Page 3 of A Lesson For the Grump

He leaves me beside my car and gets back in the truck, maneuvering it in front of Betsy and lowering the tow hook. I scramble to get all my stuff out of the car, grabbing my suitcase and purse along with my laptop from the backseat and setting it all out on the road beside me.

Miles gets Betsy hooked up to the truck and walks over as I have a car service app up on my phone. “What are you doing?”

I don’t look up at him as I begin to put in my information. Except, when it asks for the pick-up location, I have no idea what to put.

Miles sighs, “You’re not getting a rideshare at four in the morning, Sonnet. It could be a murderer. Let me give you a ride.”

I laugh and look up a way to use my current location as a pick-up point. “I think I’d pick the murderer right now, Miles.”

Good job, Sonnet. Don’t get frazzled by the hunk of man next to you that broke your heart. Just let him fix your car.

He watches as I continue to struggle with the location before reaching out and snatching my phone from my hand. He’s already walking away when I pick my head up to stare daggers into his back. “Miles Cole! Give me back my phone!”

He opens the driver’s door and turns to me, throwing my phone into the truck. “Get in the damned truck, Sonnet.”

Silence stretches between us as we stare at each other, the moon highlighting our faces and the hands we have planted on our hips. He raises his eyebrows and jumps into the truck, slamming the door behind him.

I have no choice but to follow and get in the damned truck.

CHAPTER 2

Six hours of sleep, three cups of coffee, and one mental breakdown later, I’m standing in front of Maple Auto in a rainbow romper and a smile.

Miles dropped me off in front of my house a little after four thirty with nothing more than a grunt after a very silent car ride back into Maple Lane Falls. He texted me this morning, asking me to come in at noon with one short text, in which I replied I would be there with one tragic smiley face emoji.

Now that it’s noon and I’m standing out front, I realize I don’t want to walk in. I could almost pass last night off as a fever dream. Maybe I fell asleep at the wheel, and this is my version of hell. It’s better than the naked high school nightmares I had before the art showcase in junior year.

Taking a sip of my fourth latte this morning, I square my shoulders and wrench open the shop door, wincing at the loud jingle coming from above me.

“Sonny! It’s good to see you, girl! Miles told me he had to save you and Betsy last night!” The shop owner, Otto, steps from behind the desk with a wide smile and open arms. Otto and my dad used to be friends when my parents were still living in town. He’s practically an uncle to me - although I haven’t seen him since I moved back due to my Miles allergy.

That same allergy is why my car has gone so long without proper maintenance and probably why Betsy threw a temper tantrum last night.

“Hey, Otto! Were you guys able to figure out what’s wrong with her?” I let him wrap his arms around me and squeeze, making the last few words sound like a whisper.

He releases me with a sigh and motions toward a glass door leading into the garage. “He’s in there now running a diagnostic. Go on through and talk to him.”

I give him a nod and grip my cup, making the ice slosh around. It may be October, but no season of the year could have me give up my iced coffee - even if it freezes my hands in the process.

The glass door opens, sans jingle this time, allowing me to enter the garage practically unannounced. Miles is facing away from me with one hand under my hood, twisting something around. Once again, he’s wearing a shirt that looks a size or two too tight, clinging to him with every angle. He begins to turn, and I snap my mouth closed before he can realize I was gaping.

We don’t like him anymore, Sonnet. Pull it together. It’ll take more than some muscles and tight abs to have us drowning like a damn fish.

“Sonnet, you’re early.” He grabs a rag and quickly wipes his hands down before leaning back against Betsy. “When’s the last time you did any maintenance on her?”

“Before I came back from uni, I think.” I walk over and look down into the hood, as if the answers to Betsy’s problems would write themselves out over the engine. “Is it bad?”

Miles chuckles and taps his hand on the bumper. “Let’s just say it’s a good thing your parents had that trust waiting for you.”

I groan and turn, leaning back on Betsy and tilting my head up to the ceiling. “So, it’s bad?”

“Well, I originally thought the issue was that you had no oil in your car, and although that is an issue, it’s not what caused the smoking.” He points to a large part in front of the engine. “Your radiator is blown. Your coolant lines broke, and your car overheated, which is what originally caused the smoking. It’s not just that, though. You’re behind on pretty much all of your maintenance. Besides the radiator, coolant hoses, and oil, your head gaskets and spark plugs need to be replaced; coil packs are due for a replacement, too. Have you noticed a wobble when you drive?”

His comment about my trust fund suddenly makes sense because this all sounds expensive. Once again, I internally kick myself for not keeping up with Betsy more. How could I, though, when the only mechanic shop in town is the workplace of the one man who ever truly broke my heart?

“A little, but I didn’t think anything of it.” He gives me a frown, and I struggle not to wince. “Which, assuming by your face, is a bad thing?”

He walks over to the side and kicks one of my tires. “Your suspension needs replacing. There are a few other things that could be done, but those are the main things that need to be addressed before you even think about getting back in this car.”