Loner: An Enemies-to-Lovers Standalone Romance

by Harloe Rae

  A lone concrete building finally comes into view within a clearing up ahead. The utilitarian structure sticks out worse than an abomination in the otherwise natural setting. It’s safe to say Crawford set up his shop out here on purpose because nothing else is around for miles. Word of mouth must be great to get people out here in the sticks for a garage.

  As I approach, two hunched figures are busy inspecting a motorcycle in one of the stalls. The crunch of tires rolling over rock shatters the quiet serenity. Crawford lifts his head to catch my puttering entrance. His gaze tracks my arrival, yet he makes no further move to greet me. With a tap to her shoulder, he alerts Millie of my presence. Braided pigtails swing as she faces me with a wide smile and a wave, but that’s all I get from her. She remains firmly planted beside Crawford, her attention returning to the bike in front of them. Well, then. Clearly I’ve been missed.

  I huff at their half-baked welcome while shifting my car into park. Taking a moment to calmly breathe is necessary in this moment. With several slow passes, I release the strain from my limbs. Crawford and Millie are still perched on the dirty floor, appearing content and comfortable. Watching them is a useful distraction. He’s animated in his demonstration, one big hand gripping a wrench and pointing at this and that while he talks. Millie eats up the attention. Her smile is infectious, and my mood quickly brightens, the tingle of irritation drifting away.

  Millie told me that she wasn’t afraid to speak with Crawford. This ovary-fluttering display proves her words. I try not to get emotional, but my nose is already stinging. My introverted daughter doesn’t talk to just anyone. Her circle of trusted individuals is tiny. It took Josey months before my daughter would grant her with more than a few single-syllable answers. But Crawford? It looks like he’s getting a front-row seat to a one-sided gabfest.

  I clutch at my chest, uncertainty keeping me strapped to the seat. Is it weird that I’m jealous? Of what, I’m not entirely sure. As if sensing my growing green monster, Millie twists toward me. She gives me a double thumbs-up. Before I can question the gesture, she’s bending Crawford’s ear again. I almost feel bad for him, but this occurrence is so rare that I’m completely willing to throw him under the bus. And I don’t want to sit on the curb for this.

  My sandals smack against the compacted dirt when I step out onto the otherwise empty lot. Before I can walk two feet, a massive beast trots over to me, stopping several feet away with eyes locked on my form. I freeze at the sight of this wolfish breed stalking near. Dogs have never frightened me, but I’m the intruder in this scenario. All bodily functioning goes into lockdown as this threatening creature eases closer. When the canine’s cool snout brushes my hand, I hold back a whimper. If only I could recall how to handle this abrupt introduction without losing my marbles.

  It’s all I can do to remain still. I swear Crawford sucks in a harsh breath as his dog gives me another sniff. A plea to call off the pooch patrol is ripping up my throat. The beginning notes are ready to tremble out of me when the unmistakable warmth of a sloppy lick traces across my arm. A furry muzzle bumps into my spread palm. That’s a good sign, right?

  I allow my eyes to lift, waiting for further instruction from Crawford. His eyes bounce from me to his loyal companion, a thunderous scowl tightening his features. I’m not being torn to shreds, so why does he look disappointed? His lips twitch with mutterings I can’t hear, but Millie does.

  “The female race is conspiring against you?” A familiar dent knits her brow. “What did Patch do wrong?” The dog in question whines, and I give her a cautious pat. After a few strokes through her thick fur, she retreats back to the garage and flops on a large cushion.

  Crawford frowns at Millie. “You weren’t supposed to be listening.”

  “But you told me to pay very close attention to everything you said.”

  “That was while we were fixing the bike.”

  “You’re confusing,” she mumbles.

  Crawford’s shoulders bounce with a booming chuckle. “And you catch on quick.”

  Even with the generous distance separating us, his appeal reaches me. Unfortunately, or maybe not, the weeks since I last saw him haven’t dulled my instant attraction. I’d been able to blame those feelings on a long-neglected biological need—the cobwebs, if you will. It had been easy enough to explain those feelings away. But standing in front of him again has me questioning logic. Damn, maybe I should let Josey take me dancing. Scratch this seemingly insatiable itch, as of late. She’ll be so pleased to hear my change of heart is due to a man.

