Chapter 21 Dean
TWENTY-ONE
DEAN
After picking up all the parts I ordered at the local auto supply store, I text Regan about coming by to help like I said I would. I hover over our text thread for just a moment. I take a breath and draft a text.
Me
Hey. I got all the parts I need. Still wanna help?
I wait as I watch the text bubbles appear for her reply.
Regan
Of course. Be there in 30
I tuck my phone into my back pocket as I start working. I want to at least get a head start before Regan gets here. I still don’t technically need her help, but having the extra set of hands will be nice.
Since the dinner at Watkins Glen, I’ve had this need to just be near here, hear her voice, or just get a whiff of her scent of vanilla. I lick my lips at the memory.
I’m already elbows deep in dirt and grease as the sound of crunching tires on gravel from the shop’s parking lot makes me lift my head up. She struts into the shop, and I perk up at her presence.
“I thought you said you needed my help,” she says, placing her hands on her hips.
“I do. I just wanted to get started while I waited for you to get here.”
I’m finishing up the spark plugs when she asks, “How can I help, then?”
Pointing to a box on the floor, I say, “Grab those belts over there, those are going in next.” She picks up the box and pulls the belts out and we start to install them together.
We don’t talk too much besides the task at hand.
The way that she handles tools amazes me somehow.
She knows the exact tool that we need to use next, reaching in and getting dirt under her nails and on her clothes. I’m impressed.
Next is the new catalytic converter. The old one is a bitch to get out. My truck is old and the bolts holding it in place won’t budge. Let’s just say there is a lot of cursing between the two of us.
Finally, we are able to get out the old one and install the new one in its place. I’m holding it in its place as Regan starts to attach it, when her hand slips off the wrench, scraping open her knuckles on the side of the engine and cutting them open, blood instantly spilling over.
“SHIT!” she shouts, dropping the wrench with a loud clang to the floor.
My heartrate picks up. It’s not like myself or any of the guys don’t sometimes hurt ourselves in the shop. It can be dangerous if you aren’t paying attention. My instincts take over, and in a flash I’m at her side, reaching for her bloodied hand.
“You okay? Let me see,” I say gently, taking her smaller hand in mine. She winces in pain as I look her over.
“I’m fine. Just need to clean it up, is all.”
“Come with me upstairs,” I say, placing a hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward a set of stairs in the rear of the shop.