by Danni Roan
“I do, the more retro, the better. Wait till you see the bathroom.” She giggled, a tiny snort escaping making her laugh harder. “Here come see.”
The bathroom area was at the very back of the trailer with a little window above the sink, situated in the middle of that space. To the right of the sink, a shower, no more than three-by-three foot square, the frosted glass door draped by a red shower curtain covered in stylized reindeer and Christmas greeting. On the left, a standard toilet with a set of tall shelves stacked above took up the rest of the space.
“You have more room than I would expect in here,” Pablo grinned, surprised by the space.
A shrill whistle beckoned them back into the kitchen, and Pablo took a seat at the table while Portia poured water over the dark roast in the bottom of a French press.
“How big is this?” he asked, taking in the surprising amount of storage space, cabinetry, and cubby holes, the camper had to offer.
“Twenty-two feet, but it always feels bigger. I never feel crowded somehow.” Portia took down two red mugs suspended above the stove on little hooks, placing them on a little tray that had been sitting on the white countertop. A moment later, she set everything on the table and slid onto the seat across from Pablo.
“So, what are your goals for the summer?” Pablo sipped his coffee, looking over the rim of his cup. “I mean now that it looks like you’ll be grounded for at least a few weeks.”
“I want to explore the lake area and the UP,” Portia said, “but I guess I’ll be stationary for a while. Do you have any idea how long it will take to get Sweetie up and running again?”
“I can’t say exactly, but it will be weeks, not days. I’m sorry. Maybe tomorrow after I pull the engine and get started, and find out how hard it will be to get what I need, I’ll have a better idea.”
“Thanks.” Portia placed a hand over Pablo’s, squeezing it. She would try to be patient, but she was used to getting what she wanted when she wanted it.
Chapter 8
Pablo positioned the big lift over the front of the old truck and double-checked the chains. He had already removed the hood of the truck, and next, he would lift the engine free for disassembly and repair. It was a massive job, and he had already sent messages to a few of his contacts to see if they could start lining up parts.
Satisfied that everything was ready, Pablo grabbed the hydraulic lever on the lift and began inching the engine out of the truck. The higher it rose, the more unwieldy the thing became, and soon he was stopping every few inches to arrest the swing of the massive engine.
“Pablo!” Portia’s voice echoed into the cavernous middle section of the barn, making him start with surprise. The engine twisted clockwise at his inattention, and Pablo grabbed for it, his hand grasping the outer edge a second before it connected with the lift arm.
“Ouch!” Pablo felt the bite of a smashed finger, but pushed his hand off the lift, swinging the engine back inline.
“Oh, there you are,” Portia hurried around the side of her truck, looking cute and fresh as a daisy. “What’s wrong? Did you break something?”
“No, I didn’t break anything.” Pablo’s scowl was fierce as he cranked the engine the last few inches over the fender wells.
“It’s rather dirty, isn’t it?”
Pablo placed both hands on the lift arm, popping the brake with his foot, then turned to stare at her. “It’s an engine; it is supposed to be dirty.” His finger throbbed, and he wanted nothing more than to get ice on it.
“Well, yes, I know, and after all these years, it would be. Of course, the man I bought it from kept wonderful maintenance records on it. Still, I don’t like the way it looks. Perhaps we should chrome it.”
Pablo closed his eyes, his stomach roiling at the thought. Not only was chroming an engine expensive, but it was also going too far on a truck like this. Leaning into the lift, Pablo pushed it toward the industrial workbench, wishing the woman would go away with each creaking rotation of the wheels.
“How did you get here?” Pablo finally asked, all the while thinking the last thing he needed was Portia Princeton sticking her nose into his work. “I thought you were spending the morning with Gram?”
“I hired a car. You don’t expect me to stay in the camper all the time, do you? Besides it’s already afternoon.”
Pablo could hear the smile in her voice but refused to turn around. If money was no object for fixing the truck, surely it wasn’t an issue for renting a car. Hoping Portia would leave and go explore the lake area or maybe spend a few days on the Island, he set the brake of the lift, forcing himself to stay focused on the job at hand.
With great care, Pablo lowered the engine to the table, watching as one by one the heavy chains holding it went slack. It was time to get down to some serious work.
“I needed to talk to you anyway. I spoke with Daddy last night,” Portia’s voice drifted to him from somewhere behind the truck. “He tried to convince me to come home and bring Sweetie with me. He feels I should have a reliable, well-established garage do the work.”
Portia made her way around the truck stopping to study the young man hunched over the engine. His face was smudged with grease, his hands blackened, and his overalls grubby, but he was still astoundingly handsome.
“You’re going to take the truck all the way back home after I just spent my whole morning pulling the engine?” Pablo felt the words grind from between his teeth.
“No.”
“What?” Pablo turned to face the infuriating woman. “What do you mean? Are you taking it or not?”
“No, I convinced Daddy that you were up for the job.”
