Page 2 of Stuck with my Mechanic Daddies

“I’m not most people,” I said.

You could practically hear the curiosity thickening in the air.

Smirking Mechanic, who I was starting to suspect was the ringleader, glanced up. “So, what brings you here?”

I hesitated. It wasn’t exactly a secret, but saying it out loud still felt strange.

“My uncle left me his bookstore. I’m here to sort it out.”

At that, all three men stilled.

The calm one, whose gaze had been assessing but not unkind, nodded slowly. “You're Bennett’s niece.”

I frowned. “You knew him?”

“Knew him?” The younger one let out a sharp laugh. “Everyone knew him. He was?—”

“A character,” the calm one interjected, shooting his brother a look.

I studied them. They weren’t looking at me with pity, exactly, but there was something else there. Something unspoken.

“My uncle and I weren’t close,” I admitted. “I barely knew him.”

Smirking Mechanic wiped his hands on a rag and straightened.

“That's a shame,” he said. “He was a good man.”

I shifted uncomfortably. “So I hear.”

I wasn’t sure what else to say.

My uncle had always been a mystery. Just a name attached to occasional birthday cards and once, a signed copy of some obscure novel I’d never gotten time to read. Now, he was gone, and I was standing in the town he’d called home, trying to figure out what the hell to do next.

“Well,” Smirking Mechanic said, shutting the hood with a sigh, “it’s not a quick fix. Looks like something in the electrical system shorted out. And with a car like this…”

He trailed off, exchanging a glance with the others.

I frowned. “With a car like this, what?”

“Parts might take a while,” the calm one admitted. “And the nearest shop that can handle something foreign is two towns over.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. Of course.

“How long is ‘a while’?”

The younger one smirked. “Couple days. Maybe a week.”

I groaned. “Perfect.”

Smirking Mechanic leaned against the side of my car, looking far too amused. “Lucky for you, Medford isn’t the worst place to be stranded.”

I gave him a flat look. “I'll be the judge of that.”

He let out a low chuckle, exchanging a glance with his brothers.

“Fair enough.” He extended a grease-streaked hand. “Ethan Grady.”

I eyed his hand warily before shaking it. His smirk widened.

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