by Nina Lane
“Which we’re going to do,” Luke said. “But why did Tyler tell me it was your idea and that you’re the one who should spearhead the whole project?”
“I don’t know.”
Though she did know. Tyler wanted her to take the credit so that she could erase the humiliation of her mistake. So that she could start off on the right foot in her new position.
Even now, even after she’d pushed him away both privately and in public…he wanted to help her. Because he had a heart that was bigger than the world.
“Ask Spencer,” she said. “He’ll confirm that Tyler was the one who came up with the idea. I’d encouraged him to write up a formal presentation to present to the board, but then…”
Her voice trailed off. Shit happened.
She certainly didn’t have to tell Luke that.
“We need to talk about this.” He nodded to the proposal. “I like it. A lot. My father will, too. I’ll ask the new librarian about compiling information, and I want at least one or two historians on board to ensure we’re getting it right. I’ll have my assistant call you to set up a meeting.”
“What about Tyler?”
“He says he’s done with Sugar Rush.” He took the papers back from her, regret tightening his mouth. “I told him he’s always welcome to come back, but it doesn’t sound like he wants to.”
Because of her?
Lord in heaven, she didn’t know how much more of this her heart could stand.
“What’s he doing, then?” she asked.
“He’s planning to take over the garage from his friend Charlie.” Luke started toward the door. “I guess he was ready to retire, so Tyler’s going to run the place now, first doing general maintenance work and building up a clientele for classic car restoration. Seems to be happy about it too, so that’s good to see.”
This news eased a little of Kate’s raw emotions, because there were few things she wanted more than Tyler’s happiness. And the thought of him doing what he loved, putting an old car back together piece by piece, restoring it to its original beauty…nothing could have made her happier.
Well. Maybe there was one thing…
After Luke had gone, she sat back at her desk and looked at the Gold Rush bars. One plain and one nut, exactly like the ones her father had bought for her from Grenville’s every Friday evening.
Love, fear, and hope swarmed inside her like butterflies. Tyler would do anything for her. She should have known—his loyalty to his friends, often to a fault, and his dedication to Charlie and the garage proved his willingness to put others before himself. He’d fumbled and fallen in the process, of course, but his heart had always been in the right place. Funny how all the things she’d once derided about him—his spontaneity, his devil-may-care attitude, his drive for fun—were now qualities she admired the most.
He’d shown her the value of being with someone who strengthened the places where she was lacking, just as she did for him. Her organization and practicality had helped him succeed at a job he’d been convinced he couldn’t do. And he’d shown her that sometimes the path was in a place where you least expected. She just had to find the courage to take his hand and step onto that path with him.
She picked up her cell and hit the call button.
“Yup,” responded a male voice.
“It’s me.” Kate pressed a hand over her pounding heart. “I have a favor to ask you.”
Chapter
TWENTY-SIX
“This area is for the swap meet.” John spread a map out on a table in the office and indicated a section of the field. “People drive in here, register at the gate, and park their show cars in the designated spot. Food trucks and booths here, stage and music tent here.”
“Looks good.” Tyler checked the list of action items. “I got two yeses from car dealerships for vendor booths. So that brings us to…three vendors so far.”
John gave him a wry grin. “That’s three more than we had last week.”
“I’m hitting a bunch of places tomorrow. Auto parts stores, motorcycle shop, a few sporting goods stores. I just signed the lease for the field rental, so we’re on for September 15. How many car entries do we have?”
“Four.” Charlie peered at the registration form on the new computer. “One Henry Waters was first to register with a ’68 California Special.”
Tyler was pleased to think of the Mustang getting a well-deserved exhibit. He hadn’t ruled out the hope that one day the garage—his garage—could focus exclusively on classic car restoration. If they started turning a profit and getting a reputation for restoration work, that hope could become a reality.
The desk phone rang, and Charlie picked it up. “Stone Garage and Restoration Services,” he announced. “Charlie speaking.”
Tyler turned back to his list. They had a ton of work to do in order to make the Fordwell Classic Car Show a success, but for the first time in his life, he was equal to the challenge. Hell. He craved the challenge. Because he could do it.
He’d negotiated a new agreement with Sam Corrigan for the boat payments, which might not come as steadily as they would have had he still been working at the library. But Sam, a self-made multi-millionaire who’d started his own labeling company, had been willing to see both the change in Tyler and his efforts. So had Warren Stone.
“Guy says he found an old Pontiac at a repo sale.” Charlie held the phone away from his ear. “He’s thinking about restoring it, but doesn’t know where to start. Want to talk over a plan with him?”
“Yeah, definitely.”
“He can have it towed here this afternoon.”
“Great.” Tyler checked his watch. “I need to run over to Wild Child for a couple of hours, but I’ll be back by three.”
Charlie conveyed this info to the caller before hanging up. Tyler and John finished going over the updated Fordwell plans, then Tyler headed over to the bakery for a business session with Polly, who was helping him set up the P&L and expenses spreadsheets for the garage.
When he returned to the garage later in the afternoon, he eyed the rusted old Pontiac now sitting in the bay where the California Special had been.
