Page 111 of Ice Mechanic

“Hey.” I flash my practiced smile.

“Can I have a picture?” A skinny guy with a long beard and a beanie rushes over to me.

I peer over his head to look inside the garage. The women seem busy. Rebel is running around frantically, coordinating all the vehicles and April is working on a car. Right now, she’s perched over an open engine, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“Can you give me a minute, bro?” I ask. “I need to check if April needs me for anything else.”

“Of course. Of course. #ApeChance for life.” He flashes two fists.

That ‘ship name’ sounds even sillier coming from his lips.

Inside, the garage ispackedwith vehicles. I turn sideways to squeeze past cars that are parked nose to nose. Unfortunately, there’s no path that leads straight to April, so I have to catapult myself over a pickup.

It’s too bad April’s so concentrated on her work that she missed an action-movie moment.

I stop in front of her, admiring the way the baggy work over-alls try—and fail—to hide her figure.

“Tink.”

“Mm?” She bends further into the engine. Her shiny brown hair slithers across her face and she shakes it back.

“Any more cars I need to move right now?”

“Uh…”

Her noncommittal response tells me her mind is one hundred miles away.

“I’m almost finished working on this one,” April mutters, tossing her hair back. “Give me ten more minutes.”

If I were a mad scientist, I’d build a time machine and give her all the time in the world. Since I’m just a regular Joe, all I can offer is a massage, coffee, and possibly a hug.

“Dangit.” April scowls at a car plug and violently wrenches her head to keep her hair away from her face. In direct defiance, her silky-smooth mane falls right back into place.

She gets enough of it and angrily yanks out her hair clip. A swath of chocolate-brown strands get yanked out too.

“Hold on, Tink. Let me,” I say, stepping right up against her and reaching for the clip.

She pulls away. “I can do it myself.”

“Relax, I know my way around a hair tie.”

Her eyes narrow. “Lots of practice?”

“Not the way you’re thinking,” I tell her. “I had shoulder-length, Fabio hair in my high school ‘searching for identity’ phase.”

Her eyes widen and, for the first time since the chaos at the garage began, she smiles. “I can’t imagine that.”

“Don’t try. It’s as hideous as you’d imagine. I’m no Fabio.”

The smile grows.

Her eyes sparkle harder.

Everything around me blinks out of focus as I stare at her.

April’s unique smell of flowers mixed with engine oil fills my nostrils and I take a deep breath.Dangerous territory. I could get drunk on this fragrance alone.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” April whispers, offering the clip to me.

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