Page 5 of My Forbidden Valentine

I smile, thinking about all the stupid things I did. Oh my, if it wasn't for the job at Mr. Evans’, I don't know what would have become of me.

"But don't doubt it. I'm thankful he put up with me for as long as he did."

"You seem to cherish him."

"Yeah... My parents were always busy, so it was hard for me to talk to people. But he listened. He made me share even when I didn't want to." I smile, remembering. "He was so pushy,and I got so mad, but it was good for me. I learned a lot with Mr. Evans."

"Where is he now?"

"He's dead." I stop what I'm doing, a breeze of grief touching me, gentle at first, then gut wrenching. It's been ten years since he died, but it still hurts to think about it.

"I'm sorry."

I never talked to anyone about him. People all around town knew how close we were and they were kind when he died, but I never let myself talk about it. It doesn't come naturally to me to talk about my feelings, but with Emma, I want to. I want to share him with her. Tell her what it was like to work with him, how he pushed all my buttons and made me the man I am today. So I do. We talk for a while, the fact she's not looking at me helping me get the words out, to be more vulnerable than I've ever been with anyone. She doesn't go away, she keeps listening and laughing at some of our stories and there's not a hint of impatience in her. She is not waiting for me to get this over with and that just makes me want to share more.

But it's eventually too much. I want some space to breathe, to be alone. And to figure out what's wrong with this car instead of just holding a wrench in my hand.

"I need some silence to work on your car now." I stop our conversation abruptly, like the dumbass that I am. She just heard me talk about the most important person in my life and I'm asking her to give me silence.

"That's okay." She reassures me and a part of me is hoping she understands what has made me stop it. It wasn't because I wasn't enjoying it. I want her to know how much it meant for me to share this with her. "So... about that paperwork. I could help you organize it? I'm really good at it. Of course,I don't know anything about garages, but I'm very good at organizing and I could see you could use some help in that department."

"You don't need to."

"I want to. Plus, organizing is actually fun for me."

"It is? It's a fucking nightmare."

"Don't worry. I'll get it done while you're out here."

"Fine." It takes me a second to realize how dismissive that sounds. Why does my voice sound so rough? I want to thank her, but I'm too much of a rough man to do it because, before I know it, she's out of my reach.

Fuck. And now that she's no longer here, my heart tugs at my chest feeling hollowed out without her here.

Chapter 4 - Emma

One hour passes quickly as I sift through the receipts and shop orders. Organizing relaxes me. It's the perfect antidote for the storm passing through me because of August. I’ve realized I want him. When I first met him, right after I came home from college, I had a tiny harmless crush for a few months whenever he visited us. As soon as I moved out, which wasn't long, maybe just a couple of months, our paths rarely crossed and, whenever they did we never really talked, and life happens, boyfriends came and went and I never thought too much about him after that.

Now, the tiny crush has developed into something more potent. It's a potion that mixes my tiny crush from before with my horniness. He oozes sex appeal, one tiny smile, and I'm sure women would be at his feet. But it's something else too. It's the way he talked about Mr. Evans with so much love. It makes me want to get to know this vulnerable side of him, to get past the person he presents to everyone else.

He doesn't seem to do relationships. It seemed to hurt him somehow, and I didn't want to pry any deeper, not when his vulnerability was clear behind his very straightforward answer. "I'm not into relationships". That man can't lie for the life of him, because he might have convinced himself he's not into relationships, but his expression shows he's just guarding his heart. I'm sure whoever hurt him has done major damage. Ifocus on fixing his paperwork, that is simple and attainable. Fixing his pain might be more difficult, even if it makes me ache like it’s my own.

I had heard a lot of rumors about him. One can't live in a small town without people knowing your business. If I'm not careful, any big news I want to share with my family might already be halfway across town before I get the chance to tell them myself. One of the older rumors, from a couple of years ago, was that his girlfriend had left him for a tourist who’d passed through. The most recent one, though, is that women keep asking him out, and he always says no. Mae from Peak Produce, the town’s unofficial gossip queen, told me she’s witnessed some of his refusals firsthand. She shared this tidbit while ringing up my groceries, in between complaining about her bad back and listing off home remedies she swears by.

I don't know what to believe and rumors will always be rumors, so might as well not think about it too much. August seems to need his privacy and I’ll respect that.

I hear a small knock on the door.

"I need to order something for your car. I don't have the specific part it needs. I can't fix it today." August says as uses a rag to clean off his now oily hands. "I’ll ask Asher to get it tomorrow. Our supplier is just thirty minutes away, and it's an easy fix."

"See? You didn't have to waste your time with my car."

"I didn't waste any time."

"I still have plenty of paperwork to organize. What's this exactly?" I ask him and he gets closer, looking over my shoulder and scrunching his face. My breath hitches as I'm close enough to finally smell him. It's the same smell that filled his car and his sweater, but there's something else... sweat. And why is thatmaking me more aroused? I fight the urge to turn my face, to lick some of that sweat away in his neck.

"Those are notes about one of the cars that's here in the garage. We’ve been working on it for a while. It's a full restoration."

"Can you even read this? Your handwriting is terrible." I giggle because I have no idea how he can decipher these letters.

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