Tough Talk

by Jessie Gussman

  He shook his head and went back to trying to read the questions that had been emailed in overnight, trying to find one that would resonate with the most readers. And one that he could answer. Some of the questions he really did have no clue about.

  Finally, he settled on one: What can I do to get my wife interested in me again?

  He answered it then announced to his blog followers that, starting next week, his column would be published daily and that this Friday would see a bonus column.

  He clicked the computer off just as the garage door banged open.

  Walking out of the office, Tough carefully shut the door behind him. Maybe Kelly wouldn’t care about his side job, and it certainly shouldn’t matter to him whether she did or not. But he wasn’t taking the chance of her finding out. Not until he could think on it more and decide if she’d think he was a fake and a fraud.

  Mr. Sigel hunched over his cane, walking slowly over to the near wall where Tough had his coffee maker set up, along with plenty of cups and other supplies. The old men who hung around the garage all day needed plenty of coffee and their checkerboard. Gossip just wasn’t as good without those supporting characters.

  “Tough. You out of bed already?” Mr. Sigel paused in his shuffle and looked up, his bushy brows sticking out like awnings over intense blue eyes.

  “Slept with my boots on, sir,” Tough replied with a serious face that didn’t fool Mr. Sigel.

  “When I was your age, I had a half-day of work in by this time in the morning.”

  Tough poured coffee into a cup. Mr. Sigel drank it black. “Kids nowadays,” Tough said, shaking his head and handing the cup to Mr. Sigel.

  “Carry it for me,” Mr. Sigel said. “I’m getting my spot on the black side before Alfred comes in and takes it, like he did on Tuesday.”

  Things had definitely gotten interesting on Tuesday, that was for sure. Tough followed Mr. Sigel’s shuffle over to the checkerboard.

  “Why aren’t there any cars in here? You slacking?” He stopped shuffling and looked up. “Or is work slow?” Those blue eyes that provided a window to the intelligence lurking in the eighty-year-old brain narrowed on Tough. “You come on hard times, boy?”

  Tough shook his head and glanced at his watch. “It’s only 7:30. Plus, what’s that?” He nodded over at Kelly’s car. Mr. Sigel had already seen it, he was sure. The old man just constantly worried about him having enough work.

  Tough didn’t mention that he’d been up until two, since he’d finished Mr. Hormell’s car then went and picked him up at the hotel, waited for Mr. Hormell to get ready, took the man out to the all-night diner for a meal, then brought him here and sent him off.

  “When I was a boy...” The garage door banged open again, cutting Mr. Siegel’s statement off. Not that Tough hadn’t heard it a hundred times.

  Alfred strode in. Younger than Mr. Siegel by fifteen years, Alfred was the youngest of Tough’s “regulars.”

  “Morning, Tough.”

  “Alfred.” Tough nodded, hiding his smile as Mr. Siegel hustled the rest of the way to the black side of the checkerboard, carrying his cane.

  Alfred poured a half-cup of coffee. He filled the cup the rest of the way up with cream. “Mr. Siegel has the black today, I see,” he said before lifting the cup to his lips.

  “The early bird gets the worm,” Mr. Siegel said. It always amazed Tough how good Mr. Siegel’s hearing was when someone was talking about him. At all other times, he could hardly hear a thing.

  Alfred pulled the newspaper out from under his arm. “I’d have been here earlier, but the paperboy slept in again.”

  “When I was a boy,” Mr. Siegel began.

  Alfred stepped over and cut him off with a comment of his own. Tough was glad they were distracted, since the door banged open once again—he really needed to take it off its hinges and shave an eighth of an inch off the bottom so it fit in the frame—and Kelly blew in.

  She wore pink today. Her dress flowed around her in a cloud, her earrings and bracelets clacked, and her blond hair bobbed and swayed.

  Tough wanted to tell her how beautiful she looked. How fresh and pretty and totally out of place in his dark, dirty garage. But, of course, in the harsh light of day, his tongue twisted and unhinged from his brain. So, he crossed his arms over his chest, planted his feet, and waited.

