Page 62 of One Sweet Match Up

“You better.” She blew Donovan a kiss and hurried out the door.

Donovan set a coffee mug down, offering the old man a cup of coffee.

“She your sweetie?” the man asked, a big grin on his face.

“Oh, no. She’s my twin sister.” He held out his hand. “I’m Donovan Foster.”

“Jesse. Jesse Taylor.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Say, are you Debbie and Richard’s son?”

That he was. Was this man a friend? He looked about his parents’ age. Maybe a little older. Donovan nodded. “They’re my parents. Do you know them?”

“Yes. It’s been years.” The old man picked up the cup of coffee. “Feels like another lifetime.”

Donovan wracked his brain for anyone in this town with the last name Taylor but came up short. It was a common name, but he didn’t know anyone with it.

He glanced down at the quart of oil. He knew that this guy’s car needing oil wasn’t a coincidence. The question: what did it mean? This couldn’t possibly have anything to do with Zoe, could it?

He grabbed the quart, ready to find out. “Why don’t I give you a hand? Then lunch is on me.”

“Thank you.”

The old man slid off the stool and accompanied Donovan outside to his car, a beat-up tan station wagon, rust flaking along its side.

Damn, an oil change wasn’t the only thing this car needed.

Donovan breathed out a cold breath, waiting for the man to pop the lid. He’d forgotten to put his coat on. Although, he was grateful for the above-freezing temperatures. After the brutal single digits they’d recently experienced, today was downright balmy.

Still, he didn’t need to hang out here any longer than he had to.

While the man sat in his car with the driver’s side window rolled down, Donovan uncapped the quart and poured it in, a sticky film of grease coating his hand. The car probably need more, but that should be enough to get him to the auto body shop. He shut the lid. “You should be all set, sir. There’s a body shop straight down the street.”

The old man started the engine, and the car roared. “Thank you, son.”

“You’re welcome,” Donovan said, still holding the empty quart. “Did you still want that lunch?”

“Nah, I’ve got places to be. Say, can you tell me where the Sugar Spoon is? It’s been awhile.”

“Sure, it’s a half a mile down the street, and the auto body shop is that way.” He pointed in the opposite direction, really hoping the man went for the oil change first.

“Thank you. I want to see my daughter before it closes.”

“Have a good afternoon.” Donovan turned to go back but stopped.

Wait. Did he say daughter?This guy wasn’t . . .

Donovan spun back around, his curious gaze dropping down to the Texas license plate. Was he Emma’s long-lost dad?

The old man inched past him him, rolling his car window back down. “Hey, tell Mary I said ‘hi’ and thank her for the oil,” he said and rolled up his window.

Donovan’s jaw dropped as he watched him drive away.

What the hell just happened?

Emma’s father or not, how did the old man know that Mary’d left the oil?

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