“Is Roads here?” Might as well suck it up and eat it.
“Nope. He headed back home yesterday. Comes back every month or so. He loves this town. Says we’re his favorite shop out of the twenty-five he’s got. Says he wants to buy a house and stay.”
“You don’t say. Well, just wanted to see the place for myself.”
“Seriously, you’ve never come in? I’ll show you around myself!”
“Maybe another day.” When I come with a can of gas and matches to burn it to the ground.
“I’ll tell Roads you stopped by.”
Please don’t. “Okay, great!”
I waved goodbye and backed out of the parking lot.
I was trying really hard not to see those bachelor photos, but when they put them on the local news, it was hard to close your eyes through the whole story. So inevitably, I had to watch a montage of still shots of CEO Roads in every menswear item possible, from formal suits, to Speedos, to snow pants while snowboarding in the mountains. I glowered at the television with Imelda on my lap. What was he, some kind of government-sanctioned experiment on perfection? From the white shining smile to the full head of wavy hair. Stupid Disney prince with a huge dick in his pants. The one in the swimming suit particularly annoyed me because I’d seen that washboard stomach up close, had those abdominal Vs in my hands, run my palms over those biceps, not to mention other unmentionable acts.
It had been a week, and I couldn’t get over him. Neither could the media or my mother, who’d called twice to talk about my RSVP. Of course the coordinator for the charity ball called my mother to gossip the moment she received my sticky missive. Since then, I’d gotten the third degree.
“I met him at a bar.”
“We’re friends, sort of.”
“He came into the shop.”
Nothing would appease her. If I knew my mother, she’d already hired photogs explicitly to catch us together. She was embarrassed I wasn’t already married, so this would be her opportunity for payback to all the witches at the club, her alma mater, my parents’ friends, all of the people who probably made fun of me on a regular basis.
Billy nudged his head onto my thigh and bleated at me to be let out. I looked at my watch and yawned. Guess I’d go into the shop, even though it was supposed to be my day off.
There was only one way to get ahead. I’d sleep when I was dead.
I baked some mini lemon-raspberry cupcakes before I decided to jack up the vintage Mustang that had been entrusted to Lace. Ditching my apron, I pulled on some Dickie Coveralls and my garage boots, pulled my hair into a high ponytail, and secure a red bandana to take care of the flyaways. I loved me a Mustang—really, any car with muscle. Clem and Mack were off too. Technically, the store was closed on Mondays. Although that might be something we’d have to change if Roads keeps syphoning all of my customers. I put on my own music, more folksy and singer-songwriter than the boys’ usual fare. With a custom tire iron, I started to remove the lug nuts so I could replace the brake pads. The garage was stuffy, so I raised one of the doors with the remote and squinted into the bright sun. It felt good to let some sunshine into the garage. I could do with a little light in my life—a dose of happiness and some vitamin D all in one.
After all four tires were removed and rolled to the side, I stood up straight and wiped sweat from my face with the back of my hand. A shadow crossed the patch of sunlight on the concrete, and I turned to see who was blocking my light. I shielded my eyes as I took in his form. I didn’t have to see his face to know who it was. I’d never seen a more tantalizing silhouette than the giant one looming in front of me.
“Need help with those nuts?” I could hear the smile in his voice.
“You know, you seem so refined, it’s easy to forget you’re a mechanic. But then you say things like that, and suddenly it’s not so hard to imagine. We’re closed. You can come back tomorrow.”
“That’s what the sign says, but clearly, you’re not.”
“How I like to spend my days off is none of your business, Mr. Roads.”
He walked into the shadow of the garage with his hands in his pockets, and my heart suddenly needed new brake pads, the way it slammed in my chest. He had Superman eyebrows. It wasn’t fair for a man to be so perfect.
“It smells good in here. I mean, not the garage, although I do find the scent of a shop comforting, don’t you, Cherry? You must have baked something and that’s what’s so mouthwatering.”