  “Tough! I’ve thought about it, and I wanted to apologize for being stubborn last night. If you still want to donate the money to rent the garage...”

  Mr. Siegel cleared his throat, much louder than he normally did. The sound brought Kelly up short, and she twisted. The two men had both risen to their feet when she walked in. “Oh, I didn’t realize you had customers.”

  “We’re not customers. Carry on,” Alfred said in the voice he used only for ladies. At least, that was the voice Tough assumed he was using. Tough had never actually heard that tone from him before.

  “Um...” Kelly looked from the men to Tough and back to the men. “You can sit back down?”

  Both men nodded their heads and sat down but did not resume their game or their argument. His personal life was usually as interesting as watching rocks bake in the sun on the sidewalk. Apparently both men assumed it was about to get a lot more interesting. If only.

  Kelly turned back to Tough. She lowered her voice. “Am I interrupting something?”

  “No.” Thankfully, his tongue cooperated. “They’re regulars.” Hard to believe but he got another two words out, even if he couldn’t meet her eyes.

  “Regulars? Like this is a restaurant, too?”

  “No.”

  “Stop that!” she hissed and planted her hands on her hips.

  Tough raised his brows.

  She motioned with her hand. “You were talking to me last night. Don’t even start acting like you hate me this morning.”

  “I don’t.” He raised his hands, ignoring his eye tic.

  “I know. We established that last night.”

  They had?

  “You don’t hate me; you tolerate me. You are not allowed to slide backward.”

  Wow. No wonder so many men wrote in with relationship problems. Tough had no idea that they’d established anything last night other than he was paying for her rent.

  “Tough. You’re doing it again.”

  He wanted to run his hand through his hair in frustration, but he resisted. He might not be able to control his tongue, but he could have everything else under complete command.

  “Fine.” She gave a small, sad smile that said it was anything but fine and fingered the strap on her purse. “If you’re still offering the rent, I’ll take it. I ran it by my boss on the phone this morning, and it was just like I knew it would be—a probable yes, but not for several months. After Christmas, at the earliest. I don’t want to wait that long, there are kids that need saving now.” She blew a hair out of her face and brushed a hand down her dress. “Also, I want to know how much the repairs for my car are going to be.”

  “No charge.”

  She froze. Her eyes flew to his face. He met her gaze briefly, feeling the charge fling through his body, down to his work boots, and back up, before he looked over her shoulder.

  “I said I would pay.”

  “I said no charge.”

  “A thousand dollars?” She took a step closer.

  “No charge.” He held his ground, keeping his arms crossed over his chest, as though for protection.

  “Two thousand?” She stepped even closer.

  “No charge.” He refused to back up.

  “Tell me how much I owe you,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “No. Charge.” He looked down, managing to focus on her nose. Which was directly under his. Her enticing scent flirted with him each time he drew a breath. She was close enough that he could see the tiny freckles that arched over her cheeks. Her long lashes. The deep blue of her eyes, which reminded him of fresh blueberries on a summer morning. His eye ticked, and he didn’t bother to try to h
ide it. She was angry, and an eye tic wasn’t going to make her hate him more.

  “When my wife looked at me like that, I’d grab her and kiss her,” Alfred said, shocking Tough. He’d forgotten there was anyone else in the universe save Kelly and him. His eyes dropped to her lips. The urge that stole over his back and shoulders, pushing from the inside out, took him by surprise. He’d never been this tempted to lean down...

  “Maybe that’s what killed her,” Mr. Sigel said irreverently.

  Tough bit back a snort.

  Kelly’s lips twitched.

  “I don’t know what’s become of this generation. Didn’t anyone ever teach you the lady deserves respect?” Alfred asked, ignoring Mr. Sigel completely.

  Tough’s mouth dropped. “I am!”

  “No, you’re not, you little whippersnapper. Your arms are crossed, and you’re arguing. Now, there is a time and a place for a good argument. No doubt. Mostly for the benefits of making up.” Mr. Siegel lifted his hat and scratched his mostly bald head. “But you haven’t caught her yet. It’s been a while since I wooed my Annie, but come on, boy, don’t be obtuse. You don’t fight with her before you’ve caught her.”

