Chapter one
Grady
Present Day
“There you go, Mrs. Hansen.” I rip the invoice from the printer tray and hand it to her across the counter. A smudge of grease transfers from my fingers to the paper, but that’s pretty par for the course when you work on cars for a living.
“Thank you, Grady.”
“My pleasure.”
“I’ll see you in another five-thousand miles.” She winks and heads for the door.
“I’ll be here.” Watching her leave the office, I sigh as I file away the invoice for processing later, wondering if all my days will feel this way from now on—monotonous and dull.
At least Mrs. Hansen doesn’t flirt with me when she comes in. That’s a welcome reprieve from my normal customer—single, female, and plenty of cleavage on display.
I swear, it’s like these women don’t realize I don’t play professional baseball anymore. They still act like I’m some big star and practically throw themselves at me. Any normal red-blooded male would tell me to stop complaining and take the bait that’s being offered, but those days are behind me.
Now that I’m back in Carrington Cove and far from no-strings hookups, it’s been just me and my hand.
My days are filled with running my business: oil changes, tire rotations, radiator leaks—the list goes on and on.
I guess I shouldn’t complain about my life now…
Working on cars was my second passion, one I left behind willingly for the chance to play professional baseball.
I should be grateful that Carrington Cove Auto Repair was available to purchase when I moved back home.
Mr. Rogers practically begged me to buy the place, knowing that I was familiar with the ins and outs of the business.
He was my boss during the summers once upon a time.
From the age of fourteen, I followed him around the property and absorbed everything he could teach me about cars.
I sure as hell wasn’t going to learn it from my own father, who took off shortly after my younger sister, Astrid, was born.
And my mom was so busy working two jobs to keep us fed and housed that the last thing on her mind was worrying about me learning skills any self-respecting man should know.
Besides, she pushed me to play baseball since she knew my aspirations of playing professionally were something I actually had a shot at. She saw my talent and so did my coaches, and she didn’t want me to miss out on an opportunity so few actually get.
But working here, learning a skill besides how to pitch, brought me extra money and pride. So, when I lost the main part of my identity almost five years ago, I gravitated toward the only other thing I knew, hoping it would help mend the hole in my chest left by the end of my baseball career.
“Hey, I need your expertise on this car.” Chet, my right-hand man, pokes his head in the main office from the garage, pulling me back to the present.
“Be right there.” I click around on the computer, take note of the open customer files we still have, and glance at the clock, counting down the minutes until lunch time so I can fuel the never-ending pit of my stomach and catch up with my friends.
Taking hour-long lunch breaks on Thursdays is one of the perks of being the owner, and today I have another place to go as well, giving me a break from the monotony of the day.
Grady’s Garage smells of oil, rubber, and hard work as I walk over to where Chet is leaning over the engine compartment of an ’81 Z28 Camaro a customer has asked us to rebuild.
To keep the business afloat, I knew I had to expand our services beyond routine maintenance.
Between Chet and me, our knowledge of classic cars is extensive, so to bring in extra revenue, we rebuild and repair older cars in between our regular customers from Carrington Cove.
This Camaro actually belongs to a guy who lives in Georgia.
I glance toward the ’73 Nova sitting in the corner, wondering if I should bite the bullet and finally start working on my own project like I said I would when I moved back home. But this new life of mine kind of got in the way.
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Chet asks as I bump my shoulder against his and peer down inside the engine compartment.
“Fuck. Yup, that’s the water pump. Should have known to look there first. It’s a notorious problem with these cars.”
He nods. “Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t seeing things.”
I clasp him on the shoulder. “Nope, your eyes are fine. I’ll contact my parts guy and see how long it’ll take to track one down.
Let me call him before I go to lunch. Hopefully, we’ll have an answer before I get back.
I also planned to stop by the bakery to see my sister since she was gone this past weekend and has her big event in two days.
I just want to make sure she’s not going insane. ”
Astrid recently bought the old Sunshine Bakery in town, renaming and renovating the place to make it her own, and this weekend she’s catering a Morgan Hotel party in Raleigh that Dallas’s new girlfriend, Willow, orchestrated with her connection from her advertising business.
