A ROCK SONG BLARES on the overhead speakers as I fish under a table for a dropped bolt. The tune is one of my favorites, one that I play when I need to zone out and focus on a job. After getting here two hours early and getting nothing accomplished, I tried my luck with music. Turns out, my luck is out.
My hand rolls along the cool concrete floor, grasping wildly for the errant piece. My mind is just as desperate for a resolution of its own.
The lyrics, lines I’ve heard dozens of times over my life, sound brand new this morning. I’ve never picked up on the innuendo or the suggestive undertones before. As the words thump through the room, my mind is drawn further and further away from the broken axel on the pickup in front of me and closer to the blonde who should be walking in the door at any minute.
The truck has been a headache, but Sienna is a fucking migraine. At least with the truck, there are procedures and handbooks and common knowledge that can be applied to solve the riddle. With her? It’s madness. There’s not a handbook besides the back of a whiskey label to fix this.
“Hey,” Peck says, breaking me from my spell. His head is stuck around the door, having just arrived. “Donaldson is in. Where’s his invoice?”
“Fuck if I know,” I grumble. “Sienna filed all that shit.”
“Where?”
“All I know is the folders were all sparkly. There’s still glitter on the floor back there. I’d just follow the glitter trail, Peck.”
“I’d like to follow that glitter trail,” he smirks.
Flashing him a look, my lips pressing together so hard they hurt, I watch as he laughs.
“I heard the guys at Crave talking about her last night. You have three calls on the answering machine right now with men wanting to bring their trucks in for basic shit they usually do themselves. You get what I’m saying?” he asks.
“Charge Donaldson fifty bucks. Get what I’m saying?” I ask, lifting a brow.
Peck laughs again, the sound cut off by the door closing. I go back to the truck and try to ignore the pain across the back of my shoulders. The lug nut is almost tightened when my hand falls from the tool. It dings off the concrete, making a racket, but I stay squatted down and wait. Within a few seconds, her laugh spills from the lobby and floods my ears.
The grin that settles over my lips every morning when I feel her presence does its thing, but because no one is here to see it, I let it go. I let my stupid body react while my brain screams at it to stop. It’s like I’m trapped in a madman’s world where the two parts of me are in a constant battle. My brain is right. My body is wrong. We all know it. It’s common with men. But the override button I can usually press on my physical reactions is broken and that’s why I’m fucked.
Angling my ear so I can hear her better, the faint pitches and dips of her voice as she teases Peck melt away a bit of my stress.
She showed up. Again.
Rocking back on my heels, I let out a breath before standing. As I turn around, the door is opening behind me and Peck’s dumb ass is whistling as he comes in.
“Good Lord almighty,” he cackles. “You need to go see that.”
“See what?”
“See what,” he scoffs. “I don’t know. That ass. Those fucking legs. Hell, even her purple hair is hot. But the best part is, she brought in blueberry muffins.” A hand clamps on my shoulder. “She cooks, Walk. She fucking cooks.”
“So what?” I say, rolling my eyes for his benefit. “I cook. Nana cooks. Veronica at Carlson’s cooks. It’s not a thing.”
“And as much as I love Nana, she doesn’t look like that.”
Heading towards the sink in the back, I use every bit of self-control I have not to look at the lobby window. “Don’t you feel guilty for mentally cheating on Molly McCarter?”
“Ah, don’t bring her up,” he sighs. “I saw her this morning at Goodman’s gas station. She waved at me.”
“Don’t you think it’s a little pathetic you have that look on your face because she waved at you?”
“Don’t you think it’s a little pathetic you have that look on your face because Sienna is standing out there and you’re too chicken shit to go out there and talk to her?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Flipping on the tap with more force than necessary, I rub my hands together beneath the freezing cold water with gusto.
Peck follows me and leans against the wall. “No one is going to think badly of you if you—”
“Is that what you think this is?” The faucet squeals as the water shuts off. “You think I’m worried what any of you will think?”
“Yeah. I do. I think you think we’re gonna judge you.”
A low rumble escapes my throat, the mountain of morning irritability now focused solely on him. “When have I ever given a fuck what anyone thinks of me, Peck? When I walked away from the football scholarship at EIU so I could help Dad out around here? Did I care then? Or when I beat the shit out of Tommy Jones for laying a hand on Blaire? Did I care that some people around here thought I was some kind of barbarian fucking up the golden boy of Linton? Because I don’t remember that.”
“I think this is a little different.”
“You would.”
Stomping across the garage, I glance quickly at the window but don’t see Sienna. A bit of relief runs through me that she can’t see my face. I have no idea how pissed off I look, but it can’t be any match for how pissed off I feel.