  “I’m not trying to catch her,” Tough said in exasperation.

  “I’m not a fish,” Kelly said in the same exasperated tone.

  Tough’s lips lifted; he couldn’t help it. He tweaked her skirt. “That thing is pretty bulky. You could be hiding some fins under there.”

  “No! No!” Mr. Sigel said, his tone even more exasperated than Tough’s and Kelly’s had been. “You don’t ever say she looks like a fish.” He grabbed his cane and pretended to use it as he proceeded to shuffle over at a speed Tough had only hitherto seen him use when he thought his position at the checker table was in danger. “Listen, miss.” Mr. Sigel grabbed her arm. “Tough really is a great guy. Just because he sleeps in his boots and disappears behind his computer for hours...”

  Kelly’s eyes snapped to Tough. Tough tried to interrupt—he didn’t need Mr. Sigel giving away how he really made his living—but Mr. Sigel put a hand up. “You go home. Let me work on Tough here, teach him how to woo the women, and you come back in a week. I’d hate to see Tough lose out because he’s a clod around girls. I’ve never met a finer man.” He slapped Tough on the arm. “At least from his generation.” He nodded. “He works hard, and he makes good coffee. Pays his bills on time and keeps his shop clean. No drugs. No alcohol.” He tapped Tough’s shirt pocket where, for the past ten years, his last, unsmoked cigarette peeked out. “This is just for show.”

  “No. It’s a test of my willpower. Every day.” He pulled the lighter out of his pocket and clicked it before shoving it back in. Kelly’s eyes widened then narrowed, and her jaw dropped. Tough faced Mr. Sigel. “Thanks. She’s engaged.”

  “When did you do that?” He turned. “Hey, Alfred,” he shouted, although Alfred had moseyed over, like this was a rock concert and he was standing in the aisle to get a better view, holding his coffee cup. “Did you know Tough was engaged?”

  “She’s engaged. Not to me.”

  Mr. Sigel stopped. His mouth formed a perfect “O.” He looked at Tough. Then Kelly. Then back to Tough. He looked at Kelly again.

  This time when he spoke, his voice was low and sincere. “This boy would work himself into the ground for you. There isn’t anyone better.” He started to turn and leaned toward Tough. “I saw the way you looked at her when she walked in. It’s the way I looked at my wife up until they closed the casket.” He shuffled off, his cane making muted thumps on the cement.

  Silence expanded and filled the garage. Tough’s cheeks were hot, but he hoped his naturally dark complexion hid the blush.

  Alfred took a sip of coffee and nodded thoughtfully. “I think this is the first time in seven years that I agree with Mr. Sigel. About all of it.” He looked at Kelly when he spoke. She bit her lip and looked away.

  She shifted awkwardly while Tough planted his feet on the floor, refusing to allow himself to show his embarrassment. What did two old guys know anyway?

  He took a breath. “You can give me a check—”

  “I don’t have to pay you—”

  Kelly laughed, a nervous, uncomfortable laugh, as they spoke at the same time.

  Tough hated that she was nervous and uncomfortable. Such a change from the feisty confidence she’d displayed when she walked in. How could he get that back? If only his tongue would work long enough to make a joke. For Kelly, he’d try.

  “You never did answer me about the fins you’re hiding somewhere under there.”

  She blinked. Then smiled. He considered it a win.

  “They come out after dark.”

  “Figured. Like a piranha.” He held his hands up. “I’ll quit arguing.”

  “That’s the safe decision.” She grinned and pulled her purse off her arm. “Now, do you take credit cards, or do I need to write a check?”

  Tough swallowed. His computer was shut off, but his column would come up when he turned it on. “It’s a little early for my credit card machine. A check would be easier.”

  She tilted her head. “You won’t rip it up?”

  “Probably not.” He walked over to the counter where the coffee maker was. “Help yourself. It’s not the fancy stuff, and it doubles as a degreaser.”

