe I’m just finding out now about you and Henry. ”
Blushing, she corrected the vice-principal.
“There’s no me and Henry.” She’d only brought up her after-school plan to Paul after he mentioned that Henry had just worked on Adam’s vehicle.
Nearly insufferable since, the younger man insisted on casting a satisfied grin her way whenever she looked at him.
Paul twirled a whistle on the end of a lanyard. “I don’t know why I never thought about setting you two up. You’d be perfect together.”
Two weeks since Charlotte visited Henry’s shop, and her hormones hadn’t forgotten the electric pull, as evidenced by her erratically beating heart every time she thought about seeing him again. “This isn’t a setup, I’m just taking my car-”
“Mmm-hmm, so you’ve said. Many times.” With the street clear, Charlotte and Paul made their way to the area where the teachers parked.
“Say hi to Henry from me.” Paul’s eyes mischievously twinkled over the roof of her car.
“Anyway, I’ll see you tonight. Tell Isobel she owes me some popcorn later!
” Her daughter, who visited her almost every other week, had become friends with Paul and Adam and was coming for the weekend.
The four of them planned to meet up at the football game when the Beverley Spartans took on the Huron Tigers.
“And at least a beer at Shorty’s after the game!
” Paul called to her as she backed out of her parking spot.
With gold and blue signs up in the windows of virtually every business, Spartan fever coursed through the town as she drove to Check Care Auto.
Groaning when she encountered a traffic jam on Main Street, she contemplated waiting until tomorrow to take in her Tempest, but anticipated too much the idea of catching Henry alone, something that definitely wouldn’t happen with Isobel at her heels.
Once she arrived at the shop, all garage doors were closed, which made sense in retrospect, since everyone she knew was going to the game later.
Dejected, she shifted into reverse and was just backing up when she noticed a light glowing from a side door.
Too bright to be only a security light, she recalled Henry mentioning he usually stayed late doing paperwork.
Could he still be inside? Afraid to hope, Charlotte parked, got out of her car, and walked to the side door on wobbly legs.
Her hand tingled reaching for the doorknob, and apprehension filled her, leaving her torn between turning around or taking a chance on finding Henry inside.
Anticipating the same sensual thrill he’d given her the last time, she twisted the knob.
Welcomed by another tantalizing smell and “Who’ll Stop the Rain” playing, she followed her senses to Henry’s office, where the door stood open.
Swiftly typing on his phone, he was half turned away from her, his impossibly broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his long-sleeved t-shirt all too appealingly.
Transfixed, she imagined the feel of his solid strength surrounding her.
Blushing, she shook her head, lightly knocking on the door frame before she lost her courage. “Hello?”
Raising his silvery-blond head, he dropped the phone on his desk, immediately rising to his feet. “You’re back.” Was that amazement she heard reverberating in his deep voice?
Be bold, she told herself, trying to quell her anxiety.
“Well, my car almost didn’t start this morning,” she laughed, “so I figured it was telling me to take care of it. I’m not always this bad about maintenance.
Part of me is paranoid, I guess, that something could be wrong with it that can’t be fixed.
It’s more than just a car to me. It represents my parents.
” During her pregnancy, when Brady was going to school and working full-time, they’d only had one car.
Charlotte, with two part-time jobs: one as a housekeeper at a motel and the other as a cook in the attached restaurant, needed transportation, so her parents shuttled her to and from work in the Tempest. Since the motel was on the other side of Sioux City, the trip took twenty minutes, longer if they stopped by a park on the way home.
Early autumn evenings with the three of them eating picnic suppers made by her mom: fried chicken and macaroni salad, ham sandwiches on thick-sliced homemade bread with handheld peach pies, or occasionally just deviled eggs and chocolate chip cookies, crispy on the edges the way her mom knew she preferred.
Those were moments she never would’ve had if she hadn’t gotten pregnant and married Brady.
