“What a surprise,” Ian said, seeing the same thing I had.
I nodded, barely hearing him. I was too busy checking out the blond mechanic who was working on a teal Dodge Neon – or, to be more accurate, I was too busy checking out his very shapely rear end. Very nice.
“What are you gawking at?”
My eyes snapped forward. “Nothing. Come on, let’s get this over with.”
Ian held the door to the service station open for me, then walked up to the counter and rang the bell once. When no one came, he tapped it repeatedly and called out, “Hello? Can we get some service around here?”
I wanted to sink into the checkered tile.
A bulky teen with curly dark hair and a smattering of freckles around his nose stepped out from the door behind us. “Sorry about that. I was in the can.” He flashed a sheepish grin. He moved behind the counter and placed his hands flat on the counter. “What can I help you with?”
Ian crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Are you servicing the red Golf?”
“No, I’m just the attend—”
Ian cut him off. “Then we have no business with you, but if you’d run along and get the guy who is, we’d appreciate it.”
I elbowed him in the ribs.
The kid’s smile was polite, but brittle. “Of course, sir. He’ll be right out.”
“Tone it down, will you?” I hissed as soon as the kid entered the garage. “We’re not going to get anywhere if you piss everyone off. We still need these people to finish my car.”
Ian waved away my concerns as if they were flies. “Just chill, okay? I know what I’m doing.”
I knew this was a bad idea.
I dropped my head to the raised counter and mimed banging my forehead against it. What I really wanted to do was stomp on Ian’s toe, but it wouldn’t do any good; he practically lived in his steel-toed Docs. It would hurt me more than it ever hurt him.
“All you’re going to get for your efforts is a sore head.”
I raised my head and met the amused bluish-grey eyes of a guy who had taken the kid’s place at the counter. My lips parted as I recognized Mr. Cute-Rear-End from the garage, and he was even more attractive from this angle than from the back. Fair-skinned with high cheekbones, he had disheveled sand-colored hair and a perfectly even smile. He wasn’t particularly tall nor built, something I was usually attracted to, but there was no missing the defined muscles of his arm or the six-pack hidden under his tight, white T-shirt. From the quirk of his lip and the smile in his eyes, I could already tell he had an easy going, yet sarcastic, sense of humor. And I just loved that in a man.
I straightened up. “I’m sorry?”
The guy’s eyes crinkled. “The counter. Not sure what it did to offend you, but its passivity is deceptive.” He knocked on the surface with his knuckles. “Granite will kick your ass every time.”
I giggled. Oh yeah; total smart-ass and total hottie.
“So, what can I do you for?” he asked, getting back to business.
Ian scowled at me before turning to the mechanic. “You’re working on the Golf?”
“I am.” The guy winked at me.
“Well, then, maybe you can explain why a car that was supposed to be ready last week is still waiting on parts?”
“I’ll do my best,” he said, unfazed by Ian’s harsh tone. “But I’ve only been here a few days.”
“Oh, great, that inspires a lot of confidence,” Ian snarled.
The mechanic paused and his fair eyebrows slanted. “Are you the owner of the car?”
I waved my hand. “I am.”
The mechanic eyed Ian for a moment before turning my way. “The guy who was working on your car no longer works here. He ordered the wrong compressor, twice, and that’s not the first mistake he made. I’m taking care of everything, though. I ordered the correct part yesterday, and it’s being shipped Fed-Ex as we speak, guaranteed to be here by two.”
“What is all this going to cost me?” I asked, dreading his answer, but figuring that if Ian saw how much money I was about to be out, he’d be more willing to do the panel.
The mechanic’s hands flew over the keyboard on the computer terminal beside the front desk. “With parts, labor and tax, it looks like $387.50” My heart sank. “But Gallo put a note in here for a discount due to the delay, so your final cost should be $318.25.”
Ian was so doing this panel.
“She’s not being charged extra for the other guy’s fuck up, is she?”
The mechanic blinked twice, but spoke to me. “You’re only being charged for the part, which we had to order from a dealership in Phoenix.”