I’m so fucking proud of her. She spent years not chasing her dreams because her husband didn’t support her and made her feel less than.
But after he died, she started living her life differently and finally took a risk a few months ago to pursue the career she’s always wanted.
This past weekend she ventured out of town for a break, and I’m proud of her for that too.
She’s been working so hard since she bought the bakery, and she deserved the reprieve.
Maybe I should take a page out of her book and take a break too. Maybe I’m getting burned out.
Or maybe I’m going a little nuts since I haven’t gotten laid in eight months.
A dry spell can do weird things to a man.
Chet laughs. “No problem. I can hold down the fort.”
“I know you can. Thanks, man.” He tips his chin in acknowledgment and then turns back to the car just as my cell phone vibrates in my pocket.
But when I take it out and see the name on the screen, I silence the call immediately and let it go to voicemail.
Irritation fills my veins as reminders of my former life flood my mind, pushing me even harder to take care of my responsibilities and head to lunch, grateful for the distraction since I really need it today.
***
“You’re here early.” Dallas Sheppard, my childhood friend, greets me with an arch of his brow as I head for the bar he’s standing behind.
As planned, Dallas left for the Marines right after high school and returned to Carrington Cove around the same time I did to build a life outside of the service.
He now owns Catch & Release, a coastal bar and restaurant, and turned it into the hot spot in town for tourists and locals alike.
“I’m starving,” I reply, feeling my stomach growl as the smell of grease and food fills my nostrils.
“Well, Jimmy just started the burgers, so it’s going to be a minute.”
“No problem.” I push a hand through my hair that’s in bad need of a cut and intercept the glass of Coke Dallas pushes my way. “Thanks.”
“Of course. How’s everything going?”
“Fuck. That’s a loaded question, man,” I say, unsure if I want to get into this with Dallas right now. It’s not that I don’t trust him. Hell, he was one of my closest friends before we both left our hometown, and we picked up right where we left off when we returned.
In fact, we actually have a lot more in common now than we did back then. After twelve years in the service, he retired and bought this restaurant from the owner who was looking to sell at the time, much like I did with the garage. And for a while there, he was single too.
But then he met Willow Marshall, the owner of a multimillion-dollar advertising company who inherited a house in town and stole Dallas’s heart in the process.
Now he’s happy, in love, and living a life that I never allowed myself to even think about because baseball was the only thing I cared about for the longest time.
And now I don’t even know what I want out of my life anymore.
Dallas smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know, owning a bar has made me great at listening to other people’s problems. Comes with the territory.”
Huffing out a laugh, I lean back in my seat. “I just feel stuck.”
“With…?”
“Life.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Sounds like you need to shake things up a bit.”
“What needs to be shaken up?” Parker, Dallas’s youngest brother, interrupts our conversation as he slides onto the stool next to me.
“Grady’s in a funk.” Dallas fills a glass of Coke for his brother and sets it in front of him.
“Yeah, I get that. I’m so fucking busy at the clinic right now, by the time I get home, I just zone out on the couch watching TV or scrolling on my phone before passing out.”
“And then get up and do it all over again,” Dallas says. Parker and I nod in agreement.
“Maybe we need to take a page out of Penn’s book and just take a fucking vacation,” I grumble as the bell on the kitchen counter rings, signaling that our burgers are done.
Dallas grabs our plates from under the heat lamps and delivers them to us.
The plate barely hits the bar top in front of me before I pick it up and take the biggest bite I can fit in my mouth.
“I still can’t believe he did that,” Parker mumbles around the fry he’s chewing.
And honestly, I was shocked too. Penn is a fucking workaholic, and now that he’s starting his own contracting business, I don’t see that changing anytime soon.
“Although the week I’m taking off between Christmas and New Year’s is all I can fucking think about, so I know I need the break.
Dr. O’Neil was adamant about it too, so I really didn’t have a choice but to take it off,” Parker explains, referring to his boss.
I’m pretty sure Dr. O’Neil has been the owner and main doctor of the veterinarian’s office since I was kid.