Page 19 of Dove
“Need help?” I asked timidly, bracing myself for his answer.
His crooked smile was small but encouraging as he answered easily, “Sure.”
Hiding my pleased smile in black fur, I followed Josh back to the garage. I couldn’t help my eyes as they roamed over his shoulders, noticing how they shifted as he walked. He wasn’t as tall or broad as his dad—yet—but he was getting there. At thirteen, Josh had to be taller than a lot of the other boys in his class. I couldn’t image them all being as big as he was.
As we entered the garage he asked, “Have you ever changed an oil pan before?”
Mortified he’d turn around and catch me staring, my gaze darted to my dusty shoes, and the cement below them.
“No,” I choked out, my face growing hot with embarrassment. For some reason, my heart wouldn’t stop beating frantically, and I willed it to calm down. God, what was wrong with me today? Was I getting sick?
Josh hardly noticed, nor did he turn around as he made his way over to the jacked-up red truck with its hood open.
The radio played softly on a local station in the background, a catchy country tune I didn’t know and that none of my classmates at my old school would be caught dead listening to. The faint smell of oil and gasoline hung in the air, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Sheltered away from the sun, the garage was a nice respite from the harsh heat, even if I hardly noticed as the burn of embarrassment lingered on my skin. While it was still warm inside, it seemed a few degrees cooler in here, shaded by the roof and allowing a small breeze to enter through the large bay doors opened at the front.
Done with cuddles for now, the kitten jumped out of my arms and made for a small sliver of sun creeping into the garage before sprawling across the warmed cement.
“Did you ever help out your d—” He stopped abruptly and cleared his throat awkwardly. “I mean… have you ever workedon a car or truck before?” I could tell he was purposefully trying not to bring up my dad, likely wanting to avoid the sensitive subject all together. Of course, he wouldn’t assume it was my mom. We both knew my mother wasn’t the do-it-yourself type. The only thing I’d ever seen my mom do in relation to her car was put gas in it.
“The most I’ve done is hand my dad tools and help him wash the cars.” I shrugged, mentioning my dad to prove that I could talk about him without breaking down. Mostly. “I was never really interested.” A fact I now regretted. Even though I’d been younger then, it killed me that I’d passed up time with my dad—and the opportunity to learn something from him. I’d only ever had the attention span long enough to hand him a few tools before he was releasing me to go play with a knowing laugh.
It hurt me to embrace the reality that I’d never get those moments again… What I’d give to go back and spend just a few extra minutes with him, if only to hear him explain the difference between a socket wrench and a torque wrench one more time.
Tears prickled behind my eyes, but I blinked them away. I wouldn’t allow myself to cry in front of Josh like a baby.
“That’s all right,” Josh’s deep voice reassured, soft and sweet. “Everyone’s gotta start somewhere, right? I reallydoneed a tool passer, so that works out great.”
“I can’t guarantee I’ll pass you the right ones,” I warned. Best to lower expectations right away.
He shook his head, his lips tilting up in an amused grin. “Practice makes perfect. How do you thinkIlearned? My dad used to get so frustrated with me when I’d pass him the same tool twice. But he always had so many, and they all looked the damn same! I had to learn the difference.”
Josh’s reassurance of his own lack of knowledge at one time instantly soothed me about my own.
“So, I already got a bit of a head start, so what we gotta do now?—”
His deep voice cracked, but he continued explaining, the only tell of his embarrassment the slight pinking of his cheeks. I kept my widening smile hidden, but it was funny to see him flustered over his changing voice. I made sure to pay extra attention as he went over what he’d already done—and what he was planning on doing next. Then he showed me a few of the tools he’d be using and named them all before making me repeat them back. The proud smile he gave me when I remembered them correctly encouraged me.
Maybe this wouldn’t go so bad after all.
“Dammit.”
His deep swear startled me. My eyes, which had been focused on the hem of his tank top—where it had slowly ridden up with his movements to display a small sliver of his belly—averted swiftly. I clutched at the tool in my hands tighter, worried. He’d been drilling a moment before… I hoped he hadn’t hurt himself.
“Everything all right?”
I only received a grunt in reply to my concern. His lower body moved as he shimmied under the truck, doing something I couldn’t see. All I could hear was the drip of oil and the whisper of fabric. The glimpse of skin grew as his tank top rode up higher with his continued fidgeting.
Frowning, I bent down to make sure he was okay.
A blur of something flew in my direction and I pulled back in alarm, narrowly missing being hit in the face. The quick movement had me losing my balance, and the jolt of hitting the hard cement was softened by my butt as I fell backward.Turning, I spied a balled-up heap of fabric laying on the floor beside me, streaked with a slick dark substance.
Oil.
My cheeks grew hot as I realized was it was.His shirt.
“Oh, crap.” Josh’s voice grew closer as he rolled out on the creeper he’d been lying on under the truck. “Sorry, Dove! I totally wasn’t aiming for you.”
The tight grip I’d had on the tool in my hand loosened as he sat up. His tanned chest was streaked with oil, his flat stomach straining as he pulled himself up to stand. Towering over me, he offered me a hand, and my eyes followed it up to his furrowed brows. The oil must have drenched him, because his dark hair glistened with it, some of it dripping from his hairline to trail down his temple. He reached up with his other hand to absently swipe it away, leaving an oily smear behind.
