The Secret One

by Cardello, Ruth

  You were?

  I wasn’t used to not knowing what to say to a woman, but I didn’t want to “botch” this, as my father had said. I started with a topic I hoped would put her at ease—something we had in common. I’m considering replacing my car’s engine. Do you think it’ll lower the value of my car?

  Yours? No.

  I found one that might work. I’ve been reading about how to do it, and it sounds complicated, but I think I can figure it out, although I might need help.

  Are you asking for a mechanic referral?

  No, I plan to do it myself—in my garage. I’m inviting you to work on it with me.

  When she didn’t immediately answer, I wondered if I’d played my cards wrong. Maybe she wasn’t as into cars as she’d seemed. I should have led with an invitation to dinner.

  You’re asking me to drive down to your house and work on your car with you? In your garage?

  Put like that, it sounded less like a date and more like a creepy, time-consuming chore. You’re right. Bad idea. Let’s start over. I’d love to take you out to dinner. Are you free this weekend?

  Nothing.

  Shit.

  CHAPTER TEN

  MCKENNA

  Alone on the porch of the home I’d built in Decker Park, I sat against the railing and tried to sort through my reaction to Christof’s invitations. I was reasonably certain he didn’t know who I was. It wasn’t like I was famous, at least not outside the NASCAR world, so the likelihood that he was angling to take advantage of my expertise was slim.

  He hadn’t pushed for my number or even to see me again.

  Over the past two days I’d thought about our brief exchange a telling number of times. At first I’d dismissed him as too different from me, too conservative, harmless. He should have been easy to forget.

  He wasn’t.

  Twice Ty had caught me standing in the garage, simply smiling, and ribbed me about it. I could brush off the teasing, but last night before he’d left, Ty had said there’d only been one woman who’d ever put a stupid grin on his face, and he still regretted not understanding how rare that connection was.

  I’d asked what her name was.

  After a long pause, in a thick voice he’d said, “Zoe. I looked for her a few years ago and learned she’d died of breast cancer. And you know what my first thought was? I wish we’d been together so I could have helped her through that. How fucked up is that?”

  If we were the hugging type, I would have hugged him then. We weren’t, though, so I’d nodded and agreed that life didn’t make sense.

  I didn’t know what it was about Christof that called to me. It could have been that, rather than with the swagger the men in my world often exhibited, his confidence had shone in the ease of his smile, the openness of his expression. He didn’t go on and on trying to impress me. I liked that. He was one of those rare people who were comfortable in their own skin, and it made me wonder how he’d gotten to that place.

  My father had been that kind of humble. Off the racetrack, he didn’t tell people what he did. He raced because he loved the sport. He won because he took racing seriously and surrounded himself with people who were in it for the same reasons. I admired a man who could be good at something without feeling the need to tell everyone how great he was.

  It was more than that, though.

  On some level I couldn’t begin to understand, I felt like I’d just met a man I could be myself with, a man who might one day love me but, more importantly, had the capacity to like me.

  How the hell had I gotten all that out of exchanging phone numbers over his broken-down car?

  He might not have been at all the way he seemed.

  For all I knew, he lured all his victims to his garage.

  A safer choice would have been to agree to meet him for dinner.

  Help him change out an engine? I didn’t have time for something like that.

  He probably jacked his car up with cinder blocks.

  Amateur mechanics could get seriously hurt trying to change out an engine.

  I was still debating what to answer when another text came through from him. There’ll be cake.

  What? I laughed out loud. Was that his go-to move? I had to admit it was unique. I do like cake.

  Then say yes.

  No to dinner. I’d rather see your garage, but—

  But it’s a long drive.

  Yes.

  And you don’t know me well enough to want to be alone at my house with power tools.

  I laughed again. It’s like you’re reading my mind.

  And who wants to eat cake while working on a car?

  You’re making all my points for me.

  I have the perfect solution, but you’ll have to trust me with your address. Before you think it, I’m not suggesting bringing my car to you. I want to send you something to eat while we FaceTime.

  Okay, I’ll play along. Chocolate or vanilla? Would he know my preference?

  Funny thing about me—I’m not really a mind reader. The only way I can deliver what you want is if you’re brave enough to tell me what you like.

  Brave? My breath caught in my throat. He wasn’t just talking about cake. I’d never been with anyone so straightforward. No games? No crazy dance around each other as we tried to figure out what the other person was thinking?

  Could a relationship be that simple?

  I like ice cream cake. Especially whatever that chocolate crunchy layer is.

  Perfect. All I need now is an address and a time.

  I texted him my address before I had time to change my mind, then told him I was free on Wednesday afternoon. Or evening if that worked better.

  Let’s do four o’clock so there is still good lighting. I’ll call you. We can start by looking at my setup, come up with a list of anything I should purchase for this project, and then I’ll show you the engine I’m considering buying.

  Sounds good. Talk to you then.

  Looking forward to it.

  Me too.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHRISTOF

  All conversation ended when I walked back into the dining room. I retook my seat before putting my family out of their misery. “We have a phone date on Wednesday.”

