Page 47 of Daddy's Friend’s Mate

He closed the distance between us and crushed his hand against the small of my back, pressing me flush to his torso while he bowed toward me to claim my lips. Once again, I was lost to the tide of his passion, a delightful tsunami that seemed to cleanse me through and through.

But just as quickly as it started, it ended. He tickled my chin with a chortle and brushed past me, leaving me breathless on the porch.

That jerk. He was teasing me.

Like he meant it.

It took a few seconds for me to get myself back to reality, and then I trailed into the cottage to locate the things we had scattered around the place. Eric got dressed, unfortunately, and I tried not to laser through his clothes to find the hunky muscles beneath. I felt like I was going back to my dad’s house with hickeys on my neck after spending Spring Break in Key West.

Even if I did have marks, I could probably lie about it. More tall tales, huh? That wasn’t great. None of this was great. I hadn’t said much to Kiara since we got here, and I certainly didn’t feel like texting her after I slept with her father. Too much shame and guilt sat in my gut for me to handle talking to her. I ignored her calls, too, all three of them.

I just felt so bad.

When would I stop feeling bad?

You need to tell the truth.

I passed off the voice in my head as just another intrusive thought and collected my bags from upstairs. As soon as everything was packed in the truck, I checked the cottage again to ensure we hadn’t left anything behind. In the den, I raised my hands and closed my eyes, waving them in rhythmic circles.

“Whatever magic remains leaves with me,” I whispered. “Let it be so.”

Upon opening my eyes, the room seemed as it had when we first arrived: clear of energy and free of our impressions. I returned to the truck, where Eric was frowning at the exposed engine.

He scratched his head. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think we’re stranded.”

“What’s going on?”

He pointed to the driver’s side. “Won’t start. But it’s not making any clicking sounds.”

“Is there any sound? Any power?” I scrubbed my palms together and leaned against the hood.

Eric gave me a funny grin. “You know about cars?”

“Sure, Papa taught me plenty when I was a teenager. He said I needed a hobby.”

“Other than being gorgeous?”

I rolled my eyes. “Other than magic, silly.”

“Alright, so what can you tell me?”

He was fully focused on me now, leaning against his right hand perched on the hood's edge. No funny looks. No jokes. He was being serious.

He wanted my opinion.

I gulped as I rubbed the area just under my throat, smoothing away some of my self-conscious feelings about being a woman who could diagnose cars better than a trained mechanic who had been doing it for forty years. While facing the vehicle, I ran my hands along the front, feeling the cool metal slide under my fingers. I touched the engine, the battery, and various pipes.

The containers for the radiator coolant and wiper fluid were both fine. The alternator was also fine, leaving me sweeping my fingers over the spark plugs. Bingo. That was our ticket back to Beaufort, new spark plugs.

I nodded as I stepped back. Eric hummed with interest as he stared at the spark plugs, knowing my exact diagnosis without me saying as much. He smiled as he plucked his phone from his pocket and dialed a number. “Good thing I know a guy.”

***

Harry’s Garage was situated exactly where I thought it would be in the middle of a plot of land right next to a junkyard and a tattoo shop. The place was worn by weather, yet standing tall and proud with two mechanics working between several cars. One was a walking twig with frail skin the color of sun-bleached peaches and a lengthy white beard, while the other was portly, tanned like brown Italian leather, and housing a head of black curls that spilled out from under his baseball cap.

Despite their physical difference, their eyes were the same, a starry white with swirls of blue. The way they bounced between vehicles made it look like a coordinated dance. They hardly noticed us walking up from the tow truck with the rhythm and blues station blasting through the expansive garage. It wasn’t until Eric whistled loudly that they saw us.

The music ended abruptly, with both men sprinting at inhumane speeds to stand in front of me. Goddess, they moved so fast that they left streaks of their body in the air behind them like surreal images moving through a dream. I blinked, and the impressions were gone in a flash, much like my expectation that this would be a human garage.

---