by Gigi Blume
As Al continued to talk, and boy could that guy talk, I realized why Georgia and I tuned him out earlier. His jargon went right over her head and I was too distracted by her pink cheeks and spunky mannerisms. She may not have gotten everything he said, but she perched her eyebrows high and nodded as if to say, “Make it so.” Jean Luc Picard style.
That’s when we left for the diner.
Georgia was cute as a button but she was a spitfire when she let herself get all riled up. Something stirred in me that wasn’t all that unpleasant. I could tell by the way her fists clenched while Al rattled on—there was a tempest brewing in that pint-sized figure of hers and one way or another, she’d find a way to land the blame on me.
I swallowed that down with a hard lump in my throat. No matter how pretty, that girl was spoilt. Poor little rich girl accustomed to getting her way. I’d been there, done that, thank you very much. And got my heart stomped on.
Besides—Georgia had a huge rock on her finger. Some lucky son of a monkey would miss her tonight.
“And even if I can get the thing to start, it’s still a rental and has to go back to...” he glanced at the license plate frame, reading, “Cheap and Cheerful Car Rental. Sorry. Those are the rules.”
Georgia threw me a pointed look, like I was supposed to do something manly. To somehow convince this guy to fix our rental car. I cleared my throat and straightened to make myself appear taller.
“So what you’re saying here is—under the right circumstances, the car is fixable,” I said with my best Robert De Niro stare.
“In theory, yeah.”
“And with a little incentive, you might be convinced to, ya know, help us out?” I winked for good measure. I was talking big. It felt kinda cool. I didn’t have money to bribe the guy or anything. Pesky details.
Al crossed his arms and studied me and Georgia. She might have been batting her eyes or giving him the pout. A trick right out of Reeses’ playbook.
Al rolled his tongue around in his cheek—the wheels turning in that head of his. He held all the cards. Mechanics always do. The tension was so high I felt like a contestant on a game show.
After some thought, he finally said, “I’ll help you out.”
Georgia let out a heavy sigh. She’d been holding her breath that whole time. “Thank you so so so so much.”
Al held up a finger.
“I’ll let you two stay the night here in my shop and in the morning I’ll drive you to the bus station.”
“Wait. What?” Georgia cried. “The bus station? Why?”
“Cause I imagine you’ll need another car,” he countered. “And there ain’t no Cheap and Cheerful Car Rental or any car rental in this town. You’ll have to take the bus to the next county.”
Georgia bristled, giving me the side eye like I hadn’t tried hard enough to convince this guy to break the rules.
“Can’t we go right now?” she blurted.
Al did that thing with his jaw—kind of a half-smirk tradesmen do when particularly annoyed.
“Listen. My youngest son has a Christmas pageant in ten minutes. He’s the Star of Bethlehem. He’s real excited. If I’m not there on time, my wife will serve my head with the figgy pudding.” He looked at me just then and gave me a knowing nod. “You’ll understand in about five years, man.”
He shrugged on his winter coat. “There’s water and snacks in the fridge and help yourself to a jar of my wife’s gooseberry jam. It’s real good. See ya in the morning”
Georgia touched his arm to stop him before he could leave. “Sir. Please.” Sir?
“Where are we supposed to sleep?”
Al inclined his head towards the office. “There’s a couch in the waiting area. I’ll keep the heat on for ya’ll.”
Georgia and I both stared at the door as the mechanic disappeared through it, clicking it shut. The clank echoed from the outer door as he bolted the lock. Georgia turned her death stare at me again. The same one she’d used when the car sank in the lake.
“I hate you.”
“Is this a new development? Or...” I grinned at her. Yeah, she was mad, but there was a playfulness to it. Plus, I loved that incandescent glow in her cheeks when she got all worked up.
She’s engaged, man. Hands off.
“Ya know,” I said in the most chipper way I could. “We’re lucky that guy came by with his tow truck when he did. We could still be out there in that roadside parking lot freezing our butts off. I’d say it’s a Christmas miracle.”
“A Christmas miracle? We’re spending the night in a greasy auto shop instead of a warm bed. How is this a Christmas miracle?” She waved her hand around at all the tools and equipment.
