Spitfire in Love

by Isabelle Ronin

  I was already doing demos for Rick for a couple of months before Caleb started. The crew knew to stay away from me. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, didn’t give a rat’s ass about eating lunch with them or going for drinks after work. I wanted to be alone and destroy as much as I could. I hated everything.

  Especially myself.

  And then Caleb Lockhart showed up. His brother, Ben, was friends with Rick and had asked him a favor to let Caleb work doing demolitions. I heard Ben quit a semester into college to focus on his troubled brother. Just for that, he had my respect.

  The Lockhart brothers were what the crew called “pretty boys.” They came from a wealthy family and clearly didn’t need the work. They had a gleam of sophistication even when they were covered in dirt and doing grunt work, and both seemed to enjoy it.

  After Caleb started working for Rick, my peace and quiet went out the window. Alone seemed to be a foreign concept to Caleb.

  He annoyed the hell out of me, picked on me until I gave him what he wanted. What he wanted was someone he could fight with and who could fight back and didn’t hold back. He found it in me.

  It didn’t take much to rile me back then, and we beat each other up almost every time we saw each other.

  Eventually, Rick sat us down, and we figured it would be less painful and would save us money on medical bills if we focused our anger on demolitions instead. And then one day, we became friends.

  It happened in the middle of summer when we were doing a demo for a twenty-story apartment building. It was scorching hot, the air heavy with humidity. It was the kind of day where breathing alone made me sweat. The windows were open, but there was no wind coming in. I glugged water like a camel and seemed to sweat it out instantly.

  I was irritable, hungry, and desperately needed a shower, but I kept pounding the brick fireplace with the sledgehammer. I found satisfaction in destroying it.

  “Hey, asshole.”

  I turned around. It was Caleb and he had two monster sandwiches in his hands. He placed one on top of my backpack.

  “Want a sandwich? Made two. You can have this one. My dog didn’t want it.”

  I ignored him and went back to work. A couple of hours later, the foreman called for a lunch break. I kicked the sandwich to the ground before grabbing my backpack and walking toward the elevators.

  “Hey!”

  It was Caleb again. I kept going.

  “Does your mama know you’re an asshole?”

  I stopped in my tracks. This mouthpiece just wouldn’t shut up. I was about to turn around and read him his last rites when I felt something hit the side of my face.

  I smelled mustard, ketchup, and the mouthwatering aroma of burger meat. I grabbed the tomato on my cheek, popped it into my mouth. Chewed. Swallowed.

  My anger faded.

  We looked at each other, assessing, watching.

  “Got another one?” I asked after a moment.

  Surprise flickered in his eyes.

  Then he grinned. “Yeah. I got two more, but you’re paying for drinks.”

  I studied his face and determined I didn’t detect any deceit. I thought about it for a beat. “Deal.”

  From then on, Caleb Lockhart has been my friend.

  Rick gave us both the chance to purge our anger by giving us sledgehammers to break walls, destroy fireplaces, rip Sheetrock. Eventually, we were promoted to framing, replacing shingles on roofs, painting, and everything else in Rick’s business.

  I had taken to it naturally. At first, I went because I wanted to focus on something other than my miserable life, but eventually I came to look forward to doing renos after school. It was something I was really good at and I found joy in it. It gave me a sense of purpose. It made me…less miserable and not focus so much on my problems. To forget about that day I regretted the most, that day I desperately wished I could go back to and change.

  “I’m going to ask you again. You sure about this?” Caleb indicated the building behind me.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Go ahead to the site. I’ll come over soon as I’m done here.”

  He yawned again. I yawned. “Get your ass out of here, man. You’re making me sleepy,” I grumbled.

  “Need that first.” He nodded at my beanie. “Cold as hell for a demo today.”

  I thought about it.

  “You owe me for this morning,” he pointed out.

  That sounded reasonable. He hated waking up early, and he had to be at the site before nine today, so he’d had to wake up even earlier to drop me and my motorcycle off at the shop.

  “You’re right,” I acknowledged and threw my beanie at him. “Don’t sleep with it under your pillow tonight.”

  He caught it easily, put it on, and shot me a grin. “Hey, how’d you know?” He gave a dainty wave of his fingers before sliding into his truck.

  He slid his window down. “Cam,” he called out.

  “Yeah?”

  “Want a sandwich?”

  I heard him laughing as he drove away.

  Chapter 8

  Cameron

  As soon as Caleb left, I turned to study the auto repair shop again.

  It looked old but clean and decent enough. Appearances could be deceiving though, so I didn’t get my hopes up.

  I gave my motorcycle a regretful we’ll-survive-this-buddy pat on the side.

  Suddenly, the shadiness of it all hit me like a freight train. I had no idea who this woman was, what she was capable of. She asked me to come to her shop early in the morning, when no one would be there…

  I looked around again. The structure reminded me of the abandoned places where serial killers take their victims to torture them.

  Damn Caleb, making me watch all those scary movies. Now I had them in my head.

  Why are you here?