“So the car will be ready tomorrow, for sure?” Ian asked before I could respond.
“Guaranteed. I’m truly sorry for the delay and--.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It’s not your fault. You can’t be blamed for someone else’s mistake.”
“Well, I appreciate your understanding. I do plan to add a premium oil change at no cost.”
“Oh, that’s very generous of you,” I gushed, unable to believe I was getting swoony over an oil change.
“Yeah, very generous,” Ian said with a not-so-subtle hint of sarcasm.
“It’s the least we can do. Come back tomorrow. I’ll have it ready by ten a.m.”
“Thank you so much…?” I trailed off, hoping to get his name.
“Jayden.”
I thrust my hand over the counter. “I’m Ivy. Ivy Rossini.”
Jayden slipped his hand into mine, where it lingered. “Well, Ivy Rossini, we’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I sure hope so.”
Out the corner of my eye, I saw Ian’s head turning between us. “The car better be ready.” He turned his back on Jayden and edged himself between me and the counter, forcing me to let go of Jayden’s hand. Impatience, annoyance, and an emotion I couldn’t quite define blazed in his green eyes. “Can we go?” He glowered down at me for a second before stepping back and stalking toward the door.
“Sorry about him,” I said to Jayden as I backed away.
“It’s understandable. Your boyfriend just wants to make sure you’re not getting taken advantage of. I’d do the same.”
“Ian? He’s not my boyfriend,” I said in a rush, blushing when I realized how obvious that sounded.
“Good to know.” Jayden winked. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
“Absolutely.” I winced when I backed into a display of tires. The top tire teetered and I spun around to steady it. “Crap.” I turned back with a mortified smile. “Sorry!”
There was no mistaking the laughter in his eyes. “Don’t worry about it, Ivy Rossini.”
“Thanks. Bye!” I waved like an idiot.
He finger-waved back.
I fled the service office and my maniacal smile dropped. I cursed myself for being such a dork. Why-why-why did I have to do at least one spaztastic thing every time I met someone to whom I was attracted?
Knowing as much as I did about relationships, you’d think I’d be a little smoother, but for reasons I couldn’t explain, I always turned into a quivering dork, guaranteed to do something stupid.
“What the hell was that about in there?” Ian demanded when I caught up to him.
I slowed my steps, noting his angry frown. “What was what?”
“I came down here to do you a favor, and you went Pollyanna on me. ‘Oh, it’s not your fault’,” he mocked in a high falsetto. “‘Oh, that’s so generous of you.’” He laughed a girlish laugh, waving his hand. His grin dropped. “Christ, I thought I was going to lose my lunch.”
“But you heard him; it wasn’t his fault.”
“Right. I’m not stupid.” He mounted the bike and held out his helmet. “You were flirting with him – why, I don’t know. You can’t honestly tell me you found that grease monkey attractive.”
“Why not? He was hot and totally nice, even with you acting like a belligerent and insulting ass.”
“Hot? Now
I am going to lose my lunch.” Ian leaned over the bike and pretended to heave.
After putting his helmet on my head, I climbed on behind him and slapped his back. “Grow up.”
He stood erect and shook his head. “You know, you never cease to amaze me with your incredibly bad taste. Of all the losers you’ve liked, he has got to be the worst.”
“I don’t like losers,” I argued, getting annoyed. “And I didn’t say I liked him, I just said he was hot.”
“Same difference.”
I sighed in exasperation. “Why do you care, anyway?”
“I don’t. If you want to drool all over a loser, that’s your prerogative.”
“Yes, it is,” I shot back.
“Regardless, next time you want me to do you a favor, do me a favor and ask someone else.”
I wanted to point out that I hadn’t asked for his help, but why bother? He was in one of his moods, and the best thing to do when he was like this was to just leave him alone and give him time to get over himself.
I used to get hurt when he shut down on me, but I didn’t let his mood swings bother me anymore. Besides, I had more pleasant things to worry about. Like what I was going to wear for tomorrow’s visit to the garage.