“Oh, thanks,” Pablo felt anything but grateful at the woman’s condescending tone. “I really appreciate it.”
“Well, if you don’t want to do the job,” Portia felt her bottom lip tremble, and her temper rose.”
“I didn’t say that. It might have been nice if you could have given me a call and let me know or something, though.”
“I’m telling you now.”
Pablo closed his eyes, trying to find his calm. What was it about Portia Princeton that annoyed him so? “So, I’m still doing the whole rebuild?”
“Yes, I’m sure you’ll do fine. Now about that chrome,” Portia tittered, catching the man’s hard glare. She was starting to enjoy annoying Pablo, and he seemed to be a very easy mark.
Chapter 9
Pablo sat at his desk, his hand covered with an ice pack, his head resting against the high back of his old chair. It had taken him nearly an hour to convince Portia not to chrome the engine, though there were parts that could use the shine. Instead, they had agreed to paint the engine in blacks and reds to match the scheme of the outside.
If the woman was in such a hurry to get the truck rebuilt and put back together, why couldn’t she leave him alone to do the work? It would go much faster without her interference. Her condescending attitude didn’t help either. It was almost as if she enjoyed bating him about the repairs.
Once they had hashed out these minor details, and Pablo had started pulling the whole engine apart, Portia had grown bored and was soon racing off in the sleek silver convertible Mustang she had rented. At least, the pesky woman got points for her taste in cars.
Sighing, Pablo opened his eyes and reached for his lunch with his other hand. Gram still insisted on packing his lunch each morning, the way she had when he was in school, and he never knew exactly what he would find at the bottom of the ancient dome-topped lunch box.
Today he had a huge roast beef sandwich with hot mustard and a veritable salad on top. The usual, chips, apple, juice, and snacks were also there, but the container filled with the blueberry cobbler had his mouth-watering.
Lifting his sandwich to his lips and taking a scrumptious bite, Pablo almost cried when the phone rang. Eyeing his sandwich with sorrow, he placed it on the desk and grabbed the phone.
“How much? Okay, when can you have it here? No, send it priority. This client wants this
job done fast. Yeah, I guess it’s a sweet job if she doesn’t drive me crazy. Thanks, Bob, I’m sure I’ll be giving you a shout soon. I haven’t even looked at the transmission yet. Bye.”
Pablo grasped his fat sandwich with both hands and grinned. Bob had found him parts and would have then here soon. He could get this job done and send the pretty, pesky, Portia on her way.
***
Portia raced along the winding road toward the big bridge, the hearty roar of the powerful engine putting a happy smile on her lips. She had put Pablo in his place, and her truck was getting fixed. Now it was time to play.
Slowing as more signs for the Island and an astounding amount of fudge shops appeared, Portia considered grabbing the next ferry and running over to see the fort, but the day was already half spent. Maybe she would book a few days there once she was sure that Pablo was taking good care of Sweetie.
He seemed like a very competent, if slightly cocky mechanic, but she would keep an eye on him just the same. She knew what she liked, and she usually got what she wanted. It had become a habit with her to ask for far more than she truly wanted, then let her father dicker down to what she really wanted. The tactic seemed to work equally well, with her mechanic.
Portia had known as soon as she mentioned chrome that it was a bad idea, but she had been curious about how willing or greedy Pablo might be.
He had been right about the engine paint, and she was pleased that he had been forthright with her about not having too much chrome on the old flathead. Another garage might have encouraged her indulgence in the extra expense and utterly useless chroming of Sweetie’s engine. Pablo Jimenez was honest, and if the stable of muscle cars he had sitting at the garage waiting for repair was any indication, competent at his craft. People with cars like those didn’t just leave them to anyone.
Pressing the gas pedal a little harder, Portia lifted her chin, feeling the air roll over her as she headed for the big bridge and Upper Peninsula. She would spend the day driving the roads there with the top down and see what she might like to explore further later in the week.
Tonight Portia knew she would be sleeping in her own bed in her little camper and that if she didn’t want to cook, she could head to the Inn for a meal, there was something comforting about her new situation, and a joy at knowing that you were home, no matter where you strayed.
Falling in line at the toll booths, Portia revved the engine of the sports car. Life was sweet, and annoying the stuffing out of the handsome mechanic was going to be fun.
Portia had always loved cars, the faster or older, the better. She had grown up racing go-carts, then graduated to racing cars, and though she had an army of mechanics and pit crew members, she had taken an interest in understanding how the cars worked. She had never been afraid to get her hands dirty in the garage, and knowing what made the engine of her latest auto crush hum gave her a great sense of confidence and connection.
Paying her toll, she sped across the bridge, laughing as the wind from the racing auto lifted her hair. The handsome mechanic was downright gorgeous when his eyes flashed in an angry glare, and for now, he didn’t need to know about her automotive past. Portia knew that all too soon, she would leave the wild areas of Michigan behind, and Pablo with them. She might just as well have some fun while she was here.
