Page 33 of The Woman in the Garage

I was surprised how much I fucking hated taking that envelope. I didn’t want to be reminded that what was going on between us was a business arrangement, first and foremost.

“Thanks,” I said, my voice a little tense as I slipped the envelope into my pocket. “Shall we?” I asked, opening the door and allowing her to move through first. “Do you want to take my car, or would you feel more comfortable taking yours too?”

“I’m pretty sure if you wanted to kidnap me, you’d have done it when you saved me from the side of the road,” she said as we stepped through one of the open garage doors and into the warm early afternoon light.

Dasha paused, sucking in a greedy breath.

“Fresh air,” she said, giving me a small smile. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m starting to kind of like the smells of the garage. But after a while, it can give me a bit of a headache. Though, admittedly, because I am starting to correlate the scent of grease and oil with the thick, slimy, grimy smudges all over every single surface in the office, waiting room, and bathroom. I have been waging a war against those things for days,” she added.

“I can’t imagine. Though, the waiting room did look neater than it did last time. The floors—“

“Were actually white underneath all that black? Yep,” she said. “I broke a mop trying to clean that floor until I finally gave up and had to do it on my hands and knees.”

Yeah, that was not a mental image I needed. Dasha on all fours, her breasts all but spilling out of her dress as I moved around her, hiked up her skirt, and…

“You’re locked,” Dasha said, snatching me out of the fantasy before it got too out of hand.

I bleeped the locks and opened her door, waiting for her to slide in, and then took a second to breathe deeply through my growing desire before climbing in and turning the car over.

“So, what are you in the mood for?”

“What’s the most portable food?” she asked.

“You want to take it back to the office?” I asked, hearing the disappointment slipping into my voice.

“No. God, no. I was thinking maybe we could get some food and check out the river. I still haven’t gotten around to that,” she admitted.

“In that case, I know a pretty great sandwich and wrap place. Can’t get more portable than that. And it’s actually just a quick walk from the park by the river.”

“Perfect,” she said. Then, with each mile we drove away from the garage, she relaxed, melting into the seat, humming along with the radio, rolling down her window so the wind whipped her hair around, making that honeysuckle scent of hers overwhelm me.

“Okay. This town is the cutest,” Dasha declared after I parked in the main lot and we made our way down the streets lined with little boutique shops with brand-spanking-new façades. “In a very ‘coastal elite’ way.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “When I was younger, it was just the main road that was all lavish. The side roads used to be kind of sketchy as hell. Especially late at night. Guess the local beautification committee wanted to fancy up the whole area. Looks nicer. But kind of killed the vibe.”

“I mean…” she said, waving a hand toward the new age store as we passed. “Aren’t witchy stores supposed to be all cramped and mysterious? Full of decades’ worth of incense and dusty old tarot card boxes? This kind of looks soulless.”

“It used to have a lot of soul. My sister made me take her there once when she heard they were doing aura photography.”

“What color was it?” Dasha asked.

“Valley? She was all orange and yellow.”

“Is that your only sibling?” she asked, giving me a sweet smile as my hand went to her lower back to steer her around a corner toward the sandwich shop.

“Oh, no. There are six of us,” I told her.

“Six?” she asked, eyes going round as she stopped on the sidewalk to gawk at me.

“Big litters are common in my family. Sometimes I forget that not everyone is like us. There’s Nino, Massimo, Dante, me, Valley, and August.”

“Valley and August,” she mused.

“Valentina and Augustine,” I clarified.

“Ah, that makes more sense. What was it like to have so many siblings? Lots of people to play with? Or did you all fight all the time?”

“Both. Sometimes at the same time. You’re an only child?”

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