Aside from the car being loved by her dad, it signified the time in her life when she’d been the closest to her parents.
Henry nodded. “No matter what car you drive, it needs to be taken care of properly, but especially something that means as much to you as your Custom S Tempest,” he told her, his tone serious, yet sexy…Was this why people found cars to be such a turn-on?
“You remembered I have a Custom S?” Charlotte twisted a curl behind her ear, and she noticed his crystal blue eyes tracking the movement.
“Of course. I also remember you drove a Jeep here, which is special in its own right. But the Custom S, that’s a legend. The nameplate on the body was only available for one year, you know.” He walked around to the front of his desk.
Charlotte laughed, because for her dad, that was all anyone needed to know about the car. “For years, I thought my dad made that up.”
Henry’s hands lifted, settling on his slim hips, his long fingers making her mouth water.
So did his smile when he shook his head.
“No, not made up. It’s extremely sought after in some circles.
It’s a spectacular car.” Longing rushed through her as his smile lifted the corners of his wide mouth and deepened the dimple in his chin; his eyes didn’t waver from hers.
“I’m sure it suits you.” Momentarily speechless after the compliment, she struggled to gather her wits, especially since he was the first person in forever to understand about her car.
Brady had always complained that the Tempest required too much maintenance, often prodding her to sell it to a collector.
“Tell me how your dad got the Custom S.”
“He bought it the year it came out, before I was born. My parents didn’t think they could have kids, so I think he saw it as his baby until I came along.
” Jacob and Saloma Sherk were fifty-three and forty-five, respectively, when Charlotte was born.
After giving up all hope of children after twenty years of marriage, they considered their daughter not just a blessing but a miracle, something she had taken full advantage of, until the day her pregnancy test was positive.
Charlotte, angry and resentful, at first blamed her parents for not restricting her with more rules.
However, had Charlotte not gotten pregnant so young, her parents probably wouldn’t have been grandparents, since both passed in quick succession of each other when Isobel was five.
“I grew up with it being a part of every one of my milestones in life. A few months before my dad passed, he gave it to me.” Charlotte choked up.
“My ex-husband hated it when I drove our daughter around in it—didn’t think it was safe, but my dad had installed seat belts after I was born.
” Anticipating her need, Henry handed her a tissue from a box on his desk, and she flashed him a grateful smile.
“He was like that—he thought of everything.”
“I’m sorry about your dad. He sounds like someone I would’ve gotten along with.” Charlotte nodded. Her dad spent hours discussing his beloved Tempest with anyone who would listen, and he would’ve had a rapt audience with Henry.
“He was the best. My mom, too. Not a strict bone in her body. She always wore aprons around the house because she baked for everyone in the neighborhood. So every time I hugged her, she smelled like flour.” A deep breath kept her tears at bay, and the following silence made her aware of how they had gravitated toward each other.
Henry was so close, the spicy scent of his aftershave quickened her pulse.
She desperately needed a diversion. “I have to know—what are you brewing back here that smells so insanely delicious?” Rewarded by his deep chuckle, his smile made her breath catch in her throat.
“Is this your secret to making an auto shop smell just as good as the coffee shop across the street? Do you get your own specialty blend delivered or something?”
Scruff bristled against his hand when he scratched his chin, an action that drew her attention again to the sexy cleft in the center, and she shivered in response.
When he lifted his cap to drag a powerful-looking hand through his blond hair, the silver at his temples sparkled under the low light glowing from his desk lamp.
Without the overhead fluorescent lights on, the office felt intimate.
“Believe it or not, I make my own blend.”
Lord help her, what had he just said? He makes his own coffee?
He crafts benches…he makes coffee…he knows about the Tempest. He was irresistible, and she wanted him.
“I’m sorry,” she responded, somewhat incredulously, “you do what? Is that a thing—making your own coffee blend? I mean, I saw it in a Hallmark movie once, but I figured they were making it up,” she laughed.