Page 12 of Seasons of Love
Not that I knew anything about him, but I'd read all his books. He had the skill to draw all the right emotions from a character, to the point that they felt more real to me than actual people. That said a lot to me about him.
"Let me get the keys and the invoice for you, Wren." I walked over to the office, stopping by the sink to wash my hands. I'd need to change my shirt too, but that could wait.
"How's business, Slade?" Wren asked. I handed him the invoice.
"Can't complain," I started, but then saw the smile in his eyes. "It's busy, really busy, so busy I barely even have time to take a break. I definitely don't have time to throw a ball on the football field and risk breaking my back."
He laughed and shook his head. "I'll get you one day, Slade. I'm this close to unleashing Tom on you."
I shivered. My smile turning into absolute fear.
"Please don't. I'll think about it, okay? Just give me some time to figure something out."
He smiled so wide, I threw his mom's car keys at him.
"See you later, Slade. Be gentle with my man, his clothes are very expensive."
Aiden rolled his eyes, and I watched as Wren got in his mom's car and drove off, honking the horn on his way out.
I turned to Aiden and said, "What was that about?" at the same time he said, "What did he mean?"
"You first," he said, tucking his hands in his jeans pockets. Not that I was looking or anything.
I groaned. "Tom has threatened on more than one occasion to give me a makeover. Apparently my exterior is too rough and doesn't match my soul, or some weird shit like that. I wouldn't put it past Wren to release Tom on me if I don't join the team."
"Nothing wrong with your exterior," he said and then closed his lips, catching himself.
I always imagined authors to be the kind of people who would think a lot before they spoke, as if words were so special that they needed the right kind of attention before being used. I never thought Aiden was the kind of man to let his mouth run away from him.
It was cute. Very cute.
"Speaking of exterior, give me a moment to change my shirt, or I'll be wearing this oil for real. Being a mechanic isn't as fun as Billy Joel made it look."
I could tell from the shine in his eyes that he'd stopped himself from making a comment. That, and the way he bit his lips shut.
Aiden had to be too young to know who Billy Joel was, but if he didn’t get the reference he didn't show it.
Changing into a clean shirt gave me a moment to gather my thoughts.
What was he doing here? How did he know Wren? Did I make it known that I'd recognized him?
He'd said on Saturday that he was staying in town for a while, maybe his car had broken down or he was interested in buying a bike.
I ran my hands through my beard, which surprisingly had escaped the oil spill, and went back out to the garage.
Aiden was crouched by my Harley. His elbows propped on his knees and his hands supporting his head.
I'd forgotten I'd uncovered it earlier.
"It's a 1983 FXRT."
"What?" He stood and turned away from the bike.
I walked over and ran my hand over the torn leather seat. "It's a 1983 Harley-Davidson FXRT. Long-travel suspension, anti-dive front forks, stiffer frame, enclosed rear chain, and a rubber-mounted, eighty-cubic-inch Shovelhead engine. The best bike there has ever been."
"I have no idea what you just said."
Aiden stared at me with an assessing gaze. Similar to the one Wren had given me earlier, but also not.
