Page 19 of Falling for the Mechanic
“I’m in the middle of something,” Finn argues, gesturing to his flesh canvas. “I can’t just stop to drive you over there to go declare some corny love confession here.”
I’m already heading for the door that leads up to his home to grab my luggage. I’ll need it, just in case. If I’m wrong, if this restlessness blows up in my face, a rejection that final will be all the reason I need to leave and never look back.
When I return, bag in hand, he’s still frowning. “I’m walking,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “I need the time to practice my speech.”
“Chelsea, don’t be reckless!”
I don’t look back. My heart is a wild thing, beating hard like I’ve already run a marathon. I pull out my phone, my fingers trembling slightly as I type inSteel Haven Auto.The blue dot on the map feels like a homing beacon, pulling me forward one determined step at a time.
The walk is a blur of somewhat familiar business and street signs, the air cool and scented with earth. Each step is a rehearsal of words that dissolve the moment the garage comes into view. The large bay doors are wide open, swallowing the afternoon light.
Gripping my luggage tighter, I walk faster until I’m panting, standing in the opening.
Cameron stands over an engine, a wrench in his hand, his brow furrowed in concentration. Grease stains his arms, and the rest of his clothes. The sight of him, so solid and real, steals the remaining air from my lungs.
He must feel my presence. His head lifts, his eyes finding mine across the garage. The wrench stills in his hand.
He doesn’t look happy.
My hopeful smile falters. His expression isn’t the warm, surrendered one from this morning. It’s shuttered. Torn. A storm of emotion rages behind his eyes. It looks like he’s got a thousand words to say, a whole argument happening silently in the space between us.
But all he can do is look at me. His gaze is a physical weight, holding me in place, searching my face for answers to questions he hasn’t asked. The silence stretches, taut and heavy, and my carefully practiced speech vanishes into the void of it.
Then, I notice he’s not alone.
There’s a man in my favorite spot who has now twisted to look at me. Kind of looks like Cameron, but only from a distance. Older, with a similar stubborn set to his jaw, but his eyes are warmer, crinkled with curiosity.
I…didn’t imagine declaring my feelings in front of an audience. Now I’m nervous, swallowing thickly. My courage, so fierce moments ago, begins to shrivel under the weight of two pairs of eyes.
Cameron breaks the stare first, his gaze cutting away from me like I’ve burned him. He looks at the older man, his voice a low, rough gravel that scrapes against my raw nerves. “She’s the one with the car. The one I just finished. She needs her invoice.”
My heart plummets. That’s how he introduces me? I’m reduced to a transaction? A finished job?
Now he won’t look at me at all, his attention fixed firmly on the engine bay like it holds the secrets of the universe.
The older man scoffs. He doesn’t move from his seat. “I’m not getting up. You can come get it.” His tone is dry, aimed solely at Cameron.
Cameron’s jaw tightens. “I’m busy.”
The words are a slap. Is this what he wants to do? Pretend that this morning didn’t happen? That he didn’t kiss me until we were both breathless? Is this his way of making goodbye easier? How can I be rejected if he doesn’t even let me get my feelings off my chest?
“Then I guess she’s waiting until you’re free,” the older man says with a shrug, utterly unbothered.
A muscle ticks in Cameron’s jaw. He finally, finally flicks a glance my way, but it’s brief, impersonal. “Go get it from him,” he says, jerking his head toward the desk. “He’s the owner.”
The owner.
The man Cameron complained about behind his shots, the one unwilling to give him this place despite his clear passion, his backbreaking work.
My gaze whips to the older man, now seeing him in a completely new, infuriating light.
Releasing my luggage, I let it drop to the concrete with a thud. The hurt and rejection balling up in my chest transforms, igniting into something else. A righteous, protective anger. A rage, all for someone I have to accept I still care about, even if he’s being a colossal jerk right now.
If I’m going to leave here with a broken heart, then I may as well give this guy a piece of my mind first.
I stomp toward the desk, my boots echoing on the concrete. My lips purse together, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I’ve never told someone off before. Never spoke up. That’s going to change today.
