Chapter Two #2
But under the sarcasm, something traitorous flickered—uncomfortably close to relief. Ugh. Really, Lottie? Get a grip. Who cares if he lives alone? Not you. Definitely not you.
She unbuckled and glanced at her screen. Still no bars.
“If you want, I can drop you back in town when I’m done with this,” Cole said.
She squinted out at the whitewashed landscape, weighing her options. Warm blankets and tea, yes please. Riding shotgun with a jawline in a flannel who spoke in grunts, less so.
“I’ll use the landline,” she decided. “Call a friend.”
“Have it your way,” he said, jerking his chin toward the garage.
Lottie climbed out of the cab, crossed the lot, and squeezed through the gap in the doors.
The interior was lit by a few halogen bulbs that cast long shadows across the grease-streaked concrete floor.
The air smelled of motor oil, metal, and a faint, lingering trace of coffee.
Along one wall, an old wooden desk groaned under the weight of scattered papers, a flickering monitor, a half-empty cup of something long gone cold—and, miraculously, a landline phone.
Lottie sighed in relief as she lifted the receiver. The line was live. She dialed Hannah Kendall’s number—her best friend since forever—tapping her fingers against the desk as she waited.
After two rings, a familiar voice answered.
“Please tell me you’re calling from your couch, wrapped in fleece, like a sane person.”
“Not exactly,” Lottie said, wrapping an arm around herself for warmth. “Car broke down. I’m at a garage in the middle of nowhere with a grumpy tow-truck driver and no cell signal.”
There was a beat of silence.
“No, Cole’s place?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Lottie. What do we know about getting into vehicles with strange men?”
“Oh, please, he’s not a murderer. Just… a man of few words.” She glanced toward the open garage bay where she could make out Cole, snow swirling around him as he lowered her car from the tow truck.
Hannah groaned. “If he’s watching, casually drop ‘Brr, sure is cold,’ and I’ll know to send reinforcements.”
Lottie snorted. “Just bring your truck and rescue me before I turn into an ice sculpture, okay?”
“On it. Sit tight.”
Lottie hung up and whistled a breath. She had an exit plan. Now, all she had to do was wait.
Her gaze flicked back to Cole, who’d popped the hood of her car again and was peering into the engine like the sleet pelting him didn’t exist—like nature had decided he was off-limits.
Clearly, he had it handled.
With nothing to contribute and nowhere else to be, she wandered deeper into the garage.
The main work area was cluttered but organized—shelves lined with tools, car parts stacked against the walls, and a workbench scattered with spark plugs, wrenches, and a few unidentifiable metal bits.
It definitely didn’t scream chop shop. Then again, she didn’t have a great frame of reference beyond bad TV dramas.
Her gaze drifted to the back of the garage—and stopped.
Tucked beside a stack of worn tires and half-shadowed by the overhead light, a large metal door stood out.
Industrial, solid, something you’d expect to see on a lockup or a panic room.
Beneath the handle, a keypad blinked with mechanical patience, as if waiting for someone to dare.
Lottie’s curiosity flared. Could that be the infamous stash of stolen parts Lucy had gone on and on about?
She glanced over her shoulder—Cole was still outside, bent over her car.
Her pulse quickened. She shouldn’t. She knew she shouldn’t. But her feet were already moving.
A tiny peek, she told herself. Harmless. Practically a public service. Probably shelves of motor oil and antifreeze. Nothing illicit.
Still, her stomach did a somersault as she stepped up to the door, finger hovering over the keypad.
This was fine. Totally fine. She wasn’t breaking in—just… being neighborly.
Before she could chicken out, she jabbed the “unlock” button.
The screen lit up, a loud chirp slicing through the quiet.
Lottie froze, every heartbeat a cannon blast against the inside of her chest.
What if she’d triggered some kind of alarm?
She spun and made a beeline for the desk, trying to make her panic-stride look like a laid-back saunter. A girl admiring the muscle car calendar pinned to the wall—not poking around in potential evidence of criminal activity.
She’d barely made it back when Cole appeared in the doorway, arms stacked with the boxes of flowers.
She smiled—too wide and bright.
He paused mid-step, frowning as he crouched to set them down. “Did you get through?”
Lottie blinked. “Get through what?”
“Uh, the phone.”
“Oh, um, yeah. My ride should be here any minute. I’ll be out of your hair, and you can go back to mechanic-y things. Whatever it is you do here.”
Cole’s face didn’t change. “Great.” Without another glance, he turned and vanished behind a pickup truck raised on a jack—like she was nothing more than a speed bump in his evening.
Lottie inhaled, the cold air biting at her lungs.
She didn’t know what was behind that big metal door, and honestly? She didn’t want to hang around to find out. One thing was certain—if she never saw Cole again, it would be too soon.