  I inch further into the garage without a word, giving my daughter a chance to wrap up whatever it is she’s doing. They continue to ignore my presence while I keep pretending their indifference doesn’t sting. I’m happy Millie is enjoying herself, but this is a tad extreme. The last thing she needs is some misguided hero worship, even if Crawford is responsible for saving the day again.

  With that in mind, I hustle to erase the gap between us. I wait a few beats for either one of them to acknowledge me. When that doesn’t happen, I clear the remaining pressure from my throat.

  “Hey, you two. What’s hogging all of your concentration?”

  Millie looks at me over her shoulder. “Hi, Mama. I need to remain focused. Ford is teaching me how to replace a spark plug.”

  “Uh, okay. That’s interesting. Thanks for entertaining her. Sorry it took so long for me to get here.” What should’ve been fifteen minutes dragged out to twenty. They don’t seem to be bothered by my delay.

  Crawford barely spares me a glance, immediately resuming his work on the machine. “No problem.”

  The vibe he’s exuding is cold enough to make my teeth chatter. He’d been relatively pleasant over the phone, but maybe the panic is fogging my memory. Crawford doesn’t appear to be interested in exchanging pleasantries, much like our first stilted conversation. Not that I blame his aloof behavior—I’m some random woman whose child went missing, and I didn’t even know.

  Shaking the jitters from my hands, I try again. “Can I talk to you for a moment, Ford?”

  Millie is the one who pipes up. “But Mama, he’s busy teaching me. And I’m not ready to leave yet. We’re almost done, okay?”

  Damn, she’s sassy. I had no idea that my shy daughter is capable of wheeling and dealing. I’d protest harder if this sort of dismissal for my rules was typical. But still. “Sweetie, I doubt Ford—”

  “She’s doing just fine here,” he interrupts. Crawford’s posture can only be described as rigid. He doesn’t move for several moments, remaining stiff and detached. When the tension finally eases from his frame, he begins cranking at the bike as if I hadn’t addressed him.

  Cold. Detached. Indifferent.

  Asshole.

  During our initial interaction, Crawford was callous and blunt. He kept his expression flat, devoid of any clear reactions. That didn’t stop him from changing my flat tire. This guy? I don’t even know where to begin when he won’t acknowledge me.

  “Great. Okay,” I force out. Crawford grunts at my pitchy tone. Millie gifts me with an adorable giggle. I could never refuse her, especially when she’s voluntarily interacting with someone who’s not already integrated into our miniscule squad. Not wanting to intrude further, I turn my sights elsewhere.

  The garage is a standard setup, at least from a surface glance. Rows of tools are arranged in neat clusters along the wall. Tubes and hoses and tires and other rubber objects are piled in the far corner. Gasoline and hard labor permeate the air. Faded stains color the floor, badges of honor from jobs long gone. There are a few fresh splotches, too. Crawford remains busy, and his place of business is showing off.

  The abrasive scrape of metal drags my gaze to the conspiring duo. Millie fiddles with a screwdriver, pointing the flat end at the engine. “Is that all? Did we finish the job?”

  He hums, shifting to get a better look inside the guts. “Sure did. This hog is good as new.”

  My daughter pumps the air. “Yay!
That was fun.”

  “Glad you think so. You’d make a great mechanic.”

  “Really?”

  “Not being afraid to get your hands dirty is most important.”

  Millie lifts her filthy fingers, wiggling them for emphasis. “No problem.”

  “Next time, I’ll show you how to do an oil change.” The barest hint of a grin curls his mouth.

  Her gasp echoes off the stone walls. “I can come back?”

  And this is the point I step in. “We’ll have to see about that. Millie, sit tight for a few minutes while I talk to Ford.” If he whips up another excuse to evade me, I’ll be forced to drag my daughter away kicking and screaming. Bad manners, such as very rudely ignoring one’s existence, isn’t something she should be further exposed to. A whoosh escapes me when the broody jerk stands. I’d forgotten how tall and broad he was.

  “I’m gonna talk to your mom for a bit, Peep.”

