“I’m a mechanic,” Lizzie repeats. Her voice and eyes are at odds. One says we’re idiots for supposing her to be anything else. The other betrays a certain familiarity with our reaction.
“With cars?” I check.
She purses her lips in my direction.
“No, with hairdryers. Of course with cars.”
I’ve never thought myself prejudiced, but the idea of a woman mechanic isn’t a familiar one and it’s taking its own sweet time sinking in. Especially when the woman in question looks like Lizzie.
Jace recovers a lot faster than I manage to, his excitement now evident and his preconceptions in check.
“Are you serious? Because, no joke, we could really use another pair of experienced hands around here. I mean, if it kept you around the place a little more, I’d have offered you a job counting paper clips,” he winks at her, “but if you seriously know your way around an engine?”
Somehow, Jace Winters had always had a knack for flirting without offense. It might be his good looks, his laid-back attitude, or his natural charisma. Whatever it was, he’s always a woman’s friend as much as he is the object of their affection. He can offer compliments, winks, and flirtatious comments without ever implying a need for more. No creepiness, no excess. Just pure flattery. With Jace, it’s all so easy. He’s smiling. Lizzie is smiling. It all flows naturally.
I roll out an awkward ache in my shoulder.
Prick.
“Okay, okay…” Lizzie raises her hands, like a stewardess ready to provide some much-needed twenty-first-century information. “Let’s get the confusion out of the way. Yes, I’m a woman. Yes, I’m a blonde who has her fair share of stupid moments. No, I’m not offended by the jokes that follow. Yes, I like a good manicure with my girlfriends. I even enjoy the occasional Cosmo. But I am also a fully registered and qualified mechanic. I’ve worked on cars of all kinds since I was five years old and I rebuilt a turn of the century combustion engine last year. I know my shit.”
Jace and I don’t move an inch, temporarily floored by the speech and by the strength with which it was delivered.
“And…” Jace slowly braves, “if I mentioned that a client needed their transmission’s cylinder head repaired?”
“I’d say you’re a damn idiot. The heads are in the engine, not the transmission.”
And suddenly the game is on; Jace the interrogator and Lizzie the pro-student. With each exchange, Jace’s expression becomes more animated, like he was watching his very own wet dream come to life. A beautiful woman who knew the inner workings of automobiles. Back and forth the questions go until they hardly seem to be speaking English anymore.
I’m so distracted by their banter that I nearly jump out of my skin when I hear a hiss to my left.
“Psst, hey!”
The smell of strawberries wafts over me as Lacey Thompson appears at my side. Lacey is the local bartender and a familiar face to everyone in the Forge. She’d been two years behind me in school and I regularly see her around town. How she manages early mornings with her late-night shifts is anyone’s guess.
Sliding in along the truck’s hood, Lacey flashes that dimpled smile of hers before glancing around my chest to spy on Jace and Lizzie.
“Who’s that?” she asks, seemingly offended that there’s someone in town she isn’t already personally acquainted with. “What are they talking about?”
“I have no idea.” I say honestly. Lizzie and Jace have by now spiraled into an intricate discussion involving pistons and pressure valves. I’ve stopped trying to keep up.
And I still don’t have a real answer to Lacey’s first question.
Lizzie is… who? A pain in my ass? An alien to our little backwater world, looking for a fresh start?
A siren in blue underwear?
None of those answers seem to encompass the whole package.
“Caleb?”
“Sorry, what?” I blink.
Lacey’s smile seems a little strained as she repeats herself.
“I said, I missed you at Jack’s last night. I thought you were coming by to sort the faucet in the back room?”
“Shi—!” Guilt succeeds where dimples fail and I’m suitably drawn into the conversation. “Sorry, Lace. Honestly forgot. I got,” accosted by a blonde with a whole lot of attitude? “distracted.”