“Um...we’ll have a screwdriver if we need one.”
She rolled her eyes and went off to explore the back of the shop, the offices, and the bathroom. When she came back, the dent between her brows was decidedly more pronounced. “Have you seen that bathroom? The toilet seat is cracked. And the one couch in the office has some questionable stains.” She crossed her arms. “I’m not sleeping here.”
“Okay, okay. We’ll find a motel. But we need to be back here on time to catch a ride to the bus station.” I began a search on my phone. Hotels in... ”What town is this?”
“We don’t need to get a ride with Franz. Just order an Uber.” Things were so easy for this woman in her charmed life. Well I had news for her.
“I don’t think there’s Uber in this tiny town. And his name isn’t Franz.”
I was able to pull up Maps on my phone. According to the GPS, the closest Motel was thirty miles away. Probably where the bus would take us the next morning. I searched for a bus schedule. It was non-existent. Plus it was dark and getting biting cold outside. No way was I going out there. I packed for California weather. And I had a feeling everything closed early in these parts.
Her features hardened. “Surely ‘Not Franz ’ could have directed us to the nearest hotel.” She used finger quotes. “Or maybe there’s an Air B&B close by.”
“It’s Al, and I’m pretty sure this auto shop is the closest we’re going to get to an Air B&B.” I handed her my phone. “Take a look.”
She snatched it from me and started tapping away. Her little tongue peeked out the corner of her mouth when she was concentrating on something. I’d noticed that earlier when she was examining the menu at the diner.
Heaven help me. This was going to be a long night.
CHAPTER SEVEN - WYATT
I decided to do some exploring of my own. There really was a huge crack on the toilet seat—but guys don’t generally mind those things. The stain on the couch was a dark red. It looked like a homicide scene although it was probably only spilled punch and ketchup or something. Al did have small children after all. There was a photo in a picture frame on his desk. A simply dressed slender woman stared back at me with two boys on either side of her. One was about seven. The other couldn’t have been more than five. The little one must have been the son in the Christmas pageant. Both boys had mischievous expressions. But the woman had an easy smile. The sort of look on her face that showed she was in complete control of those two rug rats. And in her arms was a baby bundled in a pink blanket. Something pinged inside me. Al had everything right there in that photo. He was a blessed man.
When I returned to the shop I found Georgia in the driver’s seat of a vintage Mustang. It was in pristine condition—a robin egg blue with white trim. It was gorgeous and was even more perfect with a beautiful woman behind the wheel. Except Georgia’s eyes were puffy like she’d been crying and her adorable little nose was blemished with red splotches. When she noticed me approach her, she sucked in a hearty breath and put on a brave face. It was just a glimpse but I knew just then. She was a person who knew how to wear a mask. Underneath all that entitled Daddy’s Girl bologna was a mystery I intended to solve. Perhaps I had it in me to be an investigative reporter after all.
“That’s a nice ride, isn’t it?” I said, sweeping my
gaze over the Mustang.
She wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel. “Sure is.”
“You ever drive a car like this?”
A shadow crossed her features. “No. I can’t drive a stick.”
“Oh. Maybe I can teach you.”
Her brows shot up. “Right now?”
“No.” I laughed. “It’s a thousand degrees below zero out there. And I’m not in the mood to go to jail for grand theft auto.”
“They might have better bathrooms in jail,” she joked.
I laughed, peeking my head inside. Reeses was sitting comfortably on her lap, his fuzzy ears perking up at the sound of my voice. He didn’t move, though. Usually he was at my feet all the time. But he seemed to like Georgia. She stroked her fingers into the soft fur under his collar. He loved to get scratches there.
“Pop the trunk,” I suggested. There was a Native American blanket draped along the backseat and I hoped there were more of those in the trunk. Al left the heater on in the shop, but it was nowhere near cozy. Georgia took a minute to find the lever but eventually found it. When I lifted the lid it was like Christmas came early.
“I found the mother load,” I exclaimed. There was a neat pile of folded Native American blankets in the trunk as well as several pairs of moccasins and various leather goods. All hand made. “Whoever owns this car probably sells this stuff at pow wows. Oh wait. I found his price list. Dang, that’s dirt cheap.”
