Page 57 of Driftwood Daffodil

Oh I was. Little Miss Nova wasn’t having a good day. Based on the scowl on her face when she hopped back out of her truck, I’d say she couldn’t get it to start. Good. I hoped her day continued to get worse.

“You can’t tell me you don’t want a taste of that.”

I shook my head, “Not a chance.”

Nothing made me eat my words faster than when Nova climbed up on her front bumper and bent over to inspect the engine. That movement caused the skirt of her dress to ride up just under the bottom of her ass. And the more she moved the more flashes I got. I didn’t think cookie monster panties could be so hot.

Maybe a taste wouldn’t be so bad?

“Damnit,” Atlee muttered while shifting in his seat. “Now I’m gonna be hard when I think of Sesame Street.”

What? “Since when do you think of Sesame Street?”

We hadn’t seen that show since we were kids, and even then it was sparse. Then again who knew what the fuck went through Atlee’s head.

“Well, I sure as hell am going to be thinking about it when I jerk off tonight.”

Asshole.

I turned my attention back to Nova just as her arm swung back with what looked like a wrench fisted in her hand. My first thought was that she needed to tighten a bolt or something, but nope. Apparently she needed to beat the fuck out of her engine. Was this some kind of ongoing theme for Sault Saint Marie Estates?

“What in the hell is she doing?” Atlee asked as she brought the wrench down again and again. “Oh God, make her stop.”

I would if I could. This shit was painful to watch.

“That’s not how you fix a car!” Atlee yelled loud enough to make Nova pause and look around.

Even if I did agree with him, did he have to be so goddamn loud?

The point of stalking was to not be seen or heard. A rule that seemed more painful to maintain when Nova shrugged and continued her assault.

Each ting and clack that rang through the air grated on my nerves. It was incredibly hard to sit there and cringe instead of storming over and taking that thing away from her. Someone should smack her with it. Not because I hated her – which I did – but because what she was doing was blasphemy.

I’d never felt so sorry for a truck in my life. Call a mechanic or ask her crazy neighbor to help. Anything was better than that.

Eventually she stopped and slammed the hood shut. Though I did have to snort when her chest puffed out like she was satisfied. And I wasn’t the only one who found her demeanor funny.

Atlee let out a snicker as she climbed back behind the steering wheel. “There’s no way that…”

The loud roar of an engine turning over cut him off.

We both sat there and stared dumbfounded as the truck pulled out of the trailer park and rolled down the road.

“Did that just fucking happen?” Atlee asked.

Yes, yes it did. But I was much more interested in where Novalee was going.

NOVALEE

Let’s face it, work sucked. No one liked their job, and if they did then was it truly work? The very definition of that word depicted that one wouldn’t find it enjoyable. That was my opinion anyway. And if anyone had a reason to complain about their job, it was me.

There were some serious issues with my place of employment. Like the name for instance. Mae’s Good Eats. There was no Mae involved. The owner was a scrawny man named Victor who had no wife and no family that I knew of, let alone a past girlfriend. In fact I’d be surprised if a girl talked to him for longer than ten seconds. And that included possible relatives.

The second problem was the food. It was some weird mix up of what Victor thought Texan BBQ was and Louisiana specialties like Gumbo and baby back ribs. Or pulled pork po’boys with a side of crawfish. But the biggest problem of all, was me. Anyone who would willingly put me in a customer service role clearly shouldn’t be in charge of shit.

“What would you recommend?”

I peeked over my notepad at the portly man in booth number two. “I recommend you go two blocks down. There’s a great food truck next to the park.”

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