CHAPTER FOUR
The next evening, I closed the front door of my mom’s small, two-bedroom house behind me and inhaled deeply the scents of my childhood; lavender and vanilla, with the faintest hint of garlic. Four years after Nonni Rossini had passed, the scent of her cooking lingered on no matter what my mom did to cover it.
“Mom,” I called out, “I’m home!”
My mom, Angela, emerged from her bedroom, attempting to fasten the clasp of a chunky turquoise necklace around her neck.
“Good, I was hoping you’d get here early.” Her hazel eyes took in the overstuffed duffel bag I’d dragged in behind me, and her mouth curved on one side. “Ah, let me guess.” She cleared her throat dramatically and adopted the tone she assumed that all twenty-somethings used. “Mom, can I, like, do some laundry while I’m here?”
I did some tone-adopting of my own. “Why, of course you can, my poor, starving college student of a daughter, since I know those evil people at the apartment complex make you pay a whole two-fifty a load. The capitalistic pigs! I say we break out the placards and initiate a full-fledge protest.”
“My daughter, the smart ass.”
“I learned from the best.” I pecked my mom’s cheek. “You look really nice.”
Mom wore an airy, cobalt-blue skirt, with a white V-neck sweater that wrapped around her slender waist, revealing just enough flat tummy to display the beaded hoop protruding from her belly button. A slender chain threaded through the hoop rode low on her slender hips. A pair of funky, metallic-blue strappy sandals were on her feet and a blue silk flower rested over the top of her left ear.
Back in high school, I had been mortified by the way my mom dressed, since it was so much younger and hipper than my classmates’ mothers. Only in the last few years had I come to realize it was because she was so much younger than all of the other mothers. She’d gotten pregnant with me when she was only sixteen, and had just celebrated her thirty-eighth birthday in August.
“New outfit?” I asked.
“This old thing?” Mom lowered her head to examine the clasp of her necklace.
I smirked. She was an even worse liar than I was.
“Dammit. Could you…?” Mom waved by its ends. “I still have perfume oil on my hands.”
Stepping behind her, I smoothed her short, layered brown hair to the side, and worked on the clasp. It took a few tries before it caught.
“Thanks, baby girl.” She adjusted the necklace so that it dipped into her cleavage.
I trailed her through the dining room to the kitchen. The antique maple table was already set with Mom’s special tribal dish set and a tea rose centerpiece. Upon noticing the number of places settings, I drew up short. “Who’s the fourth place setting for?”
“Oh, his son has just moved into town and will be joining us.”
“Oh, he has a son? And what’s his name, again?” Actually, I had yet to hear it a first time. My mother had been keeping the identity of her boyfriend strangely secret, refusing to tell me the slightest detail, with the exception of saying “He makes my toes curl.” She claimed she didn’t want to jinx the relationship, but I suspected something more was behind her secrecy. The last time she’d gotten this twitchy about a boyfriend, it was because she knew I wouldn’t approve.
Mom’s eyes widened and she glanced at her watch. “Oh, hell, is it six forty-five, already? I need to get my dinner finished.”
I arched an eyebrow as Mom beat a hasty retreat for the kitchen. Leaning against the door jamb, I crossed my legs at the ankles and studied her as she fussed at the center island.
Unconventional was the term most often associated with my mom. The words scattered and strange rated up there, too. I preferred eccentric.
Mom was a study in contrasts. She considered herself an environmentalist, yet she drove a Dodge pick-up that guzzled gas like a jet plane and leaked a quart of oil a month. She preached pacifism, yet she had been arrested on no less than six occasions for acts of violence and disturbing the peace. She had to work as an independent doula because no hospital would hire her. She considered herself a feminist, having lectured me my entire life on being independent and never compromising myself for a man, yet every time she got involved with someone new, she took to the kitchen and started cooking up a storm.
This wasn’t the first dinner I’d attended with one of Mom’s new boyfriends. In fact, I had been present at so many that I was able to decode the status of the relationship by checking out what was on the menu.
Speaking of which…
Tiptoeing to the stove, I pulled down the oven door to find Mom’s famous four-cheese lasagna warming inside. “Oh, you really like him.” I grinned when she shot me a dry look. Next, I removed the lid of the large kettle boiling on the top burner and peered inside – ah, Nonni’s Cioppino recipe. “And it’s getting serious.”