  “Peep?” I swing my gaze between them, settling on my daughter.

  Millie blinks at me, completely unfazed. “That’s Crawford’s nickname for me.”

  “Why Peep?”

  She wrinkles her nose, those freckles winking at me. “Because I don’t talk a lot, just little peeps. You know that, Mama.”

  And Crawford is observant enough to notice. That traitorous organ in my chest begins beating wildly. I will not swoon. Will not. Absolutely not going to happen. But the way she’s preening is impossible to ignore. He’s going to be a tough bump to dodge.

  “You good with me calling her that?”

  I almost startle at Crawford’s question. Did he actually initiate a conversation? I shove away the urge to fan my face. “Uh, yep. It’s really sweet.”

  “Good. Take this, Peep.” He passes Millie a clean rag. “Polish the fender for me, okay?” Crawford gestures to the already spotless section of chrome.

  She beams at him and gets scrubbing. I send up a silent wish that this man doesn’t fracture her heart. Regardless of how he’s been treating me, my priorities will always favor her.

  When Crawford finally turns to me, all traces of joy vanish from his expression. All I get is a bland neutrality, as if he’s slipped on a mask. That shouldn’t sting; he’s barely more than a stranger. So, why is there an ache spreading through my chest?

  “Let’s get this over with,” he mutters.

  The warm affection that had been spreading through me fizzles out with a hiss. I cross my arms and return his glare. “Is there a reason you’re being so…grumpy with me?” Yes, I’m a mom and proud of it.

  “Nope.” Back to one word responses. Awesome.

  I’m more than capable of taking the reins. Talking to him was my idea, after all. But where to start? I tuck some hair behind my ear and go with simple. “All right, I’ll get to the point.”

  “‘Bout damn time.” He towers over me, but I don’t let his bulk intimidate.

  “Listen, asshat. I’m trying to play nice for the sake of my daughter, who’s monitoring us very closely. The least you can do is fake it for her.” My snarled words are somewhat contained through clenched teeth. Millie doesn’t need to see me fighting with her new buddy. Inside, I’m a seething momma bear more than ready to rip this moron to shreds.

  A muscle in his jaw tics. “Fine, let’s talk.”

  “I’m so grateful you found Millie. This is twice you’ve gotten us out of a bind. How can I repay you?” Not sure what the hell I have to offer him that he’ll willingly accept, but I need to make the attempt.

  “We’re all set.” His frosty tone is beginning to irk me.

  “I disagree. She took up your time.”

  A limp shrug. “I was on a break. No big deal.”

  I cock out my hip, getting a slight thrill when his gaze tracks the movement. “You certainly have a knack for saving others.”

  “It’s not intentional.” Shadows cloud his gaze. He’s so damn guarded, and I find myself wondering why. But that’s a dangerous road to travel down.

  “But natural?”

  His eyes narrow. “I don’t go looking.”

  “Imagine what could happen if you did.”

  “Not sure what you’re insinuating, but I’ll leave that for the real heroes.”

  I furrow my brow at his clear dismissal of the subject. “Is that why your garage is nestled between the middle of nowhere and the boonies? You’re really separated from society.”

  “That’s how I prefer it.”

  “Why?” I tack on the fakest grin to reflect the mirth in my voice.

  Crawford’s scowl deepens, and my attempt falls flat. “I’m not much of a people person. At all.”

  I do my best not to flinch. Yikes, okay. “You seem to be getting along with Millie well enough.”

  “She’s an innocent kid. Big difference.”

  I force my smile to remain plastered on, brittle as it might be. What the hell does that make me? An insufferable hag? Talk about insinuations. I’m sure he’s expecting a reaction, which is precisely why I take extra measures to school my expression. A deep inhale through my flaring nostrils provides me with a lungful of stale oxygen. The punch of oil and grease provide an unnecessary reminder of where I am. This is Crawford’s space, and I’m toeing the line. I smooth the already flat fabric of my shirt.

  “I’m glad she isn’t hurt, or too scared.” I study Millie for a moment. She’s anything but traumatized. “You’ve turned this into a great day for her. Thank you for that.”

  “She’s easy to be around.” That might be the kindest thing he could say.

