Page 68 of The Love Playbook

“Mm-hmm. Well, just for the record, I was texting the girls,” I say, taking pity on him. “You know, in case you plan on murdering me in this abandoned shop and burying my body in the dumpster, I needsomebodyto know my whereabouts.”

“Pfft. I’m not that dumb. I’d totally drive you to the marina and dump the pieces of your body in the lake.”

Laughter bursts from my chest as I take a seat on a nearby chair. “You know, when you told me about wanting to reopen your father’s shop, I didn’t realize you were still in possession of it. I guess I just assumed you meant figuratively. That you’d open up something nearby or try to recreate it.”

“Nope. This is it, the real deal,” he says, glancing around him. “We were fortunate enough that it was mostly paid off when he passed.”

He offers me a smile, then sinks down onto the mechanic’s creeper, spreading his long legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles. “When I was young, I was always out here. If I wasn’t in school, you could find me in the shop. My mom used to joke that I was my father’s shadow.” He shrugs. “Taking overone day was inevitable, even before my dad died. As I got older, I always knew this is where I’d end up. Right here, working for my dad. When he died, not much changed. It’s still what I wanted, and even though some might say I was too young to decide my future, my uncle knew how much I wanted this, so he saved it for me?for us. He handled the payments for the remaining five years left on the loan, and the rest is history. It’s mine when I’m ready. One day, I’ll pay him back, but for now, he has my undying gratitude.”

“That’s amazing,” I admit, thinking of how nice it must be to have extended family who care about you enough to sacrifice certain things to ensure your future. To have a support system beyond their own.

“Yeah, I’m pretty lucky,” he says before he lies down on the creeper and rolls out of sight beneath my car.

“How long do repairs like this usually take?” I ask around the sound of clinking metal.

“It depends on the complexity of the job, but your car shouldn’t be too bad. Maybe six hours or so?”

“Six hours,” I mouth. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but the prospect of sitting here with him alone and watching him work for six hours is more than a little nerve-racking.

“Panicking at having to spend the entire day with me, Baker?”

My eyes widen like I was caught red-handed, thinking that very thing.Am I that obvious?

“What?” I scoff. “No.”

An answering chuckle rumbles from beneath my car, and I marvel at the fact he knows me so well.

“So, what’s with the beater car, anyway?” he asks as he rolls back out, giving me a peek of his face as he sits up and grabs several tools from his tool chest.

“Not everyone can have a Mustang Boss 429,” I say in a snarky tone.

“Smart ass,” he says, dryly before he lies back down on the creeper. “Though I am impressed you remembered the exact model.” He flashes me a toothy grin from his position beside my car, and I blush, grumbling something about having a good memory when he slides out of sight again. “I just meant I’m sure your dad could help you get something newer, maybe a little more reliable.”

“My dad wanted to buy me something newer, but I refused,” I offer, surprising myself.

“Because?”

“Because he had already bought me a car when I turned sixteen, but I gave it away. Seemed unfair to take even more from him.”

“You gave it away?” he asks, and I can practically see the disbelief I know is probably on his face based on his tone, even from beneath the carriage of my car.

“It’s not like I gave it to some stranger or sold it or anything. I just traded my mother for it.”

“Okay. What kind of car?”

“A brand-new Nissan Z?”

A clatter punctuates my words, and I almost laugh when Chris slides back out from the car and peers up at me, wide-eyed. “You traded this clunker for a Nissan Z?”

I shrug as memories flood me. Mom had just lost her jobagain, and she was behind on some of her payments, so we sold her SUV, I gave her the Nissan, and bought Rhonda, the hunk of metal Chris is currently staring at me from. “It’s a long story, but I thought it might make her happy.”

Spoiler alert: it didn’t.

When Chris says nothing, I shift, uncomfortable in the silence. “Do you mind if I put some music on?”

“Of course not.” He motions toward the counter. “There’s an old stereo with overhead speakers that run through the shop if you want to see if you can figure it out.”

“Okay.” I stand and head to the counter where I find a stereo. After plugging it in and fiddling with a few knobs, classic rock music blasts through the garage at an ear-shattering decibel.

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