Page 4 of Falling for the Mechanic
Nash might be onto something here. I may be the reason behind our lack of customers lately.
Doesn’t help that I’m not a fan of being ignored. Even if the one refusing to listen to me is a beauty. One that’s not from here. One that has no reason to stick around.
Twisting the volume down, silence surrounds us. Lifting my gaze to my rearview mirror to make sure I’m good to pull onto the road, a growl slips past my lips when I see it’s tilted up toward the ceiling of the cab.
God damn it. Frustrating. This woman is going to be a pain the whole way, isn’t she?
Yanking it back into place, I don’t dare call her out for it. Feels like I’d be playing right into her hands by making a deal out of it.
Noticing her curled up in the seat, my fingers curl around the steering wheel. “Seatbelt.”
She doesn’t move, not at first. When she does, it’s only to narrow her eyes at me. With a jerky motion that leads to her cheeks turning flushed, she fights with it before clicking it in place.
I want to laugh, but not because I find this situation funny in the slightest.
This woman is a mess. A walking disaster in an oversized sweater and leggings that cling to her thighs.
I hate that I let my eyes linger for even a few seconds when she wasn’t looking.
Feeling another sigh coming on, I inhale deep and immediately regret it. What is it, perfume? Lotion?
Alina would wear all different kinds of stuff all the time and give me headaches. This woman has me breathing in deeper.
Fighting the urge to roll down a window before I let the sweetness engulf my thoughts and turn them reckless, I press the gas petal down with more force than necessary.
Anything to get to the heart of the town as soon as possible.
She’s getting antsy in the cab, fidgeting just minutes into the drive. I’m slightly amused, tempted to put her out of her misery. The memory of her earlier glare is still fresh, and I’m actually enjoying the silence a bit more.
When we reach the shop, she’s looking less bothered by me, and more by something else.
Is she worried about being late again?
She jumps out before I can shut off the truck, her dark hair fluttering against her back as she takes in the scene with a look of surprise. By the time I join her, she’s tilting her head to the side.
“There’s a bakery now?” She points her finger towardBake Me Happy, confused.
So, it seems she’s been here before. Must not have been for a minute, though.
“Opened not too long ago.” Pulling out my phone, I start marking down the cost of this trip and the future costs of replacing her back tires.
While she gets heroohsandahhsout of the way, my brows bunch together.
Focusing on my phone, I push past her curiosities and show her the screen so she can see the estimate.
She doesn’t flinch at the numbers I give her, she just offers her card up like money isn’t a problem. I wish I could say the same. I stare at her name printed on the plastic.
Chelsea Dawson.
“Related to Elaine?” The question leaves me without thinking, but I don’t really care. Not until I notice the way she grimaces.
She’s a regular at Willow Perk, and my uncle is a fan of dragging to get their caramel apple muffins three times a week. The older woman likes pulling Nash for chats, and I’m forced to listen or sit out in the cold until he’s done.
Through the conversations I’ve been forced to listen to, I don’t remember her mentioning a daughter. Now that I’m staring at her, I can see the similarities.
Chelsea nods despite her ill expression. Confirming my suspicions, she admits being her daughter before taking her card back.
I won’t ask her how long she’ll be in town. Hell, she can’t exactly leave until I replace her tires. Though I can’t hold her vehicle hostage and pretend the fix will take an eternity.
