Page 12 of Stuck with my Mechanic Daddies

Finally, he said, “Sounds like you’ve got some decisions to make.”

I scoffed. “Understatement of the century.”

His gaze flicked toward me again. “So, what's your plan?”

That was the problem. I didn’t have one.

I turned toward the window, watching Medford roll by. “I have no idea.”

Ethan pulled up in front of Page Turners, shifting the truck into park. I was already reaching for the door handle when he cleared his throat.

“There’s something else,” he said.

I stilled, my fingers curling around the strap of my bag.

“Go on. Ruin my day completely.”

Ethan didn’t take the bait. He just exhaled, running a hand over his jaw like he was debating how to say whatever bad news was coming next.

That alone told me it was going to be bad.

I turned toward him fully. “Just say it.”

He met my gaze. “Your Jaguar? It’s gonna be expensive.”

I blinked. “Define expensive.”

He shifted, resting an arm on the steering wheel. “The parts aren’t easy to come by, and the engine’s got more issues than just the starter. You're looking at a couple grand at least, maybe more depending on labor and what else we find.”

The exhaustion hit me all at once, like a weight pressing down on my chest.

A couple grand. On top of everything else.

On top of the bookstore’s debts, the legal mess, and the fact that my career was hanging by a thread.

I pressed my fingers to my temple, willing away the headache building behind my eyes. “So what you're saying is, I’m stranded.”

Ethan’s brows pulled together. “You’ve got options.”

I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah? Enlighten me.”

He shrugged. “You could fix the Jag. You could borrow a car. You could hitch a ride when you need one. Or…” He hesitated, then gave me a measured look. “You could accept that you might be here longer than you planned and start dealing with it.”

Something sharp and defensive curled in my stomach.

“Iamdealing with it,” I snapped.

Ethan didn’t flinch. “Are you?”

I gritted my teeth, gripping the strap of my bag so tightly my knuckles ached. “I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“No, you didn’t,” he agreed. “But it’s yours now.”

I turned away, staring out the windshield, frustration simmering beneath my skin. The worst part was, I knew he was right.

But I was too damn tired to deal with any of it right now.

I shoved open the door and climbed out, slamming it behind me.

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