Sam couldn’t hold on to her secret any longer. “Brad thought I was a boy,” she wailed. And then the waterworks came.
“I’m sorry, Sam.” He draped an arm around her shoulders. “Boys can be stupid.”
“He called me dude. He asked me if I’d ever played football. He asked me—” Sam couldn’t catch her breath; her hood slipped off, revealing her too-stiff, slicked back hair “—if I had a girlfriend!”
This was sounding less like an initial misimpression and more like something that had gone on all day. “How long did this last?” She wasn’t shy. Why hadn’t she stood up for herself?
“Until lunch.” Sam snuffled. “Until Miss Bernard corrected him. He...he...he argued with her.” The tears returned.
“About you being a boy?” Joe didn’t know whether to hunt down the kid’s family and have a few words about good manners or to accept the mantle of blame. He should force Sam to wear dresses to school. He should learn how to braid hair.
“I need...I need new clothes.”
“You have plenty of pretty things in your closet.” And yet she’d chosen to wear that hoodie to school every day this week.
“I can’t wait for new clothes until September, Dad.” The panic was back in her voice. “I can’t.” She sprinted to the garage.
Joe’s cell phone began the opening notes of “Jailhouse Rock.” He answered, releasing all the sharp frustration he’d been feeling for weeks. “You are so lucky you’re in jail right now. Sam is a wreck. No one will give me business because of what you did in Harmony Valley before. And the FBI is going to arrest me if you don’t tell them what you did with those cars.” Joe couldn’t halt the words. He was on a short track and had the pedal to the metal. “We’re paying for your mistakes and guess what? We aren’t going to be able to pay much longer.” He wished he could take back the words. They let slip too much weakness. “So don’t waste your time calling anymore unless you’re ready to help. And by help, I mean tell the truth.”
The line went dead.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BRITTANY OPENED THE door to the Messina Family Garage a few minutes before five on Friday night.
Having received Mayor Larry’s permission to use the land, she’d spent the day holding on to the idea of her own outdoor art exhibition with equal parts joy and fear. Joy because she didn’t have to hope that someone other than Reggie would see what she’d created. Fear because she hadn’t created anything good in nearly a year. What if she couldn’t come up with something the town would be proud of? They all wanted mermaids!
And alternating with the joy and fear had been worry for Joe. Will and the mayor hadn’t told him what they had in mind. How was Joe handling the uncertainty? Would he be happy when he heard her news?
Would Reggie?
Brit didn’t know.
She’d finished her last client early, because her client’s hair had only grown back an inch after chemotherapy and was too short to handle a pin curl. She’d left her truck at the shop and taken the river path, needing time to clear her head. She’d ended up near the highway bridge, careful not to look at the bend in the river that had almost been her watery grave. And while she was careful to not look down, she looked up and saw the field dotted with abandoned cars and anchored by the Messina Family Garage. It was then she realized she’d been heading here the whole time.
She’d expected the garage to be run-down. After all, apart from the winery, there had been no new construction in town. She hadn’t expected run-down to the extent of falling down. Warped dark wood paneling and cracked particleboard counters painted black. Orange plastic chairs that made airport seats look comfortable. The blue elephant was the cheeriest thing in the waiting room.
Joe sat behind the customer service desk. His gaze was as cool as a losing blackjack dealer’s.
“I like what you’ve done with the place.” Brit retrieved a bottle of blue nail polish from her bag. She’d been carrying it around for days with the intent of coming here. She shook it, and then brushed some color over the chip in the elephant’s ear. “And when I say I like what you’ve done, I mostly mean this guy.” She capped the polish and tucked it away in her bag. “FYI. Once you’ve received a housewarming gift, you can’t move for at least five years or it’s bad luck.”
He looked ill and he hadn’t even said hello, much less what can I do for you.
Somewhere behind him a cricket chirped.
“I’ve just proven why I’d never make it as a stand-up comedienne,” she said instead of turning tail and running. “I’m actually here to schedule an oil change.” That sounded better than admitting she’d been worried about him and let her feet take her here. “I didn’t get a flyer the other day so I couldn’t call.”
“Careful,” Joe said, his voice so rough she almost felt it scrape along her skin. “I may take you up on your offer.”
“You think I’m joking? That this is a pity purchase?” Would that she’d thought that far ahead of her motormouth. “I haven’t changed my oil in over a year.”
The worrisome crease appeared between his dark brows.
“I swear I’m not joking. I lived in San Francisco and paid to store my dad’s truck in a garage. I just got it out last week when I moved.”
The crease didn’t go away. “Why do I get the feeling you know how to change your own oil?”
“I can.” Thanks to Dad and her ugly ducklingness. “But I’m too busy. How about Monday? I can work on the Volkswagen while you work on my pickup.”
The round clock on the wall ticked.
The feeling that this had been a mistake tocked.
“Let me check my schedule.” He flipped a page in a weekly appointment book and ran his finger down the blank entries. “You’re in luck. We have an opening at eight fifteen. Shall I pencil you in, Miss...”
Joe was playing with her. His eyes had warmed to the shade of a summer blue sky.
