Page 28 of Snowbound

“Hardware store first. I want to look at their tools. They have a sale right now. Then grocery store, maybe the farm on the way back. Though, I doubt the chickens are laying in this weather.”

“You buy eggs from the farm?”

“Do you repeat everything you hear?”

She shrinks back in her seat, and I grit my teeth in embarrassment. How is it that everything I say is the wrong thing? I’m so out of practice with other people. All I seem to do is get this wrong.

Not that it matters. She’s not staying. She’s made it perfectly clear how little she wants to stay, even if the idea of her staying for a few more days does thrill me more than it should.

It’s not permanent. I shouldn’t get attached. Getting attached is the best way to get yourself hurt.

We pull up to the hardware store, and when we get inside, I make a beeline straight for the wrenches and sockets. In truth, my toolbox is probably full of all the sockets a man could ever need. But lately, I’ve been swapping out all my old ones and collecting a full set of twelve points, just for fun. You never know when that kind of thing might come in useful.

As I salivate over tools, Carly wanders around. I feel like this is probably the exact opposite of every other shopping trip she usually goes on. I imagine she’s the kind of girl who drags boyfriends around the clothes stores and forces them to hold the bags while she tries on mountains of shirts and dresses and pants and makes him give opinions about every single pair of shoes or purse or socks or whatever else it is that women like.

She hasn’t talked about having a boyfriend, but I can just see it now, and I feel sorry for whatever poor guy she ensnares. But maybe now that she’s seen the other side, she’ll be less likely to make him suffer near a changing room.

Eventually her boredom gets so much that she comes over to me. “So why are we here?”

“Look at all these wrenches,” I say. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

I’m hamming it up a little on purpose to really drive the point home, and she falls for it, hook, line and sinker.

“I guess,” she says. “They’re all the same to me.”

“A wrench is the kind of thing you never want to get some cheap brand of. You need something sturdy, reliable. Something that’s going to fit any nut you come across and do the job without question.”

“You’ve spent way too much time thinking about this,” she says and laughs. It’s good to see her smile. It lights up her whole face, draws you into those bright blue eyes.

It’s almost enough to make you stop and stare, if you’re into that kind of thing.

“So what if I have?” I sniff. “This is my life right here.”

Another flash of emotion crosses her face, and she almost looks ashamed of whatever it is she’s thinking. “Being passionate is a good thing,” she says with a smile, and I grunt in response.

I suppose I am passionate about my job. I enjoy it. It pays well enough, and I’m not left wanting more out of my life. And I guess it’s relatively satisfying to see people happy with my work.

If I’m honest, it’s people like Phoebe that make me excited about my work — training the next generation to follow in my footsteps. More than anything, that’s what makes it worth it to me. Cars themselves, they’re exciting, but that’s just a job.

The pride is in a job well done. That’s irreplaceable.

“All right, come on,” I say, grabbing my cart. “I’m done here.”

I wheel over to the checkout, where Tim is waiting to grin at me. “Howdy,” he says, playing up his accent. “It’s been a long time since I saw you in here, stranger.”

I nod. “It’s been a long time since I needed anything.”

“How’ve you been?”

I shrug. “Busy. Tell me how the new oil lines in your car are doing?”

“She’s still running like a beauty. You really have those magic fingers.” I shift my weight from foot to foot. I hate people complimenting me in public. I never quite know what it is that I’m supposed to say.

“You’ll have to bring it in for its annual sometime soon,” is all I say, turning the conversation back to something I’m familiar with.

“I sure hope to see you sooner than that, though.”

I stare at the wrenches in my hands, focusing on piling them onto the counter, willing Tim to stop.

---