  “A phone date?” Sebastian asked as if I were speaking a foreign language.

  I picked up my cutlery and sliced into my chicken. “We’re going to work on my car together, over the phone. It’ll give us time to get to know each other before going out on an in-person date.”

  “That sounds sweet,” Heather interjected.

  “Or a waste of time. I would just drive up to see her,” Mauricio said with a shake of his head.

  Wren hugged her husband’s arm. “Let your brother do this his way. If she said yes, she must have liked the idea.”

  Although I appreciated the support of my sisters-in-law, it wasn’t necessary. My brothers and I often disagreed, but that was another way we remained close. We never had to wonder what the others were thinking. And thankfully, there was no expectation of following the advice that was so freely given.

  There was someone I did need to thank, though. “Hey, Ava, the cake idea was brilliant. It was touch and go there for a minute, but I told her there’d be cake, and she said yes.”

  “I knew it!” Ava exclaimed.

  The amusement-filled lull that followed was broken by my mother saying, “I also have news. I was invited to a high tea fundraising event on Martha’s Vineyard by the queen of Vandorra. I didn’t know there was such a thing, but apparently our family made the list. Would anyone like to come with me?”

  Not surprising. Money was money. Tea with royalty, though? Hard pass for me and, if my brothers’ expressions were anything to go by, for them as well.

  “I love tea parties,” Ava said. “Mommy, can we go? Please?”

  Heather asked, “Are children welcome?”

  My mother smiled at Ava. “I’ll tell them we can only attend if you can come too.”

&nb
sp; “You really mean it?” Ava asked with wonder.

  My mother reached around my father and took her granddaughter’s hand in hers. “We Romanos stick together.”

  “Then consider me and Ava in,” Heather said with a huge smile. Sebastian truly had chosen well.

  “I’d love to go as well,” Wren added. “I’ve never been to a high tea. Sounds fun.”

  “I would,” I said, “but I have a thing that day.”

  “Yes, me too,” Sebastian added.

  Mauricio chimed in, “The kind of thing we all wish we could get out of but sadly cannot.”

  Only Gian remained silent.

  With a chuckle my father said, “I’d love to go as well, Camilla, but I can’t leave my sons on their own to handle this thing.”

  “Really?” My mother made a tsk sound. “You’re lucky I adore all of you. Gian, would you like to come?”

  I tossed a napkin his way. “He can’t; I need his help that day.”

  The smile Gian shot me was full of gratitude.

  “Well, then it’s just the ladies.” My mother beamed.

  Conversation flowed easily after that. Later, we helped clean up, then moved to sit outside to watch Ava play fetch on the lawn with my parents’ dog, Sara. My father joined me on the steps of the house.

  “I like that you’re taking it slowly with this one, Christof. Friendship is a good foundation for any relationship.”

  “This might go nowhere, Dad.”

  “I have a feeling about this one.”

  I shot him a side glance. “Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?”

  “You already have . . . in every way that matters.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Whether you see it or not, you’ve already brought this one home. She matters to us because she matters to you.”

  I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees as my father’s words sank in. McKenna’s name wasn’t the first my family had brought up in question at the table, but I always shut down those conversations as soon as they began. Sometimes with a joke, other times simply by moving on to another topic. I’d included my family in this relationship before it even was one. The realization spooked me a little.

  My father continued, “Of all of my sons, you’re most like me. Do you know how I met your mother?”

  “You both lived in the same town in Italy.”

  “Yes, and we were friends. I asked her out a hundred times, and she turned me down. I wasn’t the best-looking man in town, the richest, or even the smartest, but I loved her.”

  I straightened and gave my father a long look. “Is this you breaking it to me that I’m ugly as sin?”

  He chuckled. “Not at all. I’m agreeing that friendship is a good place to start. Life can throw you some unexpected zingers, knock both of you to your knees, but if you are also friends, you help each other back up and go on—together.”

  I wasn’t sure why he was saying this now, but I nodded because I didn’t know what he wanted me to say.

  He wasn’t done yet. “People have this idea that love has to be perfect to work. It doesn’t. It has to be strong enough to survive the imperfections.”

  “I’ll remember that.” I stood. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Your brothers mean well, but trust your instincts.”

  “I will, Dad.”

  “And don’t take too much advice from Ava. I’m pretty sure she still eats her boogers.”

  I coughed on a laugh. “Duly noted. Thanks for the pep talk, Dad, but I’ve got this.”

  After a moment, he added, “It doesn’t really matter if she’s the same woman you met before, but I hope she is.”

  “Me too.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  MCKENNA

  It had unexpectedly taken me a long time to decide what to wear to my phone date with Christof. I considered wearing my coveralls, but they all had the Decker Park logo on them, and I wasn’t ready to divulge that much yet. I’d fought back an urge to wear a dress, which, once I realized why, was even more unsettling. My heart was racing at the idea of seeing him again, and I wanted him to be just as affected. In the end I settled on jeans, a plain T-shirt, hair down in loose curls, and just the right amount of makeup to appear I wasn’t trying.

