“I hope you don’t mind; I was just messing around with it.” She steps to a tap over a stainless-steel wash basin and pumps soap into her hands. She’s pushed her sleeves up to her elbows, so the white bandage smudged with black oil acts like a beacon that breaks my heart. “I came down here after breakfast and saw the hood already open. I was just looking, then the lines started disconnecting themselves.”
I would laugh at her lies, I would smile that she’s talking, but the violence with which she scrubs at her hands hurts me.
Why does she scrub herself raw? Why does she shake, just because I walked into her space?
“I’m done now,” she distractedly murmurs. Pumping more soap, she starts again, avoiding my gaze. “I didn’t mean to intrude. The hood was up and I was just curious, but it’s yours.” Finally, she stops scrubbing and turns back with her hands lifted and her arms bent, the residual water running down her arms and dripping off her elbows. “I won’t touch it again.”
I can keep my distance, I can make this as easy on her as possible, but what I can’t ignore is the way my lungs collapse in my chest. I grew up with this girl, but for the first time ever, she speaks as though we’re strangers.
“You don’t have to stay away.” I lean into the backseat and pull out a bottle of soda. Cracking it open and bringing it up to keep my hands busy, I nod toward the engine. “You know what you’re doing, so I’m not afraid you’ll mess it up.” I lean into the car a second time and pull out two footlong sandwiches wrapped in foil. “I’m starving. I didn’t get lunch yet, so I closed the garage early and got drive-thru. You want some?”
Her eyes flicker between my hand and my face. “Your lunch? You just said you’re starving, but now you’re offering up your lunch?”
“Well, I got double, because I figured someone would be here, and the meatballs smelled too good to only get one.”
“Meatballs?”
Checkmate.
She takes a single step away from the sink. Then another. Like a scared little puppy, she edges closer to the other side of the Buick and watches my hand like it’s some sort of trap. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” Scoffing like my whole world doesn’t balance on her accepting the damn sandwich, I toss it so she’s forced to catch or let it splat to the ground.
The Laine that dismantled her brother’s bike would never let meatballs go to waste. The Laine that stepped up to a world champion fighter with fire in her eyes and none of the fear she wears today would never waste meatballs.
Pulling out the second bottle of soda, I barely register the soft strains of music coming from an old boombox I swear we owned back in middle school. Whether Jess brought this here, or Laine, or perhaps Kane owned one of those suckers too, I don’t know, but the sweet ache ofAlex & Sierrasinging about love settles painfully right in the center of my chest.
“Drink?”
Busy studying the sandwich, Laine’s ocean blue eyes whip back to mine. “You got an extra soda, too?”
“Uh-huh.”Be cool. Be gentle.Placing it on the leather seat near her and stepping back, I move toward the door that leads into the house and sit on the step. “I didn’t wanna share mine, so I got extras.”
“What if no one was here?” She picks up the fizzy orange and hugs it to her chest. “Your food would’ve gone to waste.”
“Not waste. I would’ve just put them in the fridge. Cold meatballs taste even better than warm meatballs.”
“Like pizza.” Grinning foolishly, she hitches one leg into the car, then the second so she sits on the door frame with her bare feet on the leather. Sitting the soda back where it began, she slowly peels the foil back to expose piping hot red sauce and melting cheese. “Mmm. I didn’t eat lunch yet. This smells good.”
I bet she didn’t eatanythingyet today. She’s too skinny, too pale. “Tuck in.” I nod toward the hood. “Been out here long?”
Blushing, she drops her eyes to her sandwich and begins picking. “Couple hours. I was just looking.”
“Doesn’t bother me.” I unwrap my sandwich and take a large bite that melts the roof of my mouth off. “That’s fuckin’ hot.” I fan my mouth, but barely feel the sting when her melodic laughter floats across the car.
She nods toward the boxes stacked against the wall. “How much are you spending on this?”
“Couple grand. Not much. I got a good deal because I shop at the dealership a lot.”
“How much do you expect to sell it for?” When I shrug, she adds, “Because I looked it up on the net. I had a rough idea on value, but I wanted to make sure.”
“Okay…”
“All done up, they can go for fifty thousand.”
“Dollars?” I choke.
She smirks. “No, rubies. And in some rare occurrences, magic carpets.”