Finally.
Brit’s smile bloomed. “Miss Lambridge.”
“See you Monday, Miss Lambridge.” He wrote her name in his book.
She should leave—Grandpa Phil would be expecting her to cook dinner. She stayed right where she was. She was enjoying those warm blue eyes too much. And then her stomach growled. “Would you...would you and Sam like to have dinner with me and my grandfather? My treat.” She’d had a very good week at the shop. She’d tell him about the art exhibition over dinner. She was certain he’d respond better than Reggie. “My refrigerator has nothing much left in it. And I’m tired of cereal and frozen burritos.”
His gaze cooled. He lifted it toward the ceiling. “Thanks for the offer, but tonight isn’t a good night.”
She took a step back over the friendship boundary. And then another, mumbling, “Some other time.”
She should have swallowed the impulse to share with him. She’d go home and tell Grandpa the mayor approved of her idea. That would be enough.
Her feet carried her quickly to the bridge, and swiftly across it.
“Miss Lambridge!” It was Joe. “Brittany. Wait.”
Brit turned, one step away from the path leading to the river.
Joe’s blue shirt with his name stitched over the pocket, navy pants and dark brown boots reminded her of Dad. Her father had a strong work ethic, a love of metal and a friar’s bald spot. Dad had been satisfied with a home and a family that was less than perfect because he’d loved his wife and his daughters and he’d been a loyal man.
Brit wanted a man like that. A man who didn’t pay her empty compliments to be nice. A man who didn’t care that she wasn’t a fragile flower. A man who could see past the ugly duckling to the beautiful woman she sometimes felt she was.
A man like Joe.
She gripped the bridge railing, watching him approach, her heart pounding against her ster
num as if trying to reach for him.
A man like Joe.
No. This was so not happening to her. She wasn’t falling for him.
She bent her gaze to the river, hoping he wouldn’t see the longing in her eyes. Hoping she could erase it before he saw the yearning for love there.
She’d averted her eyes, but she’d forgotten to seal her lips. “I’m sorry.” She seemed to be apologizing a lot lately. “My news this morning from the mayor was good and I wanted to share it with someone who wasn’t my sister or a client. And then I got here and remembered the truck had been sounding a little parched, but also that several of my clients were saying how they couldn’t use your services until someone they knew had. And then my stomach growled and I didn’t want to cook because this is a really big day for me and so I asked you to dinner when I shouldn’t have and...” Her gaze floundered and flopped around until it met his. “Now I’ve made you feel uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”
He stared at her as if she’d just told him she’d heard elephants trumpeting in her muffler. “Why are you so...”
“Annoying?”
He shook his head.
This was it. The end of their not-quite so-called friendship. It’d make it easier to bury her awareness of him if he told her right here, right now that she could change her own oil.
“The reason I can’t go to dinner with you tonight...”
Brit gripped the railing tighter and tried to smile like an acquaintance would, someone who hadn’t just realized that Joe could be The One and was receiving the all I can ever be to you is a friend speech.
“...is because there’s a new boy in Sam’s school.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in. She let go of the railing. “What?”
“This new boy...he thought Sam was a boy, too.”
“Oh, poor Sam.”
“She was shocked into silence.” He shook his head. “I thought my daughter didn’t have a mute button.”
“Mortification will do that to a child.”
“And that’s why we can’t go to dinner. Sam’s not in the mood to go anywhere in public.”
“I understand.” She tried not to grin at the rejection that wasn’t really a rejection. If she grinned, Joe would think she was reading too much into things.
“We’ll take a rain check. And...I’ll even let you pay.” Oh, those words cost him. Joe had a reluctant set to his mouth. “Because I know it’ll make you feel better.”
“I look forward to torturing your male ego when I pay the bill.”
She was rewarded with a smile that lit up his face. “I came out here to bring you this.” He took her hand in his larger one and pressed a slip of paper against her palm, holding it there with his other hand. He closed his eyes and gave an almost imperceptible head shake. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. My life feels like I’m standing on a ledge during an earthquake while juggling eggs.” He opened his eyes and stared down at her.
The wanting slammed into Brit again. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and tell him everything would be all right. But who was she to make promises? She could ruin the Volkswagen and destroy her hopes of being a legitimate artist. Her future hinged on one thing—creating something as good or better than Keira—while his was balanced in an egg basket.
Besides, this was Joe. He might have calmed to a rumbly spring storm instead of a frigid blizzard, but he wasn’t looking for her sympathy.
“Don’t be afraid,” Brit said softly and with a straight face. “I’m hard-boiled.”
He wanted, too. She could see it in those wonderful, expressive eyes. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to hold her close. He wanted to...
Her heart pounded and she waited for his laugh, his embrace, his kiss.
None of it came.
“You’re a good egg, Brittany Lambridge.” He let go of her hand and stepped back. “I’ll see you around.”
Brit watched him walk across the bridge, across the car-strewn field and into one of the open service bays at the garage. She watched him work the chains to close the big door. She watched him shut himself away, and once again she felt like the rejected wallflower at the sixth-grade Promotion Dance. The girl whose own mother couldn’t see her as beautiful. Why would she imagine Joe would see her any differently?
