Page 120 of The Thought of You

The smell is heavenly, but I’m not feeling a fresh muffin quite yet.

Brows furrowed, I peek through the window above the kitchen sink and admire the freshly cut grass. Even the hedges are trimmed.

When I thought I heard a lawn mower yesterday afternoon, I figured it was one of the neighbors. It was not. It was my yard.

How much of my dreams were actually reality?

“Good morning!” someone chirps from behind me, and what’s left of my stomach falls to my knees.

I whip around, expecting to find Owen, but it’s…

“Bo?” I ask, and two innocent eyes stare back at me. The not-even-twenty-year-old was in my English class a couple years ago, and he now works with Austin at the auto shop.

While I do know him, it’s not well enough for him to be standing in my kitchen.

This was probably Owen’s doing. He brought his mother to cook for me last night, and now he must have Bo up to something too. Did he enlist the whole town to help me, the incapable, puking damsel in distress?

“What are you doing here? Did you mow my lawn?” I ask.

“No. I fixed your car.” He shrugs as he wipes his hands on a dirty rag.

A freshly showered—and dripping—Owen appears over his shoulder. Water droplets from his wet hair splatter across the top of his T-shirt, and his eyes shine like crystals catching the sun’s rays.

“How did you know it needed fixing?” I ask, and it’s directed more toward Owen, who seems to be the mastermind since it’s clear the kid is just the messenger.

“It took you three tries to start it in the school parking lot the other day. Figured it was a starter problem, so I called in an expert.” Owen holds his chin high with pride.

“I was going to fix it. It was on my list for next week,” I say, hugging my gurgling midsection.

“Now you don’t have to. It’s done.” Owen’s innocent smile doesn’t reach me as it did yesterday. Right now, it makes my blood boil.

I turn toward Bo. “I didn’t know you made house calls.”

“I do for three times the pay.”

I gape at Owen again.

Bo cringes. “Sorry, dude. I forgot I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

“Next time, I’ll wait for Austin to be free.”

Bo grumbles, and I level Owen with my stare. “Why did you pay him so much for my car?”

“What? I have money.”

“And I don’t?”

Bo shifts, his discomfort radiating in waves between us.

“That’s not what I said, and it’s definitely not what I meant. It’s just that I have baseball money.”

“I don’t care if God Himself gave you stacks of gold. You have no right to go and spend it on me. Let me pay you back.” I scan the counter for my tote, but it’s not there. It’s not at the breakfast table, either, and when I rack my brain for the answer as to its whereabouts, I come up empty.

Then again, it could be right in front of me, but it’s hard to see past the red dots blotting my vision.

“I don’t want you to pay me back. How do you still not understand the concept of an act of kindness?” His jaw sets. “Here’s how it works—you let someone mow your lawn while you’re sick, and you let that same someone get your car fixed, and you don’t pay that someone back. You just say a simple thank-you, which I don’t think you’ve ever said. Do you know how?”

My eye twitches. This is not happening. Not returning a favor is like not saying “excuse me” when I sneeze or leave the table. It’s rude. And I especially can’t leave things with Owen like this. There is no scenario I can live with where I’m in Owen’s debt.

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