Page 12 of The Mechanic's Match
I join them, whiskey in hand, already bracing for the onslaught.
“Fox!” Cal calls, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin. “About time you showed up. We were just talking about your new houseguest.”
I groan. “Of course you were.”
Grady snickers, his broad shoulders shaking. “A little birdie told us you’ve got yourself a live-in bride.”
“Don’t start,” I warn, but they’re like a pack of wolves, and the scent of blood is in the air.
“Live-in bride, huh?” Zane smirks, raising an eyebrow. “She wearing your flannels yet?”
“Shut up, Zane.”
Slate chimes in, leaning forward with his beer in hand. “Bet she’s leaving her stuff everywhere. Those sunshiney types always do. How’s that working out for you?”
“It’s a nightmare,” I snap, though the words come out weaker than I’d like. Because the truth is, it’s not entirely a nightmare. It’s something else entirely. Something I’m not ready to admit. “She’s re-organizing my life and fucking with my routine…Amelia is…a handful.”
“The good ones always are,” Grady smirks.
Cal, ever the instigator, narrows his eyes like he’s piecing something together. “Wait a second. It’s not Amelia Grant is it? Blonde, smiley, snarky, used to live in the city?”
I stiffen. “Yeah. What about her?”
“She was here one summer,” Cal says, pointing at me like he’s just cracked a case. “High school. She stayed with her aunt for a while next to my grandma’s house. I remember because she used to hang out at the old diner on Main Street. Then she vanished. Poof. Back to the city.”
That grabs my attention. Amelia never mentioned being here before. Why wouldn’t she tell me? What’s she hiding?
“You sure it’s the same girl?” I ask, trying to keep my voice casual.
Cal shrugs. “Pretty sure. She was all sunshine and sass back then too. Always smiling, always curious about everyone’s business. Kind of hard to forget.”
“She’s still that way,” I mutter, earning a round of laughter from the table.
Liam joins us, wiping his hands on a bar towel. “So, what’s the deal, Fox? You planning to keep her around, or is she just passing through?”
“Passing through,” I say automatically, though the words taste bitter. “She’s got a story to write, then she’s gone.”
“You sound real confident about that,” Grady says, smirking. “Sure she’s not writing a story aboutyou?”
I glare at him. “Shut it, Grady.”
“Relax, man.” Slate raises his hands in mock surrender. “We’re just saying, maybe you’ve met your match. She seems like the type to give as good as she gets.”
“She does,” I admit before I can stop myself. The admission earns a round of hoots and hollers, and I down the rest of my whiskey to shut them up.
But as the conversation shifts and the guys move on to talk about Ridge’s latest cabin repair project, I can’t shake the thought that Cal might be right. If Amelia’s been here before, why didn’t she tell me? What brought her back now? And why does it feel like she’s burrowing under my skin, one sarcastic comment at a time?
By the time I get back to the loft, it’s late. The garage is dark except for the faint glow coming from upstairs, and I know Amelia’s still awake.
When I walk into the loft, she’s curled up on the couch, one of my old flannels draped over her shoulders. The sight hits me harder than I expect. She looks like she belongs here, like she’s always belonged here.
“You’re back late,” she says, her tone light but her eyes sharp, watching me like she’s trying to figure out what kind of mood I’m in.
“Went out for batteries and gasoline but ran into the guys at the Devil’s Brew,” I say, shrugging out of my jacket. “Had a drink. Forgot all the rest.”
“Oh–I’ll pick up batteries when I go out tomorrow, no problem. So…did they interrogate you about me?” she asks, smirking.
I narrow my eyes at her. “How do you know that?”