Fuck Peck for pushing in places he shouldn’t. To hell with him for insinuating this is anything but me trying not to twist up a girl who clearly doesn’t need wrapped up in my bullshit. As irritating as she is, Sienna doesn’t deserve this. And even if my life wasn’t such a fuck-up, there’s no way that girl, one I can’t figure out for the life of me, would be able to handle all the baggage I come with.
Glaring Peck’s way, I throw it all to the wind and fling open the door to the lobby. I try to ignore the legs and hair and scent of her pineappley perfume that’s as unavoidable as a category five hurricane. Marching around the desk, I fiddle with the mouse and wait for the computer to wake up.
“Good morning,” she chirps. Her voice is sunshine, a bright reprieve to my otherwise bland day. “Sorry I’m a little late.”
“You mean you actually have a starting time?”
She giggles, stepping off the stool she’s perched on, wiping at the window blinds. “I’ve tried to be here when you open every day. Haven’t you noticed?”
I’ve noticed a fuck lot more than that. “Yeah, now that you mention it . . .”
“Aren’t you going to give me a cookie or something?” she sighs. “I hate getting up this early.”
“We open at eight. That’s early?”
“No, but seven is.” She tosses a rag into the bin. “I don’t work on other people’s schedules often. You should be honored.”
“I’ll remember that.”
She hops up on the desk, her ass planting on a calendar I need to see. The way her back arches, her hair spiraling down almost to her waist, has me gulping. Her legs swinging back and forth, she watches me. “So, what’s happening today?”
“Work.”
The door chimes and two boys walk in wearing navy blue t-shirts with white writing on the front. “Hey, Mr. Gibson,” the one on the right says. “We’re here seeing if you’d like to help our science club.”
“What are you raising money for?” I ask.
“We want to go to camp in Houston this winter,” the one on the left says. “It’s an astronaut camp. It’s going to be really cool, but really expensive. That’s why we’re selling these.” He holds out a box of chocolate bars wrapped in gold foil. “They’re really good and they have a coupon on the inside for pizza. You really can’t lose.”
Grabbing at my wallet in my back pocket, I narrow my eyes. “So you want to be astronauts?”
“I do,” the right one says. “But he wants to be an engineer.”
“But camp would help me learn so much to do that,” the left one says earnestly.
“How old are you?” I ask.
“Eleven,” they say in unison.
Sienna watches from the side. She’s itching to interject, opening her mouth a few times, but closing it before she does.
“How many do you have to sell?” I ask, doing a quick perusal of the contents of the box.
“As many as we can,” the left one groans. “We have until Monday to finish selling this box but people don’t want to buy them. It’s chocolate! What’s wrong with chocolate?”
Chuckling, I open my wallet. “How much are they?”
“They’re a dollar a piece.”
“How many do you have?”
“Total?” the right one asks. He does a quick count. “There are twenty-two in here.”
“All I have is two twenties,” I say, fishing out the bills. “I’ll trade you.”
“We don’t have change.” The right one closes the box. “I could ask my mom to bring it by to you tonight.”
“Just use it for astronaut school,” I say, taking the chocolates. “And when you get to the moon someday, do a shout out to Crank for me, okay?”
“Yes, sir,” the right one says, his smile stretching from ear to ear. “Thank you, sir.”
“No problem.”
They skip out the door, high-fiving each other when they hit the parking lot. My eyes drag to Sienna. “What?”
“Nothing. That was just super sweet of you. I didn’t know you had it in ya.”
I shove my wallet back into my pants. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
“Want to tell me?”
“Nope.”
“Can I ask you something? About cars,” she adds.
Scooting the mouse away from the keyboard, I turn towards her. “Sure. What’s up?”
“There’s a light on in my car.” She sets off describing it in the most girlish terms I can imagine. She’s animated today, rambling on and on about calling the shop but wanting to know what it means so she can go in there armed to the teeth and not get taken advantage of. “Do you know what that is?”
“It’s your oil light. When’s the last time your oil was changed?”
She shrugs. “When I was in Georgia.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Last summer.”
My head falling back, I sigh. “You’re way overdue. You can’t let your car go that long.”
“Well, my light should’ve come on before now,” she insists. “I have an appointment after I leave here at the dealership. I just don’t want them lying to me. I usually have one of my brothers take it in and handle it. Or Troy.”
“Who’s Troy?” I ask, not sure I want to know.
“My brother Barrett’s guy.”
“Is he gay?”
She bursts out laughing, leaping off the desk. “That would be a no.”
She prances around the room, making a pot of coffee and wiping off the table where sugar appears to have been spilled. This is why I can’t start looking at her—I can’t stop. As she buzzes around the room, fiddling with everything she can, I don’t even get annoyed. It doesn’t even bother me. I’m too absorbed with a plethora of questions to pay attention to all the things she’s moving around.
