Page 21 of Tempted By the Single Dad Mechanic
It's nice. Almost painfully nice.
"So," Casey says eventually, "I'm dropping Riley at pre-K and then heading to the shop. You're welcome to come with me if you want to grab your stuff from the car, or you can hang here. Whatever works."
"I should probably get my things," I say. "I didn't pack enough last night."
"Understandable." He stands, collecting the bowls. "We leave in about twenty minutes, if you want to get ready."
I nod and head back upstairs, hearing Riley launch into a story about her friend Jacob and some complex playground drama that apparently rivals a soap opera.
In the guest room, I dig through my duffel for clean clothes. My options are limited. I packed for living in a car, not staying in someone's house, but I find jeans that are relatively unwrinkled and a green henley that's soft from too many washes.
Good enough.
I'm pulling my hair into a ponytail when I catch sight of myself in the small mirror above the dresser.
I look... tired. There are shadows under my eyes that weren't there six months ago. I've lost weight in a way that doesn't look intentional, but I’m still chubby.
Annie wouldn't recognize me like this.
Or maybe she would. Maybe she'd see exactly what this trip has done to me: the grief I'm carrying, the exhaustion that has nothing to do with miles driven and everything to do with the weight of missing her.
*You need to take care of yourself,* I can almost hear her saying. *You can't honor me by running yourself into the ground.*
"I'm trying," I whisper to my reflection.
My phone buzzes. My mom.
*Good morning, sweetheart. How are you doing?*
I text back: *Good. The mechanic's house is really nice. He has a daughter who's convinced I'm a princess.*
*That's because you are. How's the car?*
*Not great. Might be here for a bit.*
*That's okay. Take your time. Maybe it's good to stop for a while.*
I stare at the message, reading between the lines. My mom's been worried. Not enough to try to make me come home, but enough that I can hear it in her voice during our weekly calls.
*Maybe,* I text back. *Love you.*
*Love you more.*
I tuck the phone away and head back downstairs, where Casey is helping Riley into a tiny backpack covered in cartoon characters.
"Ready?" he asks when he sees me.
"Ready."
The drive to Riley's pre-K is short. Everything in this town is short, and filled with Riley's continued campaigning for Wednesday pancakes on Tuesday.
"We could make it a NEW tradition," she's saying. "A special one just for when Morgan's here."
"Morgan's not going to be here long enough to establish new traditions," Casey says, but his voice is gentle.
Riley twists in her car seat to look at me. "But you COULD stay longer. If you wanted."
"We'll see," I say, because I don't have the heart to tell her no outright.