He walked around the car, surveying the body and assessing all that would have to be done. Like his Mustang, this car would need to be rebuilt from the floor pan up. Dismantle the car bolt by bolt, rebuild the engine, reassemble the body.
“’67 Firebird.” Charlie approached from the office. “Never had one here, huh?”
“No kidding.” Tyler ran his hand over the fender, trying not to get too excited at the idea of starting a new project. “Any time frame or budget?”
“Not yet. Told the owner you’d work up a plan.”
“Does he know I’m not a pro?”
Charlie shrugged and nodded toward the office. “Go sell yourself.”
Figuring he had nothing to lose, Tyler returned to the office. He stopped in the doorway. His heart suddenly careened around his chest, as if it had just been freed from a cage.
“Kate?”
She turned from the window. His soul took flight. For a second, he almost couldn’t breathe. If he’d thought two weeks apart would have changed his feelings for her, he couldn’t have been more wrong. Love, wild and riotous, rose inside him with the power of a sea storm.
“Hi, Tyler.” She gave him a tentative smile.
“What…” He couldn’t stop himself from letting his gaze roam hungrily over her body in well-fitted jeans and a blue T-shirt that hugged her in all the right places. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard there was a new car restoration business in town.” She tilted her head toward the door. “So I wanted to find out what you could do with that old junk heap.”
“The Pontiac?” Tyler asked in disbelief. “That’s your car?”
“I bought it, so yes.”
“But…I thought the owner was a man.”
“A man?” Her forehead creased in confusion. “No. Oh, my father called Charlie to make the tra
nsportation arrangements, but he’s not the owner.”
“Your father?” He couldn’t seem to make his brain work. He was too busy struggling not to grab her, haul her against him, and kiss her senseless. He curled his hands into fists to prevent himself from surrendering to the urge.
“He’s visiting from Wabash for the week.” Kate gestured out the window to a tall, bearded man who was consulting with one of the mechanics. “He’d like to meet you, and for the record, he knows you’re not a data analyst. He also knows you’re incredibly smart, loyal, and dedicated, and he was really happy to hear that you’re into restoring cars. Do you think you’d be interested in working on the Firebird?”
“Do you come with it?”
She shot him a mischievous grin. “I come with you. All the time.”
He chuckled and started toward her, then stopped. Hope was bubbling inside him like hot springs, but he still didn’t know if she was here for them.
“Thank you so much for the Gold Rush bars,” she said. “You told me Spencer was recreating the historical recipes, but I had no idea you’d given him the one for Gold Rush bars.”
“I wanted to surprise you,” Tyler said. “You told me you were disappointed that Sugar Rush doesn’t make them anymore. And God knows I never want you to be disappointed.”
Kate’s eyes grew suspiciously bright. “Why did you tell Luke the historical candy idea was mine?”
“Because you’re the best person to run with the idea,” he said. “The only person who can do it right.”
“But I…I wouldn’t want to do it without you.” Kate closed the distance between them, resting her hand on his chest. The warmth of her palm burned through the material of his T-shirt and straight into his blood. “Will you come back to Sugar Rush?”
Tyler shook his head. He desperately wanted to come back to her, though.
“I’d like to visit the library again,” he said. “Maybe even do a little more with the collection, but working at Sugar Rush was never what I wanted. For you, though…you’re all kinds of amazing there.”
She smiled. “I love you, Tyler Stone. You’re bold and fearless, and you’ve shown me that the world can be so much bigger, so much better, than I’ve ever believed.”
His entire soul squeezed tight, like she was hugging it. But he still refrained from touching her.
“What about Norwood?” he asked.
“Turns out I’m completely incompatible with a stick-in-the-mud,” Kate said. “A sexy, rakish mechanic who loves pizza, video games, family history, and whose kisses make my toes curl with delight, is far more my type. My only type.”
Relief flooded him, fast and hard. Before he could respond, Kate stepped away and reached into her bag. She removed a small white box.
“I had a hard time finding this.” She held the box out to him. “But finally I did.”
He tugged the lid off. A nest of white tissue paper lay inside. He opened it up, and his heart gave a crazy leap. He stared at Kate in astonishment.
“Where did you find this?”
“My father has a friend at an old car parts store in Charleston. He asked around for me.”
Tyler took the item out of the box. Etched with the emblem of a galloping horse corralled into a rectangle, the pop-off gas cap was unique to the ’68 California Special Mustang. For three years, he’d been too late to the game when one became available for purchase or auction.
A strange emotion filled his chest—a combination of gratitude, pleasure, regret, and unbearable love. He closed his fingers around the gas cap.
“I sold the car.” He looked at her, a laugh rising to his throat. “I sold the Mustang so I’d have enough money to buy the garage from Charlie.”
Her lips parted with surprise. “Really?”
“Really. I don’t want to use my trust fund money anymore, so I figured that was the only way I could start on my own. Got a good chunk of change for it, too. I’m also moving out to Rainsville because it’s cheaper. See what a bad influence you’ve been on me? I’m acting like an actual adult now.”
“Oh, Tyler.” Her eyes warmed with a mixture of pride and sorrow. “I love what you’ve done and I’m so proud of you, but I know how much that car meant to you.”