Before I know what’s happening, she stops. “Something wrong?”
Looking at the floor, I shove around the desk and head for the garage. “Nope. Have a good day, Sienna.”
“You too . . .”
WIPING MY HANDS ON a towel, I push the door to the lobby open with my shoulder. My brain is calculating the quantity of line I need to order when I stop in my tracks. Sienna is standing beside Nana who has a half-eaten muffin in her hand.
“Oh, there you are, Walker,” Nana says, popping the rest of the muffin into her mouth. “I came in here looking for you and found this sweet girl instead.”
I look at Sienna out of the corner of my eye. Smug doesn’t even begin to describe the look on her beautiful face, like she won over Nana. Like that means something.
“I just got out to the garage yesterday and had a look at the work you and Machlan did for me. Such good boys, the both of you,” she says, patting the side of my cheek. “What would I do without my sweet grandsons?”
“It wasn’t a big deal,” I say, feeling a little smug myself.
“If you come to dinner on Sunday, I’ll make a pecan pie.”
“Are you bribing me with pie?”
“Would you rather have cake?” Her hand drops from my face with a sigh. “I need your behind in a pew on Sunday, Walker. You can go out on Saturday and be friends with Jack and Jim, but I need you friendly with Jesus the next morning.”
Sienna bursts out laughing, the melody like a song.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“That Jack and Jim line. My mama would love it, Nana.”
Nana’s attention switches from pie to Sienna. “Does your mama expect you to attend services on Sunday?”
“Well . . .” Sienna blushes. “We go on Easter, Christmas Eve, Grandma’s birthday when she was alive. But not every Sunday, no.”
Sienna doesn’t know the pass she just gave me. As Nana heads her way, the pie all but forgotten, Sienna looks at me. I wink, watching her cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink.
“Well, dear, I expect your behind at Holy Hills church on Sunday. Services start at nine and run just under an hour. Surely, you can find it in your heart to give an hour to God.”
“I . . . um . . .” Sienna looks at me for help. “I’ll try.”
Shaking my head, I cross my arms across my chest and watch her struggle against my grandmother. It’s a battle of strong-willed ladies, and I’m not sure who will win.
“It’s next to the library. Big ol’ cross in the front. You can’t miss it,” Nana says. “I’ll see you there. Both of you.”
“I’ll be there,” I tell her, watching her beam. “You know how much I love pecan pie.”
“Don’t come for the pie, Walker. Come for the lesson. Then the pie.” She turns towards the door, calling over her shoulder, “Your muffins were delicious, Sienna. I’d love the recipe.”
“I’ll bring it on Sunday?”
It’s more of a question than a statement, but it lights Nana’s face up all the same.
“You do that. Have a good day, both of you.” She sends me a knowing grin before fluttering out the door.
The chimes settle and the room draws smaller. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I look at the girl next to me.
Her legs are capped with a pair of navy shorts and a brown tank hugs her curves, dipping low enough to showcase the tops of her breasts. As if the roundness weren’t enough of a draw, she’s added a long, gold necklace with a heart at the end that snuggles just above her cleavage. It’s like a warning sign and an invitation all at once.
“You two seemed comfortable,” I note, trying to start us out on neutral ground.
“Who?”
“You and Nana.”
“Your Nana is a pistol,” she says, circling around the desk. She lifts a tray into the air. “Want a muffin?”
A muffin is the last thing I want right now. I know not to do it and the entire time my eyes draw up her arm, over her chest, and up to her gorgeous face, I tell myself to stop. Pleading with my brain to take over and force the rest of me to get in line, I continue to roam over her, committing each little curve and dip to memory.
I’m an asshole for doing this. I’m a complete dick for letting myself pretend anything with this girl is possible. Yet, when I settle on her bright blue eyes, they twinkle happily, which only makes me feel worse.
“Is that a no?” she asks. Setting the tray down, she watches me with a confidence that I want to fuck right out of her. Ignoring me as I start to speak, she snaps up the landline. “Crank,” she singsongs into the line.
Adjusting myself while she takes notes on a scrap of paper, I grasp for some equilibrium. I think I have it until she looks at me again, sending me off-kilter.
“This is Rusty Carmine. He said they have a welding issue at their warehouse. He said you usually send Peck out to fix it and that it’s urgent.”
“Yeah. Tell him he’ll be there,” I say, signaling for Peck. Before she gets off the phone, Peck is on his way to his truck.
Pouring a cup of coffee after finding the coffee pot that has been moved, I wait for her to finish the call. Once I hear the “goodbye,” I turn to face her.
“I’ve been keeping track of your hours,” I tell her.