Another wicked grin stole across her face as Portia considered her earlier visit with the man. The whole time she had been at the garage, harassing him with her expectations, Pablo had been on a slow burn.
Portia’s grin brightened. It was rather inconvenient that Sweetie had decided to break down now, but she couldn’t feel too bad about where she had landed. She had a beautiful place to park the camper, she was near all of the things she had wanted to see on this trip, and best of all, she had a very handsome mechanic to torment for as long as it took to get the truck up and running.
Pressing the pedal to the floor as she shot off the bridge, Portia felt the rumble flow from her feet to the top of her head, and the warm vibration sent a shiver down her spine that felt all too much like the ones she felt when Pablo took her hand.
Chapter 10
The deep throaty rumble of a well-tuned muscle car, a sound that had once inspired awe, made Pablo groan. He had most of Sweetie’s engine back together, no mean fete, and had painstakingly, painted each exposed part with great care, but it still wasn’t complete. It had taken days to reach this point.
He didn’t even want to think about the headache the transmission was going to be, and Portia popping in every day to lean over his shoulder, or pepper him with questions wasn’t helping at all.
“Pablo!” Portia’s cheerful voice echoed in the barn. “How’s it going?”
Before he could hide in his office, pretending to take a phone call, the woman was at his side, examining the nearly finished work of art. The old inline V6 engine had cleaned up well, and with rebuilt parts, new seals, and fresh hoses, it looked almost as good as new.
“Oh!” Portia stopped in her tracks, gaping at the black and red flat head in wonder. “It looks amazing. Sweetie should sing like an angel once we put that in her.”
“Don’t sound so surprised,” Pablo grumbled. “I told you I could do it.” He was tired, cranky, and hating how much he was attracted to the annoying Portia.
“I knew you could,” Portia turned wide aqua eyes on him, forgetting she was supposed to tweak his nose at every chance. The handsome mechanic had done a remarkable job, not only on the engine but also in providing her with a beautiful place to stay while the work was being done.
As the days had dragged into nearly two weeks, she had come to appreciate the unexpected accommodation she was calling home. If Sweetie hadn’t broken down when she did, Portia would have missed this gem of a camping location.
“Thanks, but we still have a problem.” Pablo looked up, meeting her lustrous eyes. For a heartbeat, time seemed to stand still, and he found himself lost in their shimmering depths.
“The transmission?” Portia mumbled her eyes never leaving his. A blue barn swallow swooped between them, winging for the open door and breaking the spell, but the feeling still hung in the air, like the threat of heat lightning on a summer night.
“Yes, the transmission.” Pablo could hear the defeat in his voice but shook himself out of the blue mood. “I’m just not finding the parts I need. Bob has never let me down yet, but he can’t find them.”
Portia took a few steps closer, her body swaying with each slow, confident stride. “Buy another truck.” The words popped out of her mouth as if they were that simple.
“What?” Pablo lifted his eyes back to her face, shocked at the serious expression she wore.
“Buy another truck. We’ll keep it for spare parts. We use the other truck for spare parts and get Sweetie back on the road. I’ll even let you keep whatever’s leftover.” Portia grinned, happy at her thought. Perhaps it was time to stop harassing Pablo and help instead.
“You’re serious.”
“I am. I want this truck on the road. I want my rig to be eye-catching and fun. So far, you’ve proven you are capable of the engine work, so let’s go all in.”
“Where am I supposed to find a spare 1942 Ford pickup truck?”
Portia’s smile was feral, sending shivers of delight down Pablo’s spine. “Online, of course, and I know just where to start.” The woman pulled her phone out of the pocket of her perfectly cut cut-off shorts, tugging the tied ends of her red and white polka-dot shirt back in place as she poked at the screen. “You go on with what you’re doing, I’ll find us something sweet.”
Pablo worked on refitting the engine, checking every detail with the schematics sketch and owner’s manual he had found online for the Ford. As he worked, he was keenly aware of Portia taking up residence on a tall stool on the other side of the work area. For once, the woman was blessedly quiet and instead of finding her annoying, irascible, and persnickety, a sense of companionship, even partnership, seemed to blossom between them.
They were each busy with their own tasks as they worked together to restore the old truck. After nearly two weeks of constant squabbling over when, why, and how to put the engine together, they were finally on the same side.
“Done,” Pablo said, stretching to straighten his spine.
“I found one!” Portia jumped off her stool, running to him and throwing her arms around his neck in a startling hug. “Look,” she lifted her phone, pointing at the battered remnants of an old truck.
“It has trees growing out of the bed,” Pablo mumbled, still shaken from the momentary embrace.
“Don’t worry about that,” Portia’s delighted tones brushed all doubts away. “I’ll get those cleaned out fast enough. Who should I call to bring it here? It’s only a few hours away. See?”
Pablo reached for the phone, turning Portia’s hand under his so he could see it better. The smooth, silky skin under his was cool to the touch and so soft he almost lost track of his purpose.