  I paced my house while waiting for his call, all the while telling myself that I was okay with however it turned out. If he called and we got along—great. If he forgot to call—that was fine too. I didn’t know him. There was a good chance that by the end of the call, we’d both have discovered that there really wasn’t anything between us.

  And that was okay.

  I strode into my kitchen. It was bright, open, perfect for a video call. When my phone buzzed, I took a deep breath before answering and holding it up to my face. “Hi.”

  His smile was just as open and warm as I remembered. “This still a good time?”

  I swallowed hard. “Sure. I was just—” God, I’d never been good at lying. I couldn’t think of another thing I might have been doing besides waiting for his call.

  “You’re going to think this is crazy, but I’m actually nervous.”

  “You are?” Nervous wasn’t exactly how I’d describe the way my body warmed and hummed as I looked into his eyes.

  “My garage has always been my sanctuary. It’s my happy place. I’ve never shared it with anyone before.”

  I laughed at what I thought was a joke, but when I saw real concern in his eyes, I sobered. “Then I’m honored to be invited in.”

  “Did you get the cake?”

  I opened the fridge and took out the piece that I had cut to defrost. “Right here.”

  “Okay, then here goes.” He opened a door, put on a light, and flipped the image on the phone so I could see the room. I expected to see a dangerous disaster of a space, but my mouth rounded as I took in how clean and organized it was. A painted gray floor, an impressive car lift, chrome shelving. It was a garage I would have easily chosen for myself if my business didn’t require a hangar-size building.

  His equipment was top of the line. A person could run an actual car-repair shop from the setup he had. I squinted at something in the corner of the room. “What is that?”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Next to the cabinet on the left. It looks like . . . a robotic arm?” It was impressive in size as well, the kind you’d find on a car assembly line.

  He flipped the camera view back and grinned at me. “A gift from my brother Mauricio’s friends. They’re all technology geeks. They send me all kinds of gadgets that don’t work on older cars.”

  “I’m sorry, back to the robotic arm. What do you use it for?”

  “Surprisingly less than you’d think. It’s programmable, but all I’ve used it for is to get me a beer, and I’m not a big drinker.”

  Enthralled, I sat down at my counter, propped my phone against a vase, and dug my fork into the ice cream cake. His garage was a complete surprise, in some ways more advanced than my own. “I’m impressed. Show me everything.”

  His smile widened, and he wiggled his eyebrows. “Easy there, tiger. Let’s leave some mystery for our second phone date.”

  I smiled. “Definitely.” Then took a bite of my cake. Delicious. I savored it on my tongue just like I wanted to savor getting to know Christof. Talking with him felt that good.

  A second phone date. Yes, I could see that happening.

  Curiosity got the best of me. “I have to ask. How long have you been working on cars?”

  “Since college.” He began to walk around his garage again, continuing the visual tour while talking. “I went to school in Providence. Ever been there?”

  I felt like I was reaching for a dream I wanted to hold on to, but only bits and pieces remained. “Once, when I was twenty.”

  He changed the camera view again so we were facing each other. “I took college seriously, more than my other siblings. I knew the sacrifices my oldest brother made to pay my tuition. I was still in college when his first wife died,
and I didn’t know how to handle it. My family was always where I found my strength. When they started falling apart, I did as well. Then one night I met this woman at a bar . . .”

  I got goose bumps, and for a moment I was transported back in time. “I remember you.”

  “Let me start by apologizing for anything stupid I might have said that night. I was pretty drunk.”

  The sophisticated man I’d met on the side of the road bore little resemblance to the boy I’d met in a bar seven years earlier. “You weren’t stupid; you were sad. And then sick. Your father picked you up from the bar. Tell me you’re no longer friends with the people you were with that night.”

  “They fell to the wayside after college.”

  “Good.” I had to know. “Did you recognize me yesterday?”

  He made a pained face. “No. I don’t remember much about that night in the bar.”

  “But you remember me?”

  “Yes and no.” He looked so uncomfortable with the question I almost felt bad about asking it. “My father remembered you first. Apparently I told him about you.”

  Interesting. I didn’t know if I should be insulted that he’d forgotten me or flattered that he’d spoken about me enough that his father remembered me.

  “Your name was Chris,” I said.

  “It was a phase. I was born in Italy, and I thought Americanizing my name would help me blend in better.”

  “Is blending in important to you?”

  “Not anymore. I wish I could go back and tell my twenty-year-old self that so much that I thought was important doesn’t really matter.”

  “I completely understand that.” Something occurred to me. “You could have lied about not remembering me. I wouldn’t have known.”

  “I would have.”

  I was drawn again to his quiet confidence. Boasting was the tactic most guys I met used to lure me in. Christof was the real deal. The elusive nice guy. I’d heard they existed but hadn’t yet met one who wasn’t already taken. “You’re not married, are you?”

  “Would I be looking to date you if I were?”

  “Maybe, so the question stands.”

  “Wow, okay, fair enough. I’m single. If you require more proof than that . . . I guess I could give you my mother’s number. She definitely wouldn’t lie for me.”