Page 27 of Moonlit Kisses

Molly slides her hand into his, gifting him with her dimples. “Hi, Martin. Nice to meet you.”

He holds her hand a little longer than what’s socially acceptable. His eyes locked on hers.

What in the actual fuck?

I pull Molly back slightly, forcing them to disengage. He shakes his head as though he’s waking up from a daze. Directing his attention toward the car, I ask, “What do you think of her?”

He tears his eyes away from Molly and looks at the Sprint. “She’s gorgeous. Beautiful color!” He glides his hand over the surface. “Is this the original Rangoon Red?”

“Yeah. I wanted to keep her as original as possible.” I follow behind him.

He dips down to peer inside. “Is that real leather on the seats and interior panels?”

“Yep. It’s as soft as butter.” I open the driver’s door and gesture for him to take a seat. May as well put him behind the wheel. He runs his hand across the soft leather before situating himself inside. His eyes are taking in every feature and detail as he gets comfortable behind the wheel.

“This is magnificent. You’ve done a stellar job, Max.” His hands glide over the dash and smooth their way around the steering wheel. He grasps the gearshift, and using the clutch, manipulates it through the gears.

“It’s got new wiring all the way through. Almost everything under the hood is new.” I get out of the passenger side. “Come, take a look.”

He peels himself away from his admiration of the interior and steps around to the front of the car. I raise the hood and his eyes light up as he releases a low whistle. “Man, this is incredible.” He looks across at me. “You are a master.”

“Thanks. Here, I’ll raise her up and you can see beneath the car.” I close the doors and press a button to start the car lift, which raises the Sprint. I’m proud of the work I’ve done to this car. It was a heap of shit when I brought her in, but the body was in reasonable condition, so I knew I could bring her back to life.

Martin lets out another low whistle. Hands in pockets, he walks the length of the car, head tilted back, studying every single inch. “That exhaust system is beautiful. It’s a shame it’s hidden beneath the car and nobody can appreciate your work.”

I laugh. “C’mon. Let’s take her for a drive.”

I start her up and the beauty purrs like a fucking kitten. Beautiful. I wave to Molly, and we cruise out of the workshop, making a left onto the street. As we’re cruising, I fill Martin in on the specs of the car. It’s not until we reach the highway that I can really show him what she can do. The deep rumble as I change up through the gears, vibrates through the seats, warming my body. This. This is what it’s all about. This is why I love working with cars. This feeling of freedom as you drive a beautiful machine along the highway. Just me, the car, and the road. It’s my happy place.

Martin smiles across at me. “Noah’s gonna love this. He’s really into muscle cars.”

“Oh yeah?” I grin back.

He hangs his arm out of the window, catching the wind. “So, how long has Molly been working for you?”

I glance across at him with narrowed eyes. “Just over a month.” I answer cautiously.

He must sense my discomfort with the topic because he holds up his hands. “She reminds me of someone. That’s all.”

My shoulders relax. “She’s new to the city. I doubt you know her.”

We move away from the topic of Molly, and I run through what the Sprint is capable of. We make it to the coast, and I climb out of the driver’s seat to allow Martin the opportunity to drive her back to the workshop.

If his expression is anything to go by, he’s smitten. Exactly how I want him.

We make it back to the workshop and Martin carefully parks the car in bay three, where I’ve been working on her. He slowly turns to me, a smile as wide as anything on his face. “How much?”

I twist in my seat to face him, pulling out my phone. I took photos of the car before I started and then kept taking photos as the restoration progressed as a record.

“Before we talk about the price. Take a look.” I hand him my phone. He’s engrossed in the images as he flicks through dozens of photos. The first showing the wreck abandoned in a backyard, grass and weeds growing almost to the top of the roof.

“That’s this car?” His eyes are wide, his voice full of wonder.

I nod. “Yep. Looking at her there, though, I knew she would be a beauty.”

“She sure is.” He twists his body around, handing the phone back to me. “Okay. Hit me. How much?”

“Forty-nine K.”

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