Page 26 of Tempted By the Single Dad Mechanic
I wipe my hands and walk to the doorway of the bay, looking into the office. Morgan's sitting at the desk, staring at her phone with an expression that makes my chest tight. Sad. Lost. Like she's somewhere else entirely, somewhere painful.
"Hey," I say quietly.
She jumps, nearly dropping the phone, and quickly schools her features into a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
"Sorry. Did you need something?"
"Just checking in. You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just..." She trails off, setting the phone down. "Sorry. Got distracted."
She's lying. Not maliciously, just the kind of lie people tell when they don't want to burden someone else with their pain.
I know that lie. I've told it myself more times than I can count.
"It's quiet," I say, leaning against the doorframe. "Tuesdays are usually slow. You want to take a break? There's a coffee maker in the back. It's ancient and makes terrible coffee, but it's caffeinated."
She smiles, and this time it's more genuine. "Terrible coffee sounds perfect, actually."
I lead her to the small break room, and "room" is generous. It's more like a corner with a card table, two folding chairs, and appliances that should probably be in a museum.
The coffee maker sputters and hisses like it's personally offended by being turned on but eventually produces something that's technically coffee.
I pour two cups and hand her one.
She takes a sip and winces. "Wow. You weren't kidding about terrible."
"Told you."
"It's still better than gas station coffee, so I'll take it."
We sit in the folding chairs, which creak under our weight, and for a moment there's just the sound of the fan and the distant hum of traffic outside.
"Can I ask you something?" I say.
Morgan looks at me over the rim of her cup. "Sure."
"Why are you really traveling?"
She goes very still. "I told you. I've always wanted to see the country—"
"Morgan." I say her name gently. "People don't usually just pack up and live in their car for six months because they want to see the country. There's usually a reason. Something they're running from or running toward."
She's quiet for a long moment, and I think she's going to deflect again. Tell me it's none of my business, which would be fair.
But then she sets down her coffee cup and looks at me, and her eyes are shiny.
"My sister died," she says quietly. "Seven months ago. Car accident."
"Jesus, Morgan. I'm so sorry."
She nods, swallowing hard. "We were supposed to do this trip together. We'd been planning it for years. Save up money, quit our jobs, just... go. See everything. No schedule, no plan, just us and the road."
"And you decided to do it anyway."
"I didn't know what else to do." Her voice cracks slightly. "She was my best friend. My person. And suddenly she was just... gone. I kept thinking about all the plans we'd made, all the places we'd never see together, and I couldn't… I couldn't just let it all disappear with her."
"So, you went alone."
