Page 35 of Voyeur Café

“Shit, that is cold!” she protests, but leaves the ice in place while she continues to work on removing the starter.

She sings along to music that plays from her phone, tucked into the front pocket of her overalls. I don’t recognize the artist, but it’s something poppy with female vocals, and she knows every word.

Enjoying the show, I don’t intervene unless she asks for help. She remembers my explanations from earlier and tries things out a couple of different ways, getting the old starter off without any physical help from me.

Beaming, she holds the starter out to me. “We did it!”

Turning it over in my hand, I say, “You did it.”

Her smile grows wider. “Little fingers. Makes it easier,” she says, wiggling them for emphasis.

“You were serious about wanting to be able to do this on your own, weren’t you?”

“Oh very.” She nods again, the ice pack sliding from her forehead into her eyes, stopping her movement just in time to avoid hitting her head again. “This is very inconvenient,” she says between giggles.

Removing the plastic bag of ice from her nose, I find that it’s melted, anyway. “We’ll get you a new one when we’re done.”

“I think it’s almost ready,” she says as she immediately goes back to work.

Reaching one arm across her body to brace on the dolly she’s lying on, I lean in to confirm her progress, reveling in the feel of her body pressed against mine. “You almost have it, should only be a few more minutes. You’re picking this up really quickly.”

“Mm, thanks,” she mumbles, focusing back on her task. Once it’s finished, she helps me remove the jack stands and pack up my tools. The morning heat has grown intense, and we’re both relieved to move into the cool air of my shop.

“How much do I owe you?” she asks over her shoulder, as she washes the grime from her hands in the shop sink. Smudges of grease and engine dust remain on her cheek, collarbone, the front of her overalls, and her white tennis shoes, making her the picture of adorable disarray.

“Nothing. You did all the work.”

“Stop it. You bought the parts, and you spent your morning teaching me.” Wild pieces of her hair curl out behind her bandana as she shakes her head.

“And you gave me a free drink. We’re square.”

“We are absolutely not square.” Allie’s posture straightens, and if she weren’t vigorously scrubbing her hands, I’m sure she’d have them planted on her hips. “I’m going to pay you.”

Taking money from her isn’t right. Takinganythingfrom her isn’t right. But if I don’t let her pay me, it’ll insult her independence. “You can pay me for the part.”

She turns to face me, drying her hands on a blue garage towel. “I’m paying for everything, including your time.” Her voice is stern.

“No.” I have to draw the line on that point. “I didn’t do any work.”

“You are impossible, Lucas Pine.” Allie huffs. “How much for the starter, and how much for your time?” I give her a dollar amount that’s a quarter of what I paid for the starter and half my hourly rate. I hate charging her, but I’ll find a way to discount her rent or something to make up for it. Luckily, she doesn’t know the price of car parts, and pays me without protest and goes back to work on her side.

For the rest of the day, her smile is even more electric than usual, red lips adding to the effect. And a couple of times, she’s already looking back at me when I find her through the window. I try not to count the days that I have left of this and enjoy her presence while I can. I’ll have to let her go in a few months, because the only way to keep her would be scrapping the idea of Grandad’s bar, which I can’t do.

Chapter 15

Allie

No one is better suited to handle today’s challenges than you are. Your natural creativity and resilience will have opportunities to shine.-Allie’s horoscope, April 4th

“This neighborhood has a wave of darling little restaurants popping up,” Hector says as I pull into the parking lot of the building we’re touring. It was a smoothie place for a few years but has been vacant for five or six months now. It’s in a funky foodie location about twenty minutes from Station 19.

The two major downsides are that it’s only available for rent, and a lot of locals who walk toTurbine, including Hector and Brian, wouldn’t be able to come as often. So far, I haven’t considered something so far away, but it’s time to broaden my search.

I nod excitedly. “Devon and I tried that Indian place on the corner last week, and I haven’t stopped daydreaming about the samosas since.”

Taking a few solid days off of work has renewed my perspective on my situation withTurbineand my search for a new location. I was gone long enough to miss the café, but I didn’t miss the building. I missed gossiping with Hector, hearing stories about Marisol’s kids, and seeing Daisy’s latest drawings. None of these people will go away completely when we move, so the heart of what matters will still be there.

Ideally, I want to find a place that has character, a unique aesthetic—maybe some vintage appeal—but that’s also in the same part of the city we’re in now, doesn’t cost too much, and is available for sale.So—Station 19.I’ve rejected every place that hasn’t met those criteria, but I’m slowly accepting that I don’t have to find theidealsolution. If I findasolution that works well enough, the people will make up the difference.

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