Page 3 of Stuck with my Mechanic Daddies

The calm one stepped forward next.

“Owen.”

His handshake was firmer, steadier, and came with a look that felt just a little too perceptive.

“And I’m Mason,” the younger one said, his grin downright smug. “The best-looking one, obviously.”

I snorted. “Debatable. Aurora.”

Ethan laughed while Owen shook his head in exasperation. Mason just looked pleased with himself.

“So, Aurora,” Ethan said, leaning back against my car again like he had all the time in the world, “what's the plan?”

I exhaled.

“The plan was to sort out my uncle’s affairs and get back to my life.” I gestured to my very dead car. “Clearly, that's not happening anytime soon.”

Owen nodded. “The Medford Inn’s just down the street. Nancy Hayes runs it. She'll get you sorted.”

“Great,” I muttered.

I could already picture it: doilies, floral wallpaper, and a woman who probably knew more about my uncle than I did.

“Need a ride?” Ethan offered.

I hesitated again. Accepting their help once was bad enough. Twice? That felt like some kind of slippery slope.

Before I could decide, Mason grinned. “You could always walk. It’s only, what, a mile?”

I scowled. “Fine. Ride it is.”

Ethan pushed off the car with a satisfied look. “Welcome to Medford, Aurora.”

The bookstore was worse than I had expected.

I stood on the sidewalk where the Grady brothers left me, staring up at the faded sign that readPage Turnersin peeling gold letters. The whole building looked tired, like it had been waiting too long for someone to care about it.

I didn’t want to be that someone.

The key was warm in my palm, even though the February air had a sharp bite to it. I twirled it between my fingers, wondering whether I made a mistake telling them to drop me off here instead of the inn.

I should have left this mess for tomorrow but I knew myself.

If I put it off now, I’d keep putting it off. And the sooner I figured out what to do with this place, the sooner I could go back to my life.

With a sigh, I shoved the key into the lock and pushed open the door.

The scent of dust and old paper rolled over me like a wave.

The air inside was heavy, like time had been on pause, waiting for someone to press play again. Shafts of afternoon light cut through the dirty windows, casting long shadows over the cluttered space.

Bookshelves leaned at odd angles, some packed so tightly with books that the wood bowed under the weight, others nearly empty. Stacks of paperbacks sat on the floor in precarious piles, and the old cash register on the counter was covered in a fine layer of dust.

It looked exactly like the kind of place people romanticized. The kind of indie bookstore where a person could get lost for hours.

I didn’t have that luxury.

I took a slow step forward, my boots scuffing against the hardwood.

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