Page 14 of A Lonely Road
Outraged that I was debating what to wear like a goddamn teenager preparing for a date, I threw on the rattiest t-shirt I owned, an oversized tie dyed number I usually reserved for use as pajamas, and shoved my hair into a messy bun. I'd put a six-pack of colas in the fridge when I got home last night, so I grabbed two bottles before headingoutside.
When Jake’s truck pulled into his driveway a few minutes later, I was seated on the hood of my car with both hands clutching one bottle of soda and the other one beside me. Jake, curse the man, didn’t so much as glance at my clothes, simply flashed that dimpled smile of his.
“Morning, neighbor,” he called as he sauntered over. “You might be a tiny little thing, but I’m surprised the old girl hasn’t dumped you right onto the driveway.”
I narrowed my eyes at him and wondered if Jake could see the steam rising from the top of my head. “First off, I am not tiny by any stretch of the imagination, so we don’t need to pretend otherwise. You just happen to be ridiculously tall. Second, if you continue insulting my baby, I’ll shove that fan belt right up your ass and drink this soda all by myself.”
He let out a low whistle as he grabbed the other bottle off the hood before I could confiscate it, then swept a cheeky little bow. “My, aren’t we touchy, and on such a beautiful day. Please allow me to offer my most humble apologies.”
Those pretty blue eyes of his were dancing with mischief, however, which basically rendered his apology moot. I narrowed mine at him until he laughed.
“Very well, I’ll keep my mouth shut about this fine vehicleandher lovely mistress. Thanks for the soda.”
Though I muttered something uncomplimentary beneath my breath, a grudging smile tugged at my lips when I slanted a glance in his direction. “Apology accepted, this time at least. Baby’s a sensitive old girl, and in my experience, saying meanthings about her tends to lead to breaking down on the side of a deserted stretch of road in the middle of the night.”
“How often are you out on a deserted road in the middle of the night?”
“More than once, let’s just say.” I paused to raise a quizzical brow at him as something occurred to me. “You have a bit of an accent, almost like . . . a hint of a southern drawl. Why is that?”
“Probably because I’m not from around here,” Jake said with a shrug. “I’m surprised you caught that. We moved here when Sam and I were fourteen, so it’s mostly faded since then.”
“Language and word usage are a huge part of my job. I tend to notice that kind of thing. Where are you from?”
His delight in the fact that I was asking questions about him was obvious. Even when he tried to hide a smile, that dimple peeped at me like a beacon.
“We grew up near Atlanta. My mom got transferred out here for her job before we started high school. Dad opened The Mermaid a couple years later. This town kind of grows on you, I guess. Both of us went away for college, but somehow Spruce Hill ended up reeling us back in. When my dad asked us to take over The Mermaid for him, that was that.”
Curiosity overtook my annoyance. “You two are twins?”
Jake heaved a dramatic sigh, though he seemed pleased I’d come around to actually engaging in a conversation. “Unfortunately, yes. I’m twelve minutes older, which is obviously the source of my superior wisdom.”
I laughed, but Jake didn’t take offense. In fact, he smiled at me like my laughter was a gift—then that smile warmed as his gaze traveled over me, like he saw right through my ridiculous outfit choice and still appreciated what was hiding underneath. With all the force of a thunderbolt, I realized that maybe those two things were one and the same.
He liked me. Whether I was reserved or chatty, it didn’t seem to matter.
I met his eyes, glittering blue in the sunlight and soft with some unidentifiable emotion, then swallowed hard. He cleared his throat and straightened away from the car to grab a toolbox from the bed of his truck.
I hopped down off the hood, sidling a few feet away while Jake popped it open and started to work. When he asked for specific tools, I handed them to him without commentary.
“I’m impressed,” he said after the third or fourth time. “My only experience with an assistant is my sister, who would've taken ten minutes to rifle through the toolbox with every request, more to fuck with me than because she’s actually clueless.”
“That doesn’t shock me. She’s a trip.”
He shook his head at me and all my annoyance from that morning evaporated. We fell into companionable silence, punctuated here and there when I’d lean over to ask a question or two about the inner workings of the engine, eager to learn.
My father would've been proud.
I felt a twinge, missing the sound of his voice. We were due for a catch-up call, but he was enjoying his retirement boatingalong the Atlantic and was out of cell service range until he came back to shore.
After one particularly long string of questions, Jake grinned up at me. “Ah, Nora, I see that insatiable curiosity is another of your more intriguing traits.”
I flushed and turned away to put a wrench back in the toolbox. What the hell else did he find intriguing about me? I couldn’t quite decide if that was flattering or frightening, so I set it aside and made no further comment as he worked on the engine.
It was approaching dinner time when Jake dropped the hood and had me get in to start the car. When the engine turned over with a low rumble instead of a howl, I gave a delighted cry.
“There she is,” Jake said, clapping a hand on the roof of the car. “I knew we could do it.”
“You are a god among men, Jake Lincoln.”
