Page 2 of The Woman in the Garage

“No need,” he cut me off, reaching for the white handle of the carafe with his black-stained fingers and pouring a cup… right into the duck and bunny mug. Well, that was one less thing to worry about.

“Oh, and I have cookies,” I said, setting down my bag and reaching inside for the plastic container—fine, yes, it had little pink and red ladybugs all over it—that was packed with the treats. I popped the top and held it out toward him.

“You baked cookies?” he asked, looking down at the food in question, then up at me, brow quirked up, and I wished I knew him well enough to decipher the look in his eyes.

“Yes. I thought it would be, you know, nice.”

“It’s that,” he agreed, taking a cookie. But something in his tone kind of suggested that ‘nice’ was somehow a bad thing. He took a bite, and my lips curved up at the little grunt of approval he made. “Darlin’,” he said, exhaling hard, “they’re gonna eat you alive.”

With that, and nothing else, he turned and walked out through the door into the garage, leaving me standing there, my smile falling from my face.

What the heck was that supposed to mean?

Would being nice tick off the other mechanics?

And if so, why?

Nerves jangled my bones as I pushed in through the bathroom door just to the other side of the front desk.

Flicking on the light, I ignored the fact that there was toilet paper scattered on the floor, an overflowing trash can, and old soap caked on the inside of the sink.

Those were problems for later.

I stepped in front of the mirror, looking over myself.

And, fine, yes, I didn’t look like I belonged at a mechanic shop.

I had my curvy body clad in the cutest floral dress I owned—complete with pink and red flowers, a cinched belt, and a skirt that danced when I moved around.

I could have gone out and bought something dark and boring. But, well, I didn’t want to have to change who I was to be able to work at the shop.

Runthe shop.

Ownit.

I really didn’t think it would actually be a problem that I decided to dress girly. I mean, if the guys had a problem with working for a woman, they would have an issue with me whether I had a dress on or not, right?

I sighed, stepping closer to the mirror to rub a bit of mascara off my top lid. I’d gone light on the makeup. A little brow gel since mine were a pale blond. Same for the mascara around my light brown eyes.

Half of my golden hair was pulled up, but my bangs were left down to curtain to the sides of my round face.

I looked nice, darn it.

But maybe that was what David meant.

I looked like someone that the other mechanics could walk all over.

Admittedly, that was maybe even a little bit true. I was often nice to a fault; I always avoided confrontation if I could; I genuinely believed that pretty much everything in life could get sorted out without having to raise your voice or be nasty.

But if this new job of mine required me to be bolder, to be stronger, to use a firmer hand, well, then, I was going to have to do that.

Even if just the idea of that made my insides feel shaky.

This was a new town.

A new life.

No one here had any idea who I was.

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