Page 34 of Three Rules I'd Never Break

One side of his mouth lifted, resulting in a rather delicious smirk. “Quiet and helpful?”

“Whatever.” I treated him to an eyeroll. “Tell me about your car.”

He continued wiping his hands. “Delaney, you don’t have to—”

“Are you going to make me Google the name and read about it?” I slipped my phone out of my back pocket before strolling to the back of the car. “First, I need to see the logo so I can search up what kind of car. Pretty car. It has nice lines.”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, watching me.

“Datsun. Never heard of it.”

“You really want to know?” He tossed the rag aside.

Nodding, I walked back to him. “I’m interested.” Very interested.

The man surely knew that by now.

“They stopped putting the Datsun name on cars before you were born. At least here in the US. This is a 1971 Datsun Z series.” He smiled at the car. “It’s all original except for aftermarket air conditioning. Manual with an inline six and seventy-seven thousand original miles. It sat in someone’s garage for years, and it needs work before there’s any hope of getting it on the road.”

“Inline six?”

“Six-cylinder. The inline indicates the type of engine. My truck is an eight-cylinder V engine. Called a V-8. The cylinders are arranged in a V-shape with four on each side. This car has all six cylinders in one line.”

I hoped I could remember at least half of all that he was telling me. “What are you doing to the car?” I stepped closer to the engine and stuck my head under the hood.

Eli leaned on the car with one arm on each side of me. And for the next little while, he walked me through all the work he’d done and then what was left to be done.

I tried to pay attention even though most of what he talked about sounded like a foreign language. Also distracting was the fact that he smelled like car grease and sage and citrus. Very masculine. Not the least bit unpleasant. I never thought I’d say that about car grease. When Tennessee Whiskey started playing on the radio, I was in real danger of overheating.

He rested his chin on my shoulder. “Anything else you want to know?”

Plenty, but changing the pace might break the magic spell. “I had no idea you were so good with your hands.” Hearing the words out loud, I cringed. That sounded entirely different than the way I’d intended. Heat spread across my cheeks. “I didn’t mean—”

He patted my hip. “I know.”

Eli was my lesson in patience. We were completely alone with a romantic song playing on the radio, but he showed no inclination of backing me against the wall and kissing me until there was no breath left in my lungs. I might’ve dreamt about that a time or two.

Instead, he tugged me back before slamming the hood closed. “Let’s eat.”

Joji had been gone a while, and no part of me thought it was a coincidence that she’d had to leave. Maybe this had been her plan all along.

I liked Joji even more now.

We walked toward the house, and I not-so-inadvertently bumped my hand against his.

He grinned but didn’t grab my hand. When we reached the steps to the porch, he motioned for me to go first.

An engine rumbled behind me. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Joji beamed as she climbed out of her truck.

Eli hovered a hand near the small of my back. “Good timing. We were just about to eat.”

I inched back a hair, and the warmth of his hand seeped all the way to my soul. He glanced down at me, that same grin showing up again. If he was interested, why wouldn’t he indicate that with more than a grin? It required every last ounce of my patience not to kiss him again.

Inside, a colorful charcuterie board sat on the counter. Meats, cheeses, bread and crackers were nestled beside sauces and fruits.

“Joji, this looks amazing.” I picked up a plate.

Eli pointed at a soft cheese. “Joji makes that goat cheese. It’s really good.”

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