Page 12 of Blame It on the Bikini
Her words kicked his brain back into gear. "Yes. Let's see if we can bring your car back to life."
She popped the hood of her Honda and slid behind the wheel while he connected the cables. "Try it now," he said.
The engine turned over on the second try.
"Thank you," she said, genuine gratitude in her voice as he removed the cables. "I was a little afraid it still wasn't going to start."
"Well, I wouldn't celebrate too fast. You might still need a new battery."
"I'm hoping to push that expense off for a while."
He put the cables in the back of her car, then got into the passenger seat. She gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry we have to take my car. It's not as nice as yours."
"It's fine." As he settled into his seat, he glanced around the vehicle, noting the camera lens in the cup holder and two photography magazines on the passenger-side floorboard, which she quickly grabbed and tossed in the back.
"So," she said as they pulled out of the parking lot, "Frank said you were a big help today. I had no idea you were an auto mechanic."
"That's a stretch. I'm more of a hobbyist. My father collected vintage automobiles. His driver, Miguel, maintained them, and I used to help him. Actually, I probably got in the way more than I helped, but he was a kind man, and he was patient with me. Although he did work for my father, so he probably thought that was part of the job," he added dryly.
"How many cars did your dad have?"
"Three or four at any given time. My dad rarely let me ride in them. They were more for show than anything else."
"Have you followed in his footsteps? Do you have your own fleet of restored cars?"
"No. I lost interest in that a long time ago," he murmured.
"Why? It sounds like it was something you enjoyed."
"Do you always ask so many questions?"
"That's not an answer. And you said I don't know you at all, so I'm trying to find out more," she said pointedly.
He smiled. "Okay. As I got older, my parents moved around more. We lived in different cities, sometimes different countries, and we didn't spend much time at the house in Bel Air, where most of the cars were." He shrugged. "I got into other things."
"Did you live in Europe?"
"Yes. We had a house in London, one in Paris, and a villa in Tuscany."
"Wow. That's amazing. What a life you've led."
Through her big, beautiful eyes, he actually found a new appreciation for that life. "I definitely had a lot of good experiences traveling. But I hated the sudden endings to some of our travels. I'd just be starting to make friends, and we'd be on to somewhere else." He stopped abruptly, feeling like he was revealing too much.
"I would love to go to Italy, and not just the touristy areas. I'd like to get off the beaten track and take pictures of those small villages, the seaside cafes, the lemon trees. There's something about the majesty of the architecture, mirrored by the majesty of the Italian Alps, that really appeals to me."
"It is a beautiful country," he agreed. "Have you done much traveling, Lexie?"
"My parents took me to London and Paris when I was a teenager, but that was for two weeks, and we didn't even get out of those cities to see anything else. My father was there on business, and we tagged along."
"Your mother didn't want to sightsee?"
"Only in beautiful stores like Harrods. She loves to shop. That's her idea of a good time. Not so much mine."
"Do you have siblings?"
"No, it's just me. My parents weren't really into kids; it was just part of the whole marriage and family experience they felt they should have so they would be like everyone else. But they were busy with their own lives, and I spent most of my time with a parade of nannies."
"I know what that's like," he muttered, reminded that while she might drive an old car now and live in an apartment, she hadn't grown up poor.