  Even as I asked myself this, I was already looking for a place to park and hide my motorcycle safely.

  Hey, it’s your funeral.

  There were at least ten cars parked out front. They were either already repaired and waiting to be picked up or still due for repair. That meant they had customers.

  Unless those were the cars of their victims.

  On the right side of the building where the dirt road was, someone had parked a big tandem truck to block the way just enough so a vehicle couldn’t pass through.

  What were they hiding out there?

  More dead bodies, possibly.

  But as I reached the dirt road, I saw that there was still a good amount of land behind the shop. Thirty feet away from the shop was a tiny, yellow barn house with pale-blue trim. A toolshed stood beside it. They were in considerably better shape than the shop and made a pretty picture among the pine and poplar trees scattered around the edges of the property.

  Was that where she lived?

  I scanned the place, looking for her, but there wasn’t a soul around. A quick glance on my phone told me it was 8:15 and that I was stupid for being early—too early. Before the shop even opened.

  Why are you here?

  I sandwiched my motorcycle between the building and the tandem truck, making it hard for anyone to spot it. It looked like it would be safe there. I walked to the edge of the building, then I looked up.

  And my heart staggered at the sight of her.

  She was coming out of the yellow house and seemed to be having trouble closing the door. She opened it again with a swift kick of her foot, then pulled it closed with considerable muscle and force.

  She looked like she’d just gotten out of bed, put on her necessary outerwear, and marched out of the house.

  She was still in her pajamas, boots the color of Pepto-Bismol, and a black parka with a hoodie that drowned her body.

  She was sniffing from the cold, pushing up the huge eyeglasses that she hadn’t been wearing last night. Her t
hick hair was a nest on top of her head, with pieces of it escaping.

  She looked grumpy.

  Why are you here?

  Wasn’t it obvious?

  I was here because of her.

  Something was not right with me.

  I needed coffee. Coffee would zap me back to reality.

  I watched as she headed to the back of the shop, where there must be another entrance. I wasn’t in her line of sight, although if she looked slightly to her left, she would see me. But her steps were purposeful, her gaze straight.

  She was like this yesterday too. Yesterday. It didn’t feel like we just met yesterday. It felt like I’d been thinking about her for a long, long time.

  It was clear to me that she had a one-track mind. She was like a missile. Once she locked on her target, that was all she could concentrate on.

  Yesterday morning, when she was marching to Dingle Dick’s house, she passed in front of me as if I didn’t exist. And last night, while I was out for a run, trying not to think about her, debating whether to call her or not, she appeared in my driveway. She was sneaking around like a thief and didn’t even notice that I was behind her, watching her.

  I had thought it was a tall, lanky guy in a large, shapeless hoodie trying to do a B and E. I would have attacked. And then her hair had spilled out from her hat.

  And somehow, I knew it was her.

  I thought she’d vandalized Dingle Dick’s house, maybe got spotted and was looking for someplace to hide and picked my house.

  I didn’t expect the words that had tumbled from her mouth after that.

  And now I was at her shop, watching her again.

  She tried to open the back door of the shop with her key, but it looked like it wouldn’t turn. Must have frozen overnight. She muttered under her breath. Instead of walking to the side of the building where I was standing, she circled around the opposite side. I walked back to the front of the building.

  Success, I thought as I watched her twist the key and unlock the front door. At least this door didn’t give her grief. She raised her head slightly, and our eyes connected.

  She froze, eyes wide in shock, before she pulled out her key—or tried to. It was stuck.

  I watched her struggle, almost in a panic trying to yank the key out. When she did, she grabbed the door like a lifeline and disappeared inside. The decisive snap of the dead bolt was loud. I laughed quietly.

  Man, she was a riot. She saw me and definitely locked me out.

  I walked to the front door, leaned against the wall. Tapped my knuckles on the door.

  Nothing. I waited.

  Was she pretending she hadn’t seen me?

  It took a couple of minutes before I heard the lock open. The door opened a crack.

  Hazel. Her eyes were hazel. More green, like crisp grass in the morning, than brown.

  Those eyes glared at me, razor-sharp blades ready to make me bleed. We stood there for a beat.

  My gaze slowly shifted down.

  She had a beauty mark on the upper side of her lip. So faint you could barely see it unless you knew where to look.

  I wanted to do more than look.

  Her hands flew to cover her mouth.

  “Back off!”

  Or I thought that was what she said. Her hands had muffled the sound.

  “Morning,” I said. I propped my arm on the doorjamb, gave her a smile. A friendly, nonthreatening, I’m-as-safe-as-they-come smile. It usually worked. This time, it didn’t.

  She glowered at me. She had zipped her parka closed, hoodie in place to cover her messy hair.

  “Do you know how to read?” she demanded, still covering her mouth with her hand.

  I pushed the door open and walked inside the warmth.

  She stepped back.

  “I’m getting tutored every Wednesday,” I answered, closing the door and facing her. “Right now, I’m having trouble reading”—the door was fogged up with condensation; I wrote on it with my finger—“this. Can you read that for me?” I asked.