  The grin I offer is genuine. “Thanks for saying that.”

  “Wasn’t for your benefit.” Ruining warm-fuzzies must be one of his hobbies.

  I force myself to swallow a scream. “Of course not.”

  “We about done with this charade?” Crawford’s gaze bounces around the room, never landing on me for longer than a second. He can’t stand to look at me. Am I that repulsive to him? His rejection lodges in my throat, a pill of thorns meant to barb.

  “Definitely.” Patience is a trait I rely on. But being a doormat? Absolutely not. “Thanks for humoring me. I’m getting the hint that this”—I motion between us—“isn’t your gig.”

  His snort is crude. “What was your first clue?”

  My tolerance for his shitty attitude wears thin. Sour acid churns in my stomach, and I want to ask what I did to offend him. Wracking my brain takes less than a minute, and I’m still at a loss. A tug at the hem of my shirt has me looking down.

  Millie thrusts a fistful of slightly wilted wildflowers into my hand. “Here, Mama.”

  “These colors are so pretty, baby girl.” I touch the soft petals.

  “Ford thought you’d like a bouquet.”

  I let my eyebrows arc, aiming the disbelief his way. He’s staring at Millie, utter horror draining the color in his cheeks. “Is that so?” I coo, enjoying the moment.

  A garbled choke trips off his chest. “She picked them on the way back for you.”

  Millie sticks her tongue out at him. “You’re supposed to play along. My mama never gets flowers.”

  He scrubs at the back of his neck. “Well, lucky for her, you grabbed some.”

  Her displeasure dives deeper with a pout. “But that’s not romantic.”

  Another sharp noise escapes him. “Trust me, Peep. Nothing your mother receives from me will be romantic.”

  Healing Hug #7: For reassurance that tomorrow will be better.

  Sweat trickles down my temple in relentless rivers. The soggy bandana tied around my head quit stemming the flow an hour ago. At this rate, I’ll be drenched, yet dehydrated, by noon. June is already punishing me within the first week. Air conditioning in the shop isn’t feasible, given the high ceilings and hydraulics. It would cost a small fortune to keep the space cool. All I have at my disposal are fans and natural draft, which is failing me at the moment.

  As if hearing my complaints, a rustle in the branches offers a slight breeze. The hot p
uff can barely be considered a gust, but I’ll take whatever the wind is willing to give. The rising heat isn’t doing any favors for my plummeting mood. I’ve been more foul since…nope, not heading in that direction again. I set down the pliers and reach for a fresh rag. After mopping my forehead, I wipe a glob of grease from my hand. Such a filthy mess. That last thought kick starts another battle in this seemingly endless war against myself.

  I glare at my grungy surroundings. This is me—who I am and where I belong. There’s no room for sunny dispositions and irresistible beauty. I blindly toss the rag over my shoulder, similar to how I pushed away a certain blonde. Shutting Keegan down is the only option. Dick move? Absolutely. I learned from the best. My father is the worst type of asshole. He has a specialized degree in treating women like trash. A growl erupts from deep within my gut. Comparing myself to him is low, even for me. I deserve it after the way I treated Keegan, though.

  That woman hot wires all of my circuits. My ability to behave as a normal person misfires more than usual in her presence. I’m not sure what’s possessing me to be an intolerable brute. Maybe that’s my customary response. All systems jam, grind to a rusty halt, and destruction ensues.

  She makes me want to be a different person, more friendly and capable and suave.

  I despise her for forcing such ideas into my brain. My life is mine alone, and that’s always been adequate. Existing without experiencing life to the fullest. What a damn waste. Getting out more probably wouldn’t hurt, but I’ve been satisfied with my isolated routine. Now? Nothing fits quite right.

  Patch whines from her shady spot along the far wall.

  “Are you hot, girl?” There’s an industrial-sized fan mere feet away, aiming directly at her. The force is powerful enough to send a constant flutter through her fur. I nod toward the direct line of sun currently scorching me in flames. “Want to trade?”

  She releases a soft woof.

  “I’ll take that as a no.” After checking that her water bowl is still brimming, I deduce that she’s just bored and hot. “We can go to the stream in a bit, okay?”