“Good for you.” She ignores where I’m going and changes subjects instead. “What do you think of the place? Looks nice, huh?”
The floors aren’t quite as dirty as before. The place has a floral smell to it and there aren’t any towels spilling over the bin in the back. It looks nice.
“It’s okay,” I say, taking a sip.
“Okay?” she barks. “It’s more than okay! It’s a one-eighty from where it was.”
“I can’t find anything.”
“Because you don’t know how to look. Typical man,” she mumbles. “I clearly marked all the folders in here. You can find everything super easily.” She looks up at me. “I never thought I had it in me to like paperwork. Must’ve been buried deep in my genes.”
“I’d love to be buried in your jeans,” I say before I can think twice. Hoping she didn’t hear me, my gaze snaps to hers, but it’s obvious: she heard. Not only did she hear, she’s not going to let it go.
My blood hotter than the coffee in my hand, I pivot on my heel towards the garage.
“You would, would you?” she teases, her voice dangling in the air.
All I can think about is what she’d look like sprawled in my bed, her body pressed against mine, her breath hot against my flesh. Shaking my head, ridding myself of the delicious vision, I say, “I shouldn’t have said that out loud.”
“So you’ve been thinking it?”
“Come on, Sienna,” I sigh.
She leans against the desk, her bottom lip protruding. “Why are you so grumpy?”
“Grumpy?” I laugh, grateful for the change in direction. “What are we? In kindergarten?”
“No. But it’s the best word to describe you. Grumpy. You’re grumpy.”
“I am not.”
“See? And argumentative. It’s a wonder I even show up here.”
It’s my turn to lean against the desk. There’s an honesty in the way she speaks, and an edge of class or sophistication, that, at the end of the day, is both the worst thing and best thing about her. It’s what people respond to—Nana, Peck . . . me. It’s what she responds to in me that I don’t understand. I surely don’t give her much to go on. Most women are out the door by now.
“Why do you show up here?” I ask.
The levity from her features melts away and a somberness takes its place. “Because I owe you.”
“Is that why?” I press, not able to fight the hope swelling inside me that it’s not. “What’s your story, Sienna?”
Her story isn’t one I need to know, and if she responds, it’ll just fuck me further. I need distance from this chick, not her family history.
This is the problem I knew from the beginning: dipping even a toe into this pool will drown us both.
“There you are.” The door swings open without warning, causing Sienna and I both to exhale sharply. “I have a giant problem, Walker, and I need your help.”
“What’s up, Stuart?” I ask, clearing my throat.
“The tractor went down on me this morning. I hauled her up here, hoping you can take a look at it. I know it’s a huge job and you have other stuff happening, but I’ll pay you double. You’re the best and I need this fixed by tomorrow morning. Is there any chance you can swing it?”
The garage bay is fairly empty, just the truck and a van in so far today.
“How many appointments are there today, Sienna?” I ask. “Do you know?”
She looks at a calendar and lifts her eyes. “You have two. A van and a car this afternoon, although a bunch of people said they’re walking in.”
“Yeah,” I say to Stuart, leading him outside. “Let’s get it in the shop and I’ll start on it in a bit. What’s it doing?”
As he goes ahead of me, rambling about the problems I should be paying attention to, instead, I focus on what’s becoming the biggest problem in my life.
I TURN THE KEY and my car’s engine roars to life outside of Goodman’s gas station. Getting situated in the driver’s seat, I buckle my seatbelt and get the radio set to a station playing upbeat and happy music.
Today was a good day.
Every time I think of Walker, I remember his little slip about my jeans. Giggling, I reach for the gear shift to put my car in reverse and stop.
The oil light isn’t lit.
It doesn’t come on when I put it in reverse either.
Peck comes out from inside the gas station where he was just buying a drink and sees me sitting in the parking lot. He heads my way.
I roll down the windows, the warm breeze making me even happier. “Hey,” I say to him as he gets near. “Did you change my oil today?”
“Nope.”
My back falls against the seat as I try not to act as giddy as I feel.
He leans against the door and takes me in. “What are ya thinking?”
“I mentioned it to Walker earlier and now the light is off. Does that mean he changed it?”
“Someone did,” Peck grins, “and it wasn’t me. Walker is a good guy. And I’m fairly certain he thinks a lot of you.”
“You think?” I ask, my hopes whizzing upwards.
“I do.” He taps the hood as he stands up again. “I got to get back to the job. Just came by for a drink. Be careful going wherever you’re going.”
“Will do. Thanks, Peck.”
“Later.”
I don’t pull out quite yet. Instead, I sit there with a huge smile on my face.
As much of a jerk as he can be, he can also make me feel like this. Between protecting me with Tommy to changing my oil, it feels really, really good.