Page 20 of Falling for the Mechanic
“You,” I start, my voice trembling slightly, stumbling over the torrent of words fighting to get out. “You are…you’re terrible.”
The guy’s brows lift in surprise, and he blinks like he’s not expecting the insult. Well, I have more to say.
There’s a loud clank behind me—the sound of a wrench hitting the concrete floor—but my attention is locked on Nash. I see the name stitched on his shirt, confirming it.
“Cameron is amazing,” I blurt out, the words gaining strength. “I know what a hard worker is, and that guy is the definition of it.” I jab a finger in Cameron’s direction without looking back. “Sure, he might be grumpy, and really bad with people, and a complete jerk with first impressions, but he is…he is…”
My voice cracks, but I push through, my gaze burning into Nash’s.
“He is amazing. And he deserves this shop. He deserves someone who sees that. So…there’s that.” I’m out of breath, alittle dizzy from the adrenaline rush. My chest heaves as I finally fall silent, bracing for his anger, his dismissal.
Nash doesn’t look offended. Rather, a slow, deeply amused smile spreads across his face. He actually chuckles, a low, rumbling sound.
“I agree,” he says, his voice calm and easy. “My nephew is one of the hardest workers I’ve ever seen. His skill…that’s never been the issue.”
My anger falters, confusion taking its place. “Then what is?”
“Giving him this shop would result in it running him into the ground,” Nash says, his eyes holding mine with a startling intensity. “He’s all grit, no give. He’d work himself to a bone until there was nothing left. My feelings on that haven’t changed.” He pauses, and his gaze softens. “Not until today.”
Something twists in my gut, but I try my hardest not to jump the gun and assume.
He leans back, taking me in from head to toe, his mouth curving into that knowing smile again. “Not until I watched him come in here and not act like himself.”
Nash’s eyes lift, focusing on a point directly behind me. I go utterly still, every nerve ending screaming in awareness that there’s a heat close enough that I can feel it soaking against my back.
“Now,” Nash says, his voice aimed past me. “I think I can see why.” He pauses, letting the tension simmer in the air. “Cameron, who is this woman, and why is she coming at me like I’m a bad person?”
The air crackles. Slowly, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs, I turn my head to look over my shoulder.
Cameron is right there. He’s not looking at his uncle. He’s staring down at me, his eyes blazing with an intensity that steals the breath from my lungs. The raw hunger I saw in his eyes thismorning doesn’t come close to the way he’s looking at me right now. That was a spark; this is a wildfire.
He looks like he wants to devour me whole.
Suddenly, it doesn’t feel like I was just scolding his uncle. Instead, I might’ve as well declared just how much I care about him to the whole world.
Now, I get to face the aftermath of it all.
8
Cameron
I’ve never been good at goodbyes. Never will be. Losing people…it’s a quiet, constant dread that lives in my bones. My greatest weakness, hands down. No one wants to admit it out loud, that desperate need to cling to the present, to chain down the people who matter before they can slip away. It’s a pathetic, lonely kind of hunger.
I’ve been steeling myself for it all afternoon. For the hollow silence after she’d drive away. Chelsea wouldn’t stay for a man like me. A grunt in a grease-stained shirt with a permanent scowl and a garage that’s not even his own. How could she?
Or, that’s what I thought before she decided to give my poor uncle an earful.
Now…now she’s stroked my pride in a way no one ever has. She’s stood up for me, her voice shaking with a fury that was all for my sake. And in doing it, she’s gone and done the one thing I was terrified of.
She’s engraved her name right into the center of my heart, permanent and deep.
There’s no way in hell I’ll ever meet another woman like her. The truth is, I don’t want to.
Nash is asking the real question here. Whoisthis woman?
My future wife, that’s who.
I want to touch her. The need is a physical ache in my hands, a magnetic pull drawing me toward her. But I look down. My skin is streaked with grease and grit, my fingernails permanently stained black.