  “Huh?”

  “I was kidding.” Mostly. “It’s strong.”

  “Oh.”

  “You can leave the check there.” He named a figure. Lowballed. “If it’s more than that, I’ll let you know. I’m going over to start on this vehicle. Some lady conveniently wrecked her car right in front of my shop yesterday. Good for business.”

  “Ha. I bet.”

  Did she look disappointed as he walked away? He couldn’t tell for sure.

  “Hey, Tough?”

  He stopped and turned. “Yeah?”

  “If I get things worked out with Mr. Millard, will you really help renovate it?”

  “You bet we will,” Alfred interrupted.

  Tough nodded. “He was a contractor before he retired.”

  Alfred shook his head. “Worst decision of my life.”

  “To be a contractor?” Tough asked in surprise.

  “No. To retire.”

  “What’s she putting over there?” Mr. Sigel asked.

  “I’m going to make it a children’s activity center,” Kelly answered as though he’d been talking to her.

  Mr. Sigel stomped his cane on the floor. “Just great. A bunch of noisy, undisciplined kids.”

  “Just like you used to be,” Tough teased gently. “Just like I used to be.”

  “Yeah. Until I took you in hand and beat some sense into you.”

  Kelly looked shocked, but Tough just shrugged. He’d needed a firm hand. A firmer hand that his tough, old grandmother could apply. She did her best, but sometimes a boy just needed a man. Mr. Sigel had been that for him.

  He shrugged. “Guess there’s some other boys who need the same thing.”

  “Seems to go with the gender,” Mr. Sigel said.

  Kelly snorted. Tough walked toward her car, a smile warming his heart. Who knew making that special woman laugh would make him feel so good?

  Chapter 7

  Kelly pulled into the First Presbyterian Church for the wedding rehearsal. There was a small parking lot around back, but it seemed like everyone had parked out front, so she pulled in there, too.

  Her phone rang. Finally. Preston.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, I don’t have much time, but you keep texting me to call you, so I’m calling.”

  She had wanted to talk about their relationship. Talk about how much it bothered her that it was weighing like an anchor around her neck. But that was a conversation she didn’t want to rush. Should she wait?

  “Well, I kind of wanted to talk to you.”

  “And?”

  “How much time do you have?” This whole trip was extremely important to him. She didn’t want to
hold him up.

  “About three minutes. I’m on the plane. They’ve already told us to shut our phones off. Listen, how about I try to call later?”

  “Okay. It’s not that important anyway, I guess.” Was this the way normal couples worked? Would Preston make time for her if he really “loved” her? He was pretty pragmatic. Would he ever miss the lack of warmth in their relationship? The lack of sparks?

  She said goodbye to Preston as she walked into the cool vestibule. She’d tried to text him about their own wedding, but he didn’t want to have much to do with the planning. In the last two weeks since he’d basically commanded her to get it done, he’d helped her pick the date. That was it. She didn’t figure he’d care about the reception halls that she’d narrowed down to three choices. But she felt like she needed to ask anyway. She didn’t really care about having a big shindig, but she supposed that was part of her keeping her part of their bargain.

  Her phone buzzed.

  The plane is leaving the terminal. Turning my phone off. I’ll text you when we land.

  She read the text and stuffed the phone in her purse. It would be early tomorrow morning before they landed in Paris where he’d catch another flight to Southeast Asia.

  Shoving away the thought of Preston and all the issues that dredged up for her, she pushed through the heavy wood doors and into the massive sanctuary.

  “She’s here!” Jamal, older brother to Cassidy’s twins, came running toward her. She threw a smile on her face, shoving aside the lingering feeling of impending doom that descended every time she tried to talk to Preston about their wedding.

  Kneeling, she allowed Jamal to jump into her arms. His twin sisters came toddling along behind him. She wrapped them all in a hug, while they chattered about everything that had happened before she got there.

  She stood, holding a twin’s hand in each of her own, and started walking toward where the bridal party was gathered at the front of the church.