Page 6 of Forever Endeavor

“I may not have much choice in the matter.” Billie sighed. “I already owe you for recommending the tuna, Yvette, any chance you can also suggest a place to stay in town?”

She thought about it. “Hmm. Normally, I’d say the bed and breakfast, but the Johnsons are away this week because their nephew is getting married. There used to be the Janus Motor Inn, but they had a bad fire last year and it’s still under renovation. Why don’t you ask Sonny? His uncle rents fishing cabins down by the lake. They always have vacancies.”

Billie grimaced. “Fishing cabins?”

“It’s that or—” Yvette made a sweeping, Vanna White-style hand gesture over the booths. “We’re open 24 hours, but I’d take a cot in a cabin over this dump any day.”

“I’m hoping it won’t come to that if Sonny can get my car fixed today.”

Yvette glanced at her watch and then looked across the street with concern. “I doubt it, honey. It’s nearly four-thirty and the garage closes at five.”

“Five! He closes at five today? Dammit, why didn’t he tell me?” Billie shoveled in the last of the pie and gulped down her coffee before leaving enough bills on the table to cover the sandwich with a generous tip. “Thanks Yvette, but I’ll wait at the garage so I can give that man a piece of my mind the minute he gets back.”

Sonny

He couldn’t miss her if he tried. She was sitting on the edge of a massive tractor tire, fiery hair piled high on her head, steam coming out of her ears. What was she doing anyway, playing charades? Bending an exaggerated elbow, pointing to her wrist, and glaring daggers through his cracked windshield.Oh,I know that one. Three words. Up…shit’s…creek.

Sonny shifted into park and climbed out. The redhead immediately shot up and paraded towards him. He stepped double time to the office, unlocking the door as she nipped at his heels. “Where were you? You could’ve told me you close at five!”

“Uh, I had to see a guy about a thing, and it took longer than I thought,” he said, not feeling the need to explain or apologize. He grasped the cord and the pulley whined and grunted under the strain of hoisting the heavy overhead door. Thud. A rush of fresh air and late afternoon sunlight flooded the shop floor. “I said I’d look at your car today, and I will.”

“But it’s almost five now. Even if you can figure out what’s wrong, there’s no way you’ll have time to fix it.”

Good point. Those foreign models were mighty temperamental and obviously, so was this one’s owner. Sonny shuffled loose invoices and order forms around on the service counter until he located her keys, scooping them up with a jangle. “There’s another mechanic scheduled to work tomorrow, so I’ll have more time to look at your car.”

“So, I’m really stuck here tonight?”

He shrugged. “Looks that way.”

“Yvette at the coffee shop said your uncle rents cabins. Can I get one of those?”

Surely, he misheard her again. Did she mumble on purpose? “Those are fishing cabins. They’re not for people like you.”

“People like me? What does that mean?”

“It means that for a delicate aristocrat such as yourself, madam, they would most certainly not meet your exquisite standard for luxury accommodation,” Sonny warbled in a posh British accent. She didn’t crack a smile.

“I can handle roughing it. I have gone camping once or twice, you know.” She stomped her foot like a child, and it would’ve been almost adorable if she weren’t such a freaking nutcase.

“Sorry, but you don’t strike me as the outdoorsy type.”

She started digging around in her purse. “How much per night?”

“One forty-five.”

“Bullshit! One forty-fivea night? That better include turn-down service and continental breakfast.”

“It’s not a hotel, it’s a cabin and lakefront to boot. You even get your own dock.”

“Gee, if only I’d brought my yacht,” she sniped. “Don’t suppose you accept pesos?”

“Hell no. American dollars only.”

“Then put it on my tab and I’ll settle up tomorrow after you fix my car.”

“My uncle’s gonna looove that.” He shook his head as the clipboard’s metal teeth bit down on a new purchase order. He licked the tip of the pencil and brought it to the page. “Missus or miss?”

“Make it, uh…mizz, I guess,” she stumbled. “I’m divorced.”

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