Page 23 of Tempted By the Single Dad Mechanic
I laugh nervously. "That's... encouraging."
"But he's a good guy," Casey continues quickly. "Really good, actually. Everyone in town loves him. He just takes a minute to warm up to new people. Once he does, he's loyal as hell. Gave me a discount on meals for the first six months I was here when he found out I was a single dad trying to get the shop off the ground."
Something warm spreads through my chest at that image. Casey, new to town, probably exhausted and overwhelmed, and this gruff old man quietly helping him out.
"That's really sweet," I say.
"Murphy would punch me for calling him sweet, but yeah." Casey smiles. "Anyway, if you want, I can walk you over there later. Introduce you. He trusts my judgment, so that might help."
"You'd do that?"
He looks at me like it's a strange question. "Yeah. Why wouldn't I?"
Because most people wouldn't. Because in my experience, people are kind in small doses but rarely go out of their way. Because I've been on my own for six months and I've forgotten what it feels like to have someone in my corner.
"Thank you," I say quietly.
Casey nods and gets out of the truck, and I follow him into the shop.
The fluorescent lights flicker on, illuminating the waiting area with its mismatched chairs and ancient magazines. Casey flips the sign to "Open" and boots up the computer while I stand there, unsure what to do with myself.
"Your car's in bay two," he says, nodding toward the garage. "Help yourself to whatever you need."
I walk to the bay and open the back door of my Civic, confronting the reality of six months condensed into a small space. It's organized. I'm not a complete disaster, but there's still a lot. Clothes, camping gear, books, the cooler.
I already have Annie's journal. I grabbed it last night, couldn't leave it in the car overnight even though I knew it would be safe. It's sitting in my duffel back at Casey's house, tucked between layers of clothes.
Now I just need the practical stuff.
I pull out a duffel bag and start filling it with more clothes—jeans, shirts, underwear, my one nice sweater. Then toiletries from the front seat: shampoo, conditioner, the fancy face wash my mom sent me that I've been rationing.
My laptop goes in next, along with the charger and the portable hard drive that has all my photos. Then a few books, because most days I can't sleep without reading, and the small bag of jewelry I never wear but can't seem to leave behind.
It's strange, sorting through my life like this. Deciding what comes with me into Casey's house and what stays here in this broken-down Honda. Like I'm separating who I was from who I'm going to be, at least for the next few weeks.
I'm zipping up the bag when I hear footsteps behind me.
"Find everything?" Casey asks.
I turn. He's leaning against the doorframe of the bay, arms crossed, watching me with that same unreadable expression from this morning.
"Yeah. I think so."
"You sure? I can store the car inside if you're worried about anything getting stolen, but honestly, crime's not really a thing here. Mrs. Patterson left her purse on a park bench last monthand someone turned it in to the sheriff with all the cash still inside."
I smile at the image. "That's... really nice."
"Or really boring, depending on how you look at it." He pushes off the doorframe. "You good to hang out here for a bit? I've got a few things to finish up, and then we can head over to Murphy's if you want."
"I can help," I offer. "With the shop stuff, I mean. I don't know anything about cars, but I can answer phones or organize or... something."
Casey tilts his head, considering. "You really want to?"
"Better than sitting around feeling useless. Think of this as my way of saying thank you"
"You're not useless." He says it firmly, like it's important that I believe him. "But if you want to help, I won't say no. Phone's been ringing off the hook this morning. Couple people wanting appointments, one guy asking if I do alignments, which I don't but I can refer him. You comfortable taking messages?"
"Absolutely."
