Page 21 of Falling for the Mechanic
I can’t. I won’t mark her with my filth. My fingers curl into tight fists at my sides, the frustration hot in my gut.
My gaze flicks to Nash, who’s watching this entire silent struggle with far too much amusement. “She’s here to join me for lunch.”
Nash snorts, a loud, disbelieving sound. “My ears must be going out. I thought she was here for an invoice.”
I scoff, but don’t feed into his tease. I’ll let him make fun of me another time.
I move. Turning on my heel, I stride to the deep sink in the corner, the one reserved for washing off the worst of the grime. I don’t look back at her. I can feel her wide-eyed stare burning into my back, and feel her confusion radiating across the garage. I yank the faucet on, the water blasting out, burning hot. I don’t care.
I shrug my shirt off my shoulders and toss the filthy top onto a stack of tires. Then I go to work. I scrub my arms, my hands, and my wrists with the harsh, gritty soap until my skin is raw and pink. I don’t stop until the water running down the drain finally, finally runs clear.
Only then do I shut the water off and turn back to her, grabbing a clean rag to dry off. She’s still standing there, lookingbeautifully bewildered, her gaze darting between me and my uncle like she’s trying to solve a puzzle.
When I return to her, she finally finds her voice, a soft, hesitant whisper. “Lunch?”
I nod, my own voice low, meant only for her. “Yeah.”
I can’t go another minute without feeding this hunger. But I can’t do it here, not with my uncle as an audience member.
Taking her by the elbow, my touch is firm. I guide her toward the open garage entrance, away from prying eyes and into the blurred line between my world and everything else.
I stop just at the threshold, the sunlight warming my bare back. I turn to face her fully.
“You have a choice,” I tell her, my voice with an honesty that scrapes me raw. “You can get in your car right now. It’s fixed. You can drive away from this town, from this garage, from me. Back to where you came from.”
I let the offer hang in the air between us, a final chance for escape. My heart is a hammer against my ribs.
“Or,” I continue, holding her gaze, letting her see the stark truth of what I am. “You can join me.”
Her breathing has shifted, coming in and out more quickly.
“But you need to understand something. I’m the type of man who gets addicted to his cravings. And once I start feeding them…” I let the implication hang, heavy and dangerous. I take a step closer, the warning leaving me in a low growl. “There’s no taking it back. You have to be ready to go all in.”
Chelsea doesn’t hesitate. Her nod is immediate, decisive, a silent scream of yes that echoes in the sudden quiet of my soul. And that’s it. That settles it.
I’m going to go all in, alright. The plan forms not in my head, but in my bones, a certainty as solid as the earth beneath my feet. I don’t know how or when, but this woman is going to be mywife. I’ll make it happen. It’s not a hope; it’s a fact, waiting for its time to come.
I lead her to my truck, my hand pressed on the small of her back, guiding her as I call out my promise to be back in an hour. I open the passenger door for her, a gesture that feels both foreign and right.
Hoping inside, I catch her changing the station, no malice intended. She settles on the same station that she’d picked the day before, and I decide I’ll sacrifice my sanity to her bad taste in music.
As I pull onto the main road, leaving the garage—and my grinning uncle—behind, she finally asks the question. “Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere with a view,” I say, my eyes on the road, but my entire being focused on her presence in the space beside me.
A few minutes later, as the town begins to shrink in the rearview mirror and the road begins its familiar, winding climb, she makes the observation. “We’re heading toward the mountain.”
“I know.” A simple admission. I glance over at her, taking in the way the dappled sunlight through the trees plays across her curious face. “I want to share a place with you.”
The tires crunch on gravel as I pull into the overlook, killing the engine. The silence that follows is immense, broken only by the whisper of the wind through the pines and the frantic beating of my own heart.
I’m the first to hop out, my boots landing solidly on the ground. The world spreads out below us, a breathtaking tapestry of green valleys and distant, hazy peaks. I barely see it. All my focus is on her.
I move to her side before she can open the door, my body caging her in the open doorway. She looks up at me, her eyes wide and questioning, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
“Thank you,” I say, the words rough and low, before I close the final distance between us.
My mouth finds hers, cutting off whatever response she might have had. I swallow down her soft gasp, and then I’m kissing her. Really kissing her. Not like the desperate, hungry kiss from this morning, but something deeper. Something claiming.