“It never meant nearly as much to me as you do.”
Her smile almost brought him to his knees. He wasn’t sure his heart could contain all the wild, happy emotions she was generating, as if she’d reached inside him and turned on a switch.
He held up the gas cap. “This is the best present I’ve ever gotten. I’m keeping it.”
“I’m keeping the Gold Rush bars.” She moved closer to him, her brown eyes filled with wary hope. “And I’d like to keep you too.”
He couldn’t wait any longer. He took hold of her shoulders and tugged her closer, letting his head fill with her sweet, flowery scent. Her body fit so damned perfectly against his, every curve molding to the planes of his chest until it felt as if a lost part of himself had been locked back into place.
“I love you, my Darling,” he said.
Happiness radiated from her like light from the stars. She put her hand on his jaw and rubbed her thumb over his mouth.
“Maybe you could reconsider that move to Rainsville,” she suggested. “I know of a secretly sexy, newly appointed VP who might have a room available at her house.”
“Hmm.” He cupped her face in his hands and drew her closer. “I’ll bring my library card and come check that out.”
“Your presence is long overdue.”
“I’m going to give you a kiss now.” Tyler lowered his head. “If you don’t like it, you can just return it.”
He covered her mouth with his. The rest of the world disappeared, fading into the touch of her lips, the press of her body, the beat of her heart in rhythm with his.
This was it. After being recklessly adrift for years, acting like a jackass, grabbing whatever he could find to escape his fears, it turned out that all he’d had to do was stop and reach out.
And everything he’d ever wanted had fallen right into his arms.
Epilogue
Six months later
Dozens of restored classic cars—Mustangs, Pontiacs, El Caminos, Thunderbirds, Camaros, Corvettes—sat in perfect rows across the field, their polished painted exteriors gleaming in the sun. A banner proclaiming Fordwell Classic Car Show: A Fundraiser for the Veterans’ Association hung at the entrance. Vendor booths and food trucks lined the opposite end of the field, along with a stage where a live band had been performing all morning.
Kate made her way through the crowd, which consisted of both local and visiting guests as well as plenty of volunteers. The scents of burgers, burritos, and fried chicken hung in the air as people wandered around sampling food and enjoying the cars and the music.
She waved at Polly and Luke, who were selling croissant sandwiches and Declairs at the Wild Child booth. Not far from them, Julia Bennett and Spencer Stone staffed the Sugar Rush Historical Confectionary booth—the first preview of Sugar Rush’s new line of historically authentic, small-batch artisan chocolate and candy.
Luke and Warren had insisted that Tyler be paid a substantial licensing fee and royalties for the idea, and Tyler was both putting the money back into his trust fund and using it to upgrade the garage.
Kate stopped at the Smooth Moves truck and ordered a Mango Sunrise and a Blueberry Blast smoothie. She gathered two straws and walked to the display area, where Tyler was making the rounds among the rows of cars.
Dressed in cargo shorts and a Fordwell Classic Car Show T-shirt, walkie-talkie in hand, he looked both comfortable and entirely in his element as he stopped to discuss the vehicles with both guests and owners. People gravitated toward him as if he were a king holding court, reaching out to shake his hand and slap him on the back.
He was perfect for this role, smiling and laughing easily, eager to talk about the cars, thanking people for their support. His buddies—both the vets he’d hired to wo
rk at the garage and his college friends—patrolled the area as volunteers ensuring the program stayed on track.
Kate approached, and Tyler glanced in her direction as if he’d sensed her coming. A smile spread across his face, his gaze skimming her figure in shorts and a car show volunteer T-shirt.
“You need to go back there right now,” he said, indicating the food booths.
Kate stopped. “Why?”
“So I can watch you walk toward me all over again.”
She smiled, extending the Blueberry Blast smoothie. “How about I put on my red camisole tonight and walk across the bedroom toward you instead?”
His eyes darkened, and he leaned over to give her a swift kiss.
“That’ll work,” he murmured roughly.
Kate patted his chest, her heart bursting with pride over everything he’d accomplished in recent months. Business at the garage had been steadily increasing, and he’d had three new classic vehicles come in as restoration projects. Not to mention, the car show was proving to be a huge success, with full-capacity registration and proceeds that would exceed their expectations.
“You did it.” She stroked her hand over his chest. “Congratulations.”
“We did it,” he corrected, capturing her hand and pressing a kiss against her palm.
“Tyler.”
They both looked up at the sound of Warren Stone’s deep voice. Kate had never seen the Sugar Rush president dressed so casually—like everyone else, Warren wore shorts and a T-shirt, but even so he still conveyed the regal force that was such a part of him.
“I was talking to Brian Oldham, from the factory.” Warren stopped beside them, nodding a greeting at Kate. “Says he knows a guy who has an old Model-T, like the kind Stone Confectioners once used as delivery trucks. We should contact him. A restored Model-T with our logo on the door would be a great marketing tool for the Historical Confectionary line. Your aunt Julia has all kinds of ideas about opening a shop downtown, in which case we could park it outside, maybe even offer deliveries.”
