Page 10 of To Belong Together
“He does that often?”
She stopped and motioned to the hood of his car, in the spot next to where he’d parked it after their completely unnecessary test drive. There was no way he’d had trouble finding this, which confirmed he’d intervened in the shop because he thought her weak. “I can take care of myself.”
He kept his shoulders square, his eyes soft. “Is that what that was?”
“Yes.”
He kept studying her, his blue eyes the shade of windshield washer fluid. The long look said he felt sorry for her, thought she needed a protector.
He didn’t know the whole story, and it was none of his business.
Except, she couldn’t stand to let him think so little of her. “Technicians are paid by the job. Each repair pays a predetermined number of hours. It doesn’t matter how long the work actually takes. A good job might pay for ten hours after only being here five. Get a bad job, and you’ll work a whole week to bill out twenty-five hours because that’s how long some system somewhere said the work should take.”
John’s eyebrows pulled low. His line of sight cut to his car, probably wondering how the job had paid. What would he say if he knew she’d gotten the gash on the back of her hand working on it?
“That’s the kind of week I’ve had. Twenty-five hours on blown head gaskets, so today, I came in early. I grabbed a stack of work from the office and got it done. I’m at twenty-three hours today alone, and Sam’s mad because I was willing to make sacrifices and he wasn’t. This is the game he wanted to play, and today, I won.”
“If that was winning, I’d hate to see losing.”
Sam had thrown a fit, but she’d laugh about it all the way to the bank. “I’m not some damsel in distress. Take your car, go home, enjoy your life.”
“And you’ll enjoy yours?”
She nodded once. Except, she hadn’t enjoyed her life since she’d moved home. Dad’s condition grew worse and worse. Who else understood and liked her the way he once had? And now, she didn’t even have him. She jammed her hands in her coat pockets, closing the front of the jacket as she returned to the shop.
Mr. President would never understand, and she had enough battles to fight without adding him to the list.
Family shouldn’t treatfamily that way. Twenty minutes from Hartley, the home of Hirsh Auto and the closest town to his house, John could still think about little else. Erin shouldn’t face garbage like that from co-workers, let alone family. And John was the bad guy for interrupting? She wouldn’t recognize a good guy if he showed up on a white horse with a crown on his head and a rose between his teeth.
The song Gannon was developing blared, and John drummed his own part on the steering wheel. As he turned off the country highway and onto the crumbling mess that was Old Sawmill Road, he muted the stereo. This crater-laden stretch was where he’d first noticed the squeak. As he navigated it now, the sound returned, mouse-like but insistent.
So much for the fix-it-right guarantee.
Lakeshore, where Gannon lived, was an additional ten minutes beyond Hartley. He’d spotted other shops there, but go out of his way? The only reason to do so would be to spare Erin’s feelings, and she’d been clear she didn’t want his concern.
“Fair’s fair.” He’d bring the car back in the morning. If she’d wanted him to leave her alone, she should’ve fulfilled the fix-it-right promise.
4
Talk about a disappointing morning.
Since the noise hadn’t been fixed last time, John hadn’t asked for a test drive this morning. But he’d warned the front desk lady he did want a ride-along to verify the “fix” before he took the car home again. That wasn’t about seeing Erin. He only wanted to limit how many times he had to return. The front desk lady grumbled as she made a note, and he left the building without spotting the pretty—but cranky—technician he really ought to stop thinking about.
He was waiting for his ride when an unpleasant surprise pulled into the Hirsh Auto parking lot.
Philip had agreed to drive him to Gannon’s from here, but instead, Tara’s sedan rolled to a stop by the walk. He should’ve guessed he hadn’t heard the end of the matchmaking campaign.
He got in, making a mental note to thank his friends for choosing such an ideal moment to dump him blindfolded into a minefield of awkwardness.
“Morning.” She steered toward the road. Her patterned pants and draping cardigan attested to the artsy side that must’ve drawn her toward art history, the subject she taught at the college where Addie was working until she got her nonprofit running. “I stopped for coffee. The one on the right is for you. Black, but there are sugar packets in the glove box.”
“Black’s good. Thanks.” He took the cup, wondering if she’d guessed how he liked his coffee or if this was a sign of Addie’s involvement. “Sorry you had to come all this way. Where’s Philip?”
“I don’t know. Adeline said your ride fell through, and she had to work early today.”
Sure, she did. “And Gannon?”
“Radio interview.”