And then she remembered the slip of paper beneath her curled fingers.
It was his phone number.
* * *
DRAWN LIKE A donkey to the promise of a carrot, Joe knocked on the mayor’s door at seven fifteen Saturday morning.
Tendrils of morning fog still clung to the road and the gables of Mayor Larry’s rambling ranch home. It made him think of Brittany’s hand lingering in his last night. Joe had no right to bring her into his life when it was such a mess. Maybe he shouldn’t have given his phone number to her.
The mayor was well-off and could afford to play God with Joe’s life. He’d made a fortune during the early days of internet commerce selling tie-dyed apparel. His home had the most waterfront in town and was one of the few houses with a pool.
But Joe had been taken in before by wealth and favors and “I’ll scratch yours.” He wasn’t going to be so gullible this time around.
Mayor Larry opened the front door. He had on running tights and a red-and-yellow tie-dyed tank top that hit him midthigh. “Perfect. You brought the tow truck.”
On its last few gallons of gas. Joe hoped this wasn’t a waste of time.
There was a Volkswagen van in the driveway. It was in cherry condition. Pristine. Not a spot of rust anywhere. Brittany wouldn’t give it a second look.
“So? What’s wrong with the VW?” Joe gestured to the van.
“Nothing.” The old man chuckled. “It runs like it just came off the assembly line. That’s not what you’re fixing.”
There was relief in knowing he was being asked to fix something. It countered the stress that the mayor didn’t want to tell him something.
Mayor Larry led Joe to the side yard and a view of the lower Harmony Valley River. He stopped by a used pink party bus parked next to a long RV. “It’s this.” He patted the pink fender.
“Why do you need a party bus?” It wasn’t as if there was a lot of prom business out here.
“Opportunity, dear boy. Opportunity.” He placed a bony hand on Joe’s shoulder and turned him squarely toward the bus. “I want to offer a shuttle service from downtown, to the winery’s tasting room, to the view atop Parish Hill. Tourists won’t have to worry about drinking and driving. Why, the trip to Parish Hill is long enough to be sobering.”
Joe said nothing about the ten switchbacks on the route or the likelihood of car sickness after a glass or two of wine.
“But given the popularity of Phil’s and a few new businesses on Main Street, I’m also considering a dial-a-ride service. I just need the bus to run.” He eyed Joe speculatively. “And a driver.”
Something plopped into the river. It might have been Joe’s hopes sinking.
“I can help you get it running,” Joe allowed, seeing where this was going.
The mayor’s broad politician smile appeared and his fingers might have dug a little harder into Joe’s shoulder. “And be my driver for a few weeks? I’ll pay you.”
“I’m trying to start a business myself.” One the mayor was supposed to help. Joe shrugged off his hand. “I can’t be on call.”
“Don’t be so quick to decide. You need friends in order to get more customers.” The mayor was slick. His smile never faltered. “I assure you, this is the answer to both our problems. My lumbago means I can’t drive.” He touched his lower back. “And your family’s reputation means you need a reintroduction to the townspeople. What better way to do that than by driving them around?”
“To Phil’s?”
“To everywhere.”
There was one flaw with the mayor’s plan. “What happens when people don’t get in the bus with me?” He remembered the woman in overalls at Phil’s house hurrying away from him.
“Will and I will make sure that doesn’t happen.” He patted Joe’s shoulder again. “We want your business to succeed. Showing citizens how different you are from the Messinas of the past is the answer.”
It might not have been the answer, but it was the only option before Joe. He sighed.
“Atta boy.” The mayor’s pat became a hearty backslap. “How quickly can you fix it?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“I DON’T LIKE sorting through my life. Feels like I died and no one told me.” Phil sat in a chair in the middle of the garage, surrounded by boxes Brit wanted him to go through. “Why not just put these things in the attic?”
“You don’t have an attic. You have a crawl space.” Brit opened a box filled with dog bowls and toys. “When did you have a dog?”
“Nearly twenty years ago. We’re not getting rid of that. Sparky meant a lot to me.” He pointed to the opening in the ceiling above him. “Crawl space.”
Brit was beginning to agree that she should stuff everything in the crawl space because he couldn’t let go of anything.
“Leona seems to think you and Reggie are fighting.” Phil sounded chipper at the news, most likely because Leona was talking to him. “You should make up. Arguments with family shouldn’t sit and fester. What are you bickering about?”
This was why Brit wasn’t talking to Reggie. She couldn’t tell him.
Brit opened the next box, which was filled with unopened packages of socks. “Was there a sale?”
“There was. And I can always use some new ones. Give me a pack before you put them upstairs.” He clutched the plastic bag she gave him in a shaky hand. “This ought to help mend fences then.”
“Socks?”
Phil nodded toward the driveway.
Reggie was approaching, dark hair down and swinging with each step. She wore jeans and a black button-down. She almost looked in uniform, ready to clean toilets, except for her shoes. Her shoes were marvelous—four-inch heels with crisscrossing suede straps and a tiny silver charm at the ankle. The swan had arrived.
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