I scooped up a few blankets and two pairs of moccasins tossing Georgia the smaller pair as I slid into the passenger side of the car. Georgia ran her hand along the fur lining of the shoe. Reeses sniffed it suspiciously.
“I can’t just take someone’s stuff,” she said.
“It’s just for the night. Unless you’d rather freeze.” I kicked off my converse and sank my chilled feet inside the soft, pillowy moccasin. “Ah. This is nice. It’s like a hug for my feet.” I unfolded one of the blankets and covered my legs. It was almost like camping.
Georgia stared at the moccasins and bit her bottom lip. After a full minute she passed Reeses to me and took off her boots, lifting her legs on the bench seat between us. She wiggled her toes with apparent relief, pointing and flexing them. When she extended her toes, they brushed momentarily on my leg and I smiled inwardly at her red and white striped socks with dancing elves stitched in. The heavy blanket over my lap provided a cushioned barrier, but the gentle pressure of her small feet shot awareness through me just the same.
When she finally slipped on the moccasins, she sighed.
I nodded knowingly. “Right?”
“Yeah,” she said, her face transformed. “They are like feet hugs, aren’t they? I’m buying these.”
Feet hugs. She looked huggable all over. I shifted my vision elsewhere. Anywhere but on Georgia. I was comfortable and cozy under the blanket, but if I had to sleep on the murder couch to get my mind off the pretty girl a couple feet away, I’d do whatever it took.
Something shiny caught my eye. The keys were in the ignition. They were really trusting at this place.
“Should we put on some tunes?” I reached over and switched on the auxiliary power before getting a reply. A song came on I didn’t recognize Georgia winced. I remembered her shutting off the car radio earlier. What did she have against good ‘ol honky-tonk?
“What? Don’t you like music?”
“I like music if it’s done well,” she answered.
“Okay. Give me an example.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Pachelbel, Mozart, Hayden...Chopin.”
“Really? I was not expecting that.” I turned the knob on the radio to change the channel. Most of it was static, some commercials, and more static again. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and find an after-hours classical station,” I said.
A smile cracked on her pretty lips and she leaned closer to me to give Reeses a nice scratch. That strawberry shampoo or lotion she used hit my senses. I breathed it in ever so covertly. Didn’t want her to think I was a weirdo or anything.
“There! Go back,” she chirped. “That’s Elvis.”
I turned the knob back. Sure enough, it was Blue Christmas.
“How did you catch that?”
She smiled smugly. “I have a good ear.”
“A far cry from Bach or Tchiakovski,” I mused.
“It’s Elvis and Christmas. Classical music.”
We listened for a bit, swaying where we sat. The lyrics reminded me of how alone I’d be this Christmas. The first away from my folks. Then I watched her face. She had a sweetheart back in New York or was he in LA? And she was stuck with me in Nowhere’s Ville, Nebraska with no phone to call him—thanks to me.
“Do you miss him?”
“Hmmm?” She was too into the music. “Elvis?”
“Uh, no.” I shook my head. So silly, this one. “Your boyfriend or...fiancée or whatever.”
She stopped swaying and stared at me blankly. “Fiancée? I never said I had a fiancée.”
I gestured to her left hand. “It a little obvious with a year’s salary in diamonds on your ring finger.”
She glanced at the ring then back at me and laughed. She had a sweet laugh. It made my heart swell—which I would have liked if I wasn’t so utterly confused. Did she think I was funny? I wasn’t trying to be funny. I could be so much funnier. At least, she might think I was if she was into dad humor. I was full of corny jokes.
“It’s fake,” she said on a sigh. “My brother makes me wear it to keep the men away.”
Fake. The ring was fake?
“Y-y-you...I mean...uh.” Yes. I could speak English. “It doesn’t look fake. It looks very real.” She was single. The ring was fake. I was in real trouble.
“Well, my brother gave it to me so it must be fake. He’s so overbearing. It’s annoying”
“Billy? He seemed nice over the phone.”
“Ha! You don’t know him. He thinks jerky guys will see a ring on my finger and leave me alone. But only the nice guys really notice it. Like you.”
