Page 10 of The Accidental Text

“What did you need to talk about?” I ask after Dawson doesn’t say anything.

“Right.” Dawson clears his throat. “Your dad’s not here, so I thought I’d run this by you. I think we have to redo Andy Lawrence’s car … for free,” he says, his smile falling.

My smile falls, too, with this news. “Why?”

“The wrap looks bad. There’s some bubbling and the edges were done poorly.”

“Who did it?”

“Chad,” he says, with a knowing look on his face.

“Right.”

Chad is Devon’s friend, and Devon begged us to give Chada job here. Actually, Devon never begs. He just told us that we were hiring his friend Chad and that was the end of it. Only Chad has no clue what he’s doing, and it’s becoming more and more apparent that whatever training Devon gave him, it was either half-hearted or, most likely, not much training at all.

We’ve been wrapping cars for nearly fifteen years now—even before it became a popular thing to do. My dad had been doing vinyl decals for cars—business cars and race cars were his bread and butter. But since the invention of the full-body car wrap, we’ve been working on all kinds of vehicles. Some customers want to save the original paint for value, and some just want something different and original—for their car to stand out. Whatever they want, Cooper’s can do it. That’s our motto: “Whatever you want, Cooper’s can do it!”

This isn’t exactly true, since there are state laws and limitations for what can and can’t be put on a car. Like naked people. Or even cartoons of naked people. This has been requested. A lot.

It’s a family affair at Cooper’s. My dad does most of the selling and runs the shop, I help run the day-to-day when he’s not here and I do all the HR, Chelsea does the books, and Devon … well, we’re not entirely sure what he does. He can sell like no other and wrap too. He’s kind of all over the place. My mom, when she was alive, liked to pop in and visit, but she mostly stayed away from the business. She liked to have her own thing, which up until her diagnosis was real estate.

“So what do you want to do, Boss?” Dawson gives me a wink.

I’d allow my stomach to throw confetti if this were a new thing. But Dawson has been a winker since day one. It clearly means nothing. The “boss” thing isn’t new either. But I get alittle pang of butterflies every time he says it. I’m not technically his boss. My dad is the main guy around here.

“I guess we have to do the wrap again.”

“I figured. Just wanted to run it by you.”

“And give him ten percent off his next wrap too,” I say.

“Will do.”

“And we should probably give Chad an easier job.”

Dawson rubs his chin, his fingers running over the tiny bit of stubble there. I’m feeling envious of a jaw. This is a new low for me.

“I think I can train him; let’s give him another chance,” Dawson says.

My heart does a little stutter. See? Even knowing that Chad has cost us time and money, Dawson still wants to give him another chance. He’s the perfect man … Dawson,notChad.

“Okay, then.” Dawson leans forward in his seat, placing his hands on the tops of his knees. “If that’s all, I guess I’ll get back to work.”

He stands up and then turns to walk out the door.

“Wait,” I say, the word coming out extra breathy sounding. I stand up from my chair as Dawson turns around, his eyebrows raised expectantly.

This is it. My chance. We’re alone in my office. I can ask him. I can make a move.

“I was wondering,” I start, but then my mouth runs dry. The blood between my ears is making a loud whooshing noise.

I don’t continue. I just stare at Dawson, suddenly feeling fear and doubt course through me. It’s instant. There’s no preamble or warning—it just happens. A lot like what I experienced before I ruined the jump last week.

“Yes?” Dawson asks, pulling his eyebrows inward, his look now one of concern.

“Well … um … I was thinking that …”

Oh dear, my heart is pounding. I can hear it in my ears. I feel my face flushing as panic rises.

---