Page 14 of The Woman in the Garage

“Christ,” I sighed as I moved back to the driver’s side. Now her honeysuckle scent was gonna be all over my car, making me think of her each time I got in it for days until it finally subsided.

“I’m sorry if I’m getting in the way of your plans.”

“Nah. I was just going to the furniture store. I don’t have a couch,” I explained.

“How long have you been in your new place?”

“I bought it, I dunno, almost a year ago.”

“And you don’t have a couch yet?” she asked, half-laughing at me.

“To be fair, I haven’t spent much time at home.”

“Maybebecauseyou don’t have any furniture?” she suggested.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” I agreed.

“My uncle has entirely too much furniture. Do you have need for an old, ripped office chair? Because I have four.”

“Four?”

“Instead of taking anything to be donated or tossed, he seemed to just… put things in his basement. There are also three TVs, an old mattress, about fifteen pillows, and even an old refrigerator.”

“I hate to think what’s in the garage?”

“Six lawn mowers.”

“Six? Damn.”

“And it goes without saying, there are endless boxes of car parts. I hate to think what is in the storage unit he has. Oh, but you know what he doesn’t have?”

“What’s that?”

“A pot or pan. Not asingleone. He must have eaten out for every meal for his entire life.”

“Blasphemy,” I declared, feeling her gaze on the side of my face.

“Do you cook?” she asked.

“My ma wouldn’t have let me move outta the house without learning all the basic life skills. I can fold a mean fitted sheet too.”

“Impressive. I kind of just… fold and roll them. Life is too short to get frustrated over bed linens.”

“Fair enough. These days, I have someone who folds my fitted sheets for me.”

“Do you outsource the cooking too?”

“Depends what you mean by that.” Sensing her curiosity, I shrugged. “I hop around to the tables of all my family members on the nights when I don’t order in. I live alone. Don’t really see the point of cooking a whole meal just for myself.”

“I cook every night,” she admitted. “Just for myself. I find it relaxing.”

What I didn’t find particularly relaxing was the image she conjured up in my mind of her in the kitchen cooking me a meal wearing nothing but high heels and a barely-there apron.

“Shit,” I said, realizing I was already pulling into the lot of the furniture store without even asking Dasha where I was supposed to be dropping her off. “I was supposed to be driving you home, wasn’t I?” I asked.

“Well,” she said, already reaching for her door handle. “I could really use a bedside lamp,” she said, climbing out of the car, ready for a little adventure despite the change of plans.

As if I needed another reason to like the woman.

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