“I...errr...you think I’m a nice guy?” Because that was what I decided to focus on. Dork.
“I think so.” Her eyes widened. “You’re not a psycho killer or anything are you? I’m an idiot.”
“No! You’re not an idiot.”
“I’m naive.”
“I don’t know about that.” If she was, it was a good look on her. It was refreshing. “There’s nothing wrong with trusting people. It’s a good quality.”
“Really?”
“Definitely.” I ticked a brow. “And I’m not a psycho killer. I’ve had so many opportunities already, Clarice.”
She laughed. “Quid pro quo, doctor.”
Then a commercial came on and we listened quietly as though it was the most interesting snippet of entertainment in the world. It was a child’s voice inviting the surrounding counties to a living nativity at some church. He played the drummer boy apparently. That made Georgia smile. Then she turned her gaze back to me.
“So what about you?”
“Me?”
She giggled. “Yeah. Any girlfriend or...fiancée?
Ha. Hardly.
“Uh, no thank you.”
“No thank you? Why?”
“No reason. I’m just super busy, that’s all.”
She snorted. “I don’t buy it. Cute guy like you. There’s a story in there somewhere.”
“Perhaps.” I grinned. It was a goofy grin. The kind that made me grateful to have had braces. Otherwise it would have been a creepy grin.
Her ring was fake. I was still stuck on that. And she thought I was cute.
The commercials ended and the music resumed with Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree. Georgia bounced in her seat.
“This is such a bop.” She turned up the volume. Loud. “Come on.”
She opened her door.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Just come on. Let’s dance.” She leaped out of the car and danced her way to an
open space of the garage. Reeses jumped out after her and hopped on his hind legs to join in, wagging his tail. He was a pretty awesome dog. He could do almost any trick. And he loved to dance.
Georgia rocked out, so carefree and sparkling. She was radiant—the way she smiled at Reeses, mirroring his movements. The way she sang along and flung her hair around. There was something magnetic about her, how the air crackled around her. And I was just shards of metal unable to resist the pull.
I threw off the blanket from my lap and sprang into action. Muscle memory took over as I wrapped my hand around Georgia’s small fingers, pulling her in to me. It was a simple Lindy Hop sequence. One, two, rock step, one, two, rock step. She fell right into rhythm with me. Her delicate hand landed on my shoulder, and I grazed my free hand around her waist.
Her eyes shimmered with surprise—delighted I knew how to swing dance. Most guys didn’t bother learning to dance at all. But my mom and dad were big in the swing dancing scene, taking me and my sister along with them to competitions—and now it was ingrained in me. I twirled Georgia a few times, leading her out then bringing her back with a gentle tug. She followed well. A lot of ladies would try to lead or were too stiff. But Georgia seemed to respond to the light pressure of my hands, spinning out, rocking back, and then again into my arms. Her entire face was a smile—heck—her whole body was. I couldn’t remember the last time I had so much fun.
The saxophone wailed the upbeat musical interlude and we were really flying by now. That’s when I decided to go for an aerial. She seemed into it. I gave her the signal—an eyebrow wag along with a pronounced nod. Any swing dancer would recognize the nod. The eyebrow thing was just something I added myself. She raised her brows in response. She was ready.
I decided on the Cherry Drop Dip—one of my favorites. I did the pivot thing to start us off; the classic move to signal my partner into position. All she had to do was lock her arm and keep her core solid. My right leg swung around, guiding her behind me. She was right there, so responsive. So I went for it. I pumped my hip, lifting her off the floor. She was up with a little squeal. So cute. Adrenaline shot through me and maybe I got a little too enthusiastic. Or maybe she wasn’t expecting me to flip her around. I wasn’t really sure what happened in those three seconds when I bumped Georgia off my right hip and swung her around over my left leg. Her legs flailed up and bounced off my back. Her arms wiggled under my hold. And my leg wobbled—the leg supporting Georgia’s weight. She teetered, poised to fall, and although the floor wasn’t greasy in that area of the auto shop, it couldn’t have been all that clean. So I abandoned all form and grabbed her. I wasn’t about that flashy dance move at this point. My only thought was not to let her fall—again. At least this time we weren’t on icy ground.