  I spelled HIT-AND-RUN.

  She pursed her lips, rubbed away what I wrote with her fist, and jotted 9 AM.

  “Can you read this? You’re early. The card I gave you yesterday clearly stated the shop’s not open till nine on Saturdays.”

  I could have waited at a coffee shop, walked around the block, but I didn’t because…

  I wanted to see you.

  “Where’s your motorcycle?”

  I shrugged. Her jaw hung open.

  “You…you didn’t bring it?” She backed away a few feet. “I mean, did you change your mind about bringing it here?”

  “What made you think I’d made up my mind?”

  “Last night! You agreed—”

  “Did I?”

  She sputtered. I wanted to smile but figured that wasn’t a smart thing to do, so I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth.

  “Listen,” she started. “I don’t know what else you want, but I’m giving you a deal here. A really good deal. And if you need me to repeat it again until your brain can absorb it, I will.”

  “Why are you covering your mouth?”

  “I forgot to brush my teeth!” she yelled. “Okay? You happy now?”

  She looked like she was going to stomp her foot. “I can’t talk to you like this. I need my powers. I’m going home to brush my teeth. Stay here. Don’t steal anything. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

  She locked the front door and proceeded to the back of the shop. There was an impression of clean floors, tools, a couple of cars suspended from the ceiling, the smell of motor oil, solvent—good, strong smells of a hardworking garage.

  “I like your hair,” I said as I followed her outside. And meant it.

  She threw me a withering look. “Don’t make fun of it. It’s my antenna for my brain. Keeps me reasonable, you know? That’s why I haven’t murdered you yet. Get it? Why are you following me?”

  She sure talked a lot, but I really liked the sound of her voice. “Need coffee.”

  She laughed.

  It was so unexpected I stumbled. I wished she’d do it again.

  “Don’t we all?” There was sympathy in her voice. “Go back to the shop and I’ll bring you some.”

  She stopped at the door of her house, pulled out her key.

  “Kara,” I said softly.

  She froze. Slowly turned around to face me, her hand still on the doorknob. Maybe that made her feel safe. Having an anchor.

  There was something between us. I knew she felt it.

  “Invite me inside,” I said.

  I saw her throat working.

  “You do this to me a lot.” Her voice was raspy.

  “Do what?”

  “Nothing. I’m not going to be alone in my house with you. Do you normally sneak behind your girlfriend’s back to go to another girl’s house?”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Liar.”

  “Not this time.”

  She looked at me for a moment, her eyes direct and searching. She must have liked what she saw because, without a word, she went inside and left the door open for me.

  I took my time. By the time I came inside, I saw her closing a door to what I assumed was the bathroom.

  I saw her parka on the couch, where she’d carelessly thrown it, and her shoes by the door, so I removed mine before going in and took a seat on the sofa. There was a pink note posted on the wall that said SHOES OFF! And another one by the light switch that said LIGHTS OFF BEFORE YOU LEAVE! CHECK STOVE! I figured her mom probably posted them there. It was obvious by the knickknacks around the house that she didn’t live alone, but where was her family?

  The tiny house looked bigger on the inside. It was one of the older houses in the neighborhood and it was clear t
hey’d renovated it at one point in time. Broke down the walls, so it was open concept now, added windows to let in more light. I had renovated houses like these with Rick before. It gave me a warm, good feeling to be in her home.

  Fifteen minutes had passed when she came out of the bathroom. She stood outside the door. Her hair was up in a neat ponytail now. She had put gloss on her lips and did something subtle with her eyes that made them look bigger. She had changed into tight jeans and a sweater the color of sunshine.

  My hands itched to touch. Her skin, her hair, her lips.

  “How do you take your coffee?” she asked stiffly.

  “Black.”

  “I ran out of the good stuff. I only have instant.”

  “That’s fine.”

  She walked to the kitchen and put on the kettle to boil. I got up from the couch, followed her there. There was another pink note. This one said NO SPOON IN MICROWAVE! I chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked, pouring hot water in a cup.

  I gestured toward the note.

  “I’m the only female in this house, surrounded by men who can’t function by themselves. I have to put reminders on everything or else they forget.”

  I wondered where her mom was but didn’t comment.

  She cleared her throat. “Answer this for me. Who was that girl in the…” She blushed. “In the bathroom with you?”

  So, back to that. I looked down, so she wouldn’t see my smile. When I looked up, she was placing the mug of coffee on the counter beside me, then moved as far away from me as the tiny kitchen allowed.

  “I never had a girlfriend before.”

  “You want me to believe that?”

  “I think you already do. I wouldn’t be in your house if you didn’t, would I?”

  Her eyes sparkled, and a hint of a smile flirted on her lips. She was enjoying this.

  “You’ve never gone out with any girl for more than a couple of weeks?”

  “If I did, it never meant anything.”

  “What was the longest time you dated a girl?”

  This time, I let her see my smile. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Just…an experiment. You’re an experiment,” she stammered.

  “An experiment?”