“Ivy,” my mom chided, “stop sniffing around my kitchen and give me a hand. They’re going to be here any minute.”
“And what could be behind door number three?” I sang, stepping to the fridge to seek out the most incriminating piece of evidence. My eyes widened when I found a flourless chocolate cake (a sign Mom and “the boyfriend” had already been intimate) and tiramisu (a sign that she was working on her seduction routine) sitting on the top shelf. I blinked several times.
My eyes shot to my mother’s face. She was suddenly very preoccupied with rolling up slices of prosciutto crudo for the meat and cheese antipasto platter. I couldn’t believe it; she was trying to pull a fast-one on me!
I tapped my fingertips together, trying to puzzle this one out. “Oh… Oh! I get it: The sex is so mind-blowing that you can’t wait for more!”
Mom spun around. “Ivy Marie!”
“What?”
“Must you discuss my sex life so casually?”
“Why shouldn’t I? You’re the one who always taught me to be open about it.”
“Oh, you think you’re so wise.” Mom’s eyes narrowed. “Would you believe me if I told you that Nathan and I haven’t even had sex yet?”
“No,” I scoffed. And then… “Aha, Nathan!” I cried out, centering on the accidental admission. “Nathan who? Do I know him?”
“Uhh, I’m not sure,” Mom murmured vaguely. “Possibly.”
“Let’s see…” I tapped my cheekbone as I searched my mind. “Well, there’s Nathan Collier, provost of the college, but he’s married and in his sixties.”
I couldn’t help raising my eyebrows in question.
Mom’s eyes narrowed even more. “Give me some credit.”
That statement, coming from a woman whose last boyfriend had graduated from Ironwood High when I was a sophomore, was downright laughable. I waved my hands and turned my gaze to the ceiling. �
�Okay, I didn’t think so. Hmm…”
Tap-tap-tap. I didn’t know any other Nathans. “Well, I think I’ve hit a dead end.”
Relief shone on my mother’s face and I wondered at the implications of that. It tended to back up my suspicion that I wasn’t going to approve of this Nathan. I knew her game. She was banking on me having enough social graces not to go ape-shit in front of company, no matter how much I disapproved. It was her way of avoiding confrontation.
Mom turned back to her platter. “If you’re not going to help, maybe you should start some laundry.”
“Good idea.” I returned to the living room and dragged my duffle bag to the rear of the house. I started a load of whites and was crossing back to the kitchen when the doorbell chimed.
“I’ll get it!” Tugging my frontier-style top into place, I opened the door and found Police Chief Breckenridge standing on the front porch.
I sighed and sagged against the doorway. Not again. “What’d she do now, Chief?”
“Come again?” the lean man asked, his gray eyes blinking in confusion.
“Can’t you arrest her later? We’re about to sit down for dinner.”
“Ah…um…” He cleared his throat and lifted his hands, showing me the bottle of wine he held in one hand and the bouquet of yellow tulips in the other.
“Oh,” I gasped. “Oh!”
Chief Breckenridge? Nathaniel Breckenridge? No way! No freaking way!
I pasted a smile on my face. “Could you just… give me one second?” I slammed the door before he could answer and shrieked, “Mom!”
My mother came rushing from the kitchen, eyes wide with alarm. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Chief Breckenridge?” I demanded in disbelief. “You’re dating Chief Breckenridge?”
Mom held a hand over her heart and exhaled in relief. “You had me scared half to death.” She gave me her mom-glare, then sighed and wrapped her arms around herself. “I was afraid you’d react like this.”
“What happened to him being a tight-ass hick pig with all the compassion and personality of a Pet Rock?”
“Oh, well.” Mom tossed her hand with an amused chuckle.
“I’m glad you’re finding this so funny,” I said, scrubbing my disbelieving eyes with both hands. I then flung my arms apart. “How many times has this man thrown you into jail, again?”
The Truths about Dating and Mating Page 6
