Page 34 of That Moment
“Dolly,” I warn.
“Don’t ‘Dolly’ me,” she quips, her tone turning serious. “You think you’re protecting her by staying away, but from what I’ve seen and what I know about her, she doesn’t need protection;she needs someone real. Someone who won’t bullshit her or tiptoe around her because of her last name.”
I shake my head, staring at the floor. “That’s not me.”
“You sure about that?”
“I’m positive.”
She lets the silence hang for a beat, then leans in a little. “So you’re telling me if she walked in right now, looked you in the eye, and told you she wanted you—you wouldn’t go for it?”
My throat tightens, and I glance over my shoulder as if she really did just walk in. “That’s not gonna happen.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
I meet her gaze with my most earnest expression. “No, I wouldn’t. Because it’d be a mistake. She deserves more than what I’ve got.”
Dolly exhales, soft but heavy. “You know, Scotty, for a man who can rebuild an engine with his eyes closed, you sure don’t understand how people work. She doesn’t want ‘more.’ She wants real. And last I checked, you’re about as real as they come.”
I try to laugh it off, but it comes out rough. “You should go before Ranger starts calling to see if I’m holding you hostage here.”
She rolls her eyes, but her smile lingers. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t tell you. That girl’s not just in your head anymore, cowboy. She’s under your skin.”
When the door shuts behind her, I stare at the empty doorway, her words echoing in the quiet.
Under my skin. Yeah. That’s the damn problem.
When Dolly’s gone, the shop feels too damn quiet. Just the hum of the lights and the faint buzz of the radio, one of the guys left on low. I tell myself to shake it off, get back to work.
I grab a torque wrench and dive into the F-250 I’d been working on all morning. The last few hours of the day bleedtogether. One by one, the crew clocks out, shouting goodnights as the bay doors rumble shut behind them. I grunt a reply, not even looking up. When the last truck rolls away, I don’t notice right off. It’s only when the radio slips into static and the silence folds in that I realize it’s just me.
I lean back against the workbench, roll my shoulders, and stretch the stiffness out of my arms. The fluorescent lights buzz above me, bright and cold. I should go home. Feed the horses. Get some sleep.
But instead, I drift toward the Mustang.
She sits there gleaming under the light, half-finished and beautiful, just like the woman who owns her. I drag a hand along the fender, the metal cool beneath my palm, and try not to think about Adrienne standing right here, grease on her cheek, staring at me.
This… this is why it wouldn’t work. I’m married to this life. To long hours, busted knuckles, and the smell of oil in my clothes. And she’s married to hers. I can't imagine a life of contracts and deadlines, the Slade name sitting heavy on my shoulders. We’re just two people too busy being good at surviving to make room for anyone else.
That’s the truth. That’s what I need to remember.
I reach for the wrench again, bending over the engine to check a connection when I think I hear it, the crunch of gravel outside.
At first, I tell myself it’s nothing. A passing car, the wind. But then headlights wash across the bay door seams, and the sound of a door closing breaks the quiet. My pulse kicks. I straighten slowly, wiping my hands on a rag just as the door from the lot creaks open. And there she is.
Adrienne steps into the pool of light, shadows chasing over her face. For a second, I forget how to move.
She’s in worn jeans and a soft gray tee, her hair loose, sneakers scuffed. She looks nothing like the woman who marches around Slade boardrooms with fire in her eyes. This version: barefaced, unguarded, standing next to me like she belongs, hits me harder than I want to admit.
I can’t stop the slow grin that tugs at my mouth. “What are you doing here, Adrienne?”
She shrugs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I was bored at home.”
My brow lifts. “Bored, huh?”
Her lips curve into an adorable smile. “And maybe a little lonely.”
My eyes go wide for a second when I mishear her.“and maybe a little horny.”I cover it by nodding toward the open truck hood. “Well, you picked a hell of a place to cure that. Not much excitement here unless you count faulty wiring.”
