Page 108 of Ice Darling
I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to say, “Well, here’s the thing, Rebel. Cordelia’s the one who worked on my car last, so I think she’d be better to explain what’s going on.”
“Oh.Oh.” Rebel’s tone turns syrupy sweet. “Of course. I’ll call her right away, and let her know a car broke down in front of the hardware store.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“She’ll be there soon.”
I hang up on Rebel and grip the steering wheel, breathing hard.
There.
I dropped the dang handkerchief.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Cordelia
I ammorethan happy to receive the text from Rebel. I gleefully interrupt the realtor who’s droning on and on about vaulted ceilings and private lake access. Then I inform everyone about the car that broke down.
Since it’s an emergency, neither Brennon nor Mills can convince me to stick around.
Mills is the first to recognize that I won’t be convinced, and he opens the car door for me.
Brennon gets in too, an annoyed frown on his face. “Why do you have to work at this hour?”
“Someone needs help. We’re the only functioning mechanic shop in town.”
“Aren’t there two other mechanics that work for you?”
“I workfor them. I’m the rookie. Jobs like this are my responsibility.”
“It’s after work hours.” He scowls. “I can report them to?—”
“No one’s reporting anyone,” I snap. False accusations are exactly how my bosses lost their garage building in the first place. “I worked longer hours than this when I was in the office.”
“Don’t you miss that?” Brennon asks, looking at me like I’m a different species. “Don’t you miss making decisions that impact thousands of lives? Don’t you miss having the power to try new experiments, make new connections? Invest in projects worth millions?”
Sure, there was some excitement to the life I used to live, but it also came with chronic stress, hip and back pain from a sedentary life, anxiety medication, constant headaches, and feeling like the rug was going to be pulled from under me at any minute.
I’d never go back.
“Office work doesn’t compare to what I do now.”
Mills tilts his head slightly, and I can tell that he’s listening too.
Brennon laughs. “How does repairing a rusty, old car compare to being the owner of the Davenport portfolios?”
“Simple. I’m happy fixing cars.”
He scrunches his nose.
“Areyouhappy, Brennon?”
The smile slides off his square face. “I mean…yeah. Once I get this promotion I’ve been gunning for, I’ll be happy.”
It’s a standard textbook answer for an MBA overachiever. But I found out, after losing Gwen, that there’s no magic number, no rare client, no billion-dollar acquisition, that will ever capture happiness.
“I’m glad you enjoy what you do. And so do I. I’m the happiest when I’ve got a scanner hooked up to an engine. I’m the happiest when I’m solving a problem that no previous mechanic could fix…”
