Page 6 of Under One Roof

Until another untimely death forced me back to my hometown, I don’t say.

But she surprises me when she asks, “Did you regret it? Not coming home before?”

I shrug. And then because I can’t seem to shut my mouth, I confess, “I try not to think about my regrets.”

That makes her release a soft laugh, and she may as well wrap her fist around my heart.

“That’s a really good line,” she murmurs, tugging her cell phone out to open up her Notes app, typing something. I try to get a peek at it, though she closes it before I can, and she turns to catch me spying.

“You a poet or something?” I can’t believe I used to be good at this. I used to be able to have a conversation with a woman. Albeit, that was a very long time ago, but I think learning to speak Russian was easier than this.

Although I can’t be too embarrassed by my ineptitude because she smiles at me, faint as it may be, displaying two shallow dimples on either side of her mouth. A playful glint shines in her eyes. “Or something.”

I lean forward into her space. “What’s that mean?”

She squints, and a moment passes when I think she might not tell me, but she gives in with a shy shoulder shrug. “On my better days, I like to think of myself as a songwriter.”

The guitar makes sense, and I nod, interested. More so, captivated.

I have been since I pulled over and saw her face. I always thought love at first sight was bullshit, and this certainly isn’t that. Although I did feel…something in that moment.

And the longer I sit here with her, the more it settles into me.

Not an electrical current or euphoria, but something like familiarity. Which is impossible. We’re strangers to each other, and yet I can’t stop wanting to talk to her, wanting to know her, wipe her tears, and make her smile. Because it feels like we’ve done all this before, like her sitting in the cab of my truck is exactly where she’s supposed to be. Like I’m the one supposed to be tucking her hair behind her ear, so I do, and I’m the one supposed to be taking care of her, so I do.

When the tow comes, I tell her to stay put and get out to direct the driver to take her Jeep to Matthews Mechanic. I wait until he’s on the road then sit back behind the wheel of my truck. That’s when Andi thanks me again, and I shake my head. Making sure she’s safe is the least I can do.

I turn on the radio, and it’s a song I don’t know, so I move to change it.

“No, leave it.” Andi catches my wrist, her cheeks going pink, and she releases me like she burned herself. “Sorry. I mean, please. Please leave it. I love this one.”

It’s the easiest request she could make, and I raise the volume a couple of clicks. While I drive, Andi’s head bobs slightly, her voice barely above a whisper as she sings along to Billie Eilish, and I could not name one of her songs if someone paid me a million dollars, but I might download her album to check it out.

At a red light, I steal a glance at the woman in my passenger seat, noting the few small hoops around her earlobe and those lips she purses. She must not realize what she does to a man with that mouth, because if she knew the depraved fantasies they’ve already stirred in my brain, she’d run far from me. Not to mention, the dewy shine of her skin that calls to be touched. I’m not sure if it’s natural, from the rain, or lotion, but I tighten my fist around my steering wheel so I don’t place my hand on her thigh.

When we arrive at the shop, we don’t have to ring the bell for service, because Dylan Matthews is already at the desk. He’s my son’s baseball coach, and while I wouldn’t exactly say we’re friends, we’re acquainted enough that I bring my truck here when it needs an inspection, and I’ve recruited my siblings to become customers as well. The guy does good work.

Andi introduces herself and explains what happened. I fill in the information about the leaky coolant, and Dylan nods.

“It’s not a difficult job, but I’ll have to order the parts, so it’ll be a day or two before I can get to it.”

Next to me, I feel Andi’s little body tighten with tension at that news, so I try asking, “There’s no way to overnight it?”

He studies me then Andi before flicking his gaze back to me. “I’ll see what I can do, but I make no promises.”

I nod my thanks as Andi knots her fingers together, another problem surfacing. “Would you be able to tell me how much it’ll be? Approximately?”

“A few hundred.”

She sucks in a breath. “A few hundred, like two? Or like eight? Because I might have to split it between credit cards.” Her face flushes red. “Or do you have payment plans?”

Once again, Dylan slants his eyes toward me, and I give an imperceptible shake of my head, hoping he understands what I’m saying. That I’ll take care of it. Just don’t fucking make this worse.

“I can’t be positive until I get under the hood and have the parts in my hand, but I’m sure it’ll be closer to two.”

I blow out a relieved breath and stick my hand out to him. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” I’m grateful he says no more. He keeps it uncomplicated. How I like it.

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