Page 23 of Ignite

“So what tea is so special you either can’t make it or you have to buy it online?” Ethan asked.

“Just a collection of herbal teas, nothing that you would care about.” I signed for my parcel and turned, needing to get out of here before I did something stupid and invited Ethan back to my home to try one of my new infusions. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a ute to fix and the owner keeps asking me if I’ve finished it yet.”

“And have you?” For once, Ethan’s smile was easy instead of frustrated. He genuinely found my team obsession interesting instead of a joke.

“A refurbished car is like a pot of steeping tea,” I said, hautily. “You can’t rush either.”

Ethan:I approve of Earl Grey tea.

Rylee:Not that I was asking for your approval, but thanks.

Rylee:Why?

Ethan:I did a little research.

Ethan:Earl Grey was the UK PM who oversaw the abolition of slavery across the British Empire.

No matter how much I wanted find things not to like about Ethan Cooper, he kept making me smile.

Chapter 8

In The Neighborhood

“GoodmorningMeringa.It’sanother beautiful day in paradise and another day closer to our next fire season. Are you ready? Are your neighbors? As our brave RFS would say, we are only as safe as our least prepared. So, now is the time to check on your neighbors. Do they need a hand trimming bushes? Is there a pile of pine bark that needs spreading before it becomes a fire hazard? This is the time for our community to come together and get prepared. In other news …”

Ethan

“Rylee?”

Normally the bell at the front of her shop sounded a warning and I didn’t need to call out. But two days after our conversation at the grocer’s, and two more days where she didn’t stop by the pub for lunch or after-work drinks,andtwo more days when she didn’t turn up to the gym, I decided to take the metaphorical mountain to Rylee.

“Rylee?” I called again. By this time, I was leaning on her front counter, ready to see her when she came through from the back workshop, but also where I had the best view of the photos.

Rylee’s Beat did phenomenal work. In my spare time, I’d started researching panel beating and car restoration. Who would have thought that car enthusiasts from all over Australia came to Meringa? There were even reviews from New Zealand about some conference Rylee’s father went to which had inspired a bunch of young apprentices to form their own shop.

The original Rylee never said ‘no’ to someone who wanted advice or help.

In a lot of ways, he sounded like my old man. Except, people respected Rylee and her father. The original Rylee didn’t lose his life just to be forgotten. His work still lived on in his cars and people.

“Rylee.” I called out again, this time louder and tried not to panic.What if she was hurt?

Running out of patience, I darted around the counter, pushed open the door to her workshop, only to find her slumped in an old, weather-beaten rocker, her knees pressed to her chest and holding something small and flat in her hands.

“Rylee,” I called again racing across the room, relief flowing through me as her chest rose and fell. But even when I stood in front of the chair, she didn’t look up. When I dropped to her side, I didn’t hesitate before wrapping her in my arms. “I’ve got a spare hug, if you want it.”

She didn’t appear hurt, or to be crying. Either would have given me a clue. But when she didn’t push me away, I just held her tighter until the chair stopped rocking and I felt her heart begin to slow.

Shit. What the hell?

But I understood a need for silence. I’d been Rylee, sitting in the darkened corner of my mother’s bedroom, unable to contemplate how to live the rest of my life as an orphan. Even now, the word felt foreign—a label that applied to skinny, starving children in third world countries, not to a grown man. Certainly, it didn’t feel right to wear the label as mine.

The grief or anguish I felt from Rylee wasn’t a love gone wrong kind of pain.

“Let me,” I offered, prying her fingers from around her phone. I needed a clue before I put my foot into it. “We don’t want you accidentally pressing the wrong buttons and deleting whatever is on the screen.”

Was it a photo of her ex? Texts? Was he trying to win her back?

She blinked at me, her first reaction before releasing the phone. Carefully, I rested it in my palm so she could still see it and I understood.

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