We embodied everything he feared: two strong women who knew more about cars than he did. Poor Rich. His nightmares were finally coming true.
“Mr. Grouchen, it’s nice to see you again.” I extended my hand and was happy to discover I didn’t burst into flames at the lie. “Chieka was telling me you’re having some engine trouble?”
Not bothering to shake my hand, he looked right over my head. “Where’s Will?”
“He’s not available right now, but as one of the owners and a licensed mechanic, I can promise you that I’m fully capable of answering any questions you may have.”
Rich was a white man who looked to be in his midfifties, had a Bluetooth headset growing out of his ear, and was clearly heavily invested in the sweater-over-a-collared-shirt look. I didn’t know what he did for a living, but he really needed to take better care of his Chevy Silverado 3500HD, fully loaded. He stepped into my space, trying to intimidate me. “I want to know what you’re going to do to fix my truck. You did something to it the last time I was here.”
Chieka took a step toward me, her shoulder almost touching mine. She handed me a manila folder, similar to the ones we kept on all of our high-maintenance clients, and I smiled. We were battle ready.
“Mr. Grouchen. As you can see detailed here”—I opened the folder and pointed at several call logs and release forms with his signature—“you declined to get your oil changed by us, despite being part of our loyalty program. This signature confirms that you documented getting your oil changed outside of our facility—”
“I’m not talking about the oil! I’m talking about my tires!”
I breathed in slowly and then closed the folder and looked over at the employee standing in front of Rich’s truck. “Rosa, can you please bring me Mr. Grouchen’s oil filter?” As if waiting for her cue, and to be honest she probably had been, my youngest employee approached us with a soggy, black ball of slime in one hand, and an extra pair of nitro gloves and a clean oil filter in the other. Rosa was nineteen but could fix almost any engine with her eyes closed.
She handed me the gloves and I snapped them on before accepting the filter. “Let me break this down for you. This is your oil filter.” I ran my finger along the edge of it, chunks of black gunk oozing onto my finger. “This is what’s circulating in your engine right now. It’s why your truck’s running poorly.”
I nodded at Rosa, who held up the clean oil filter. “This is what a new one looks like. Even though it’s the exact same filter model, it’s half the diameter of the one we pulled out of your truck. This is why you actually need to get your oil changed when your truck’s display advises you to do so. Changing your tires did nothing to your truck. It’s the lack of oil changes that are causing the problem.”
I gave the filthy filter back to Rosa. “Now, this is what I’m going to do because you’re a repeat customer of ours.” And Lord knew we didn’t need any more bad online reviews from crazy customers. “We will be happy to replace your filter and change your oil right now. After that, we’ll give you the name of a dealer in the area that I think may be able to better help you in the future. If you’d like to just go straight to that dealer for your oil change, we’d be happy to give you directions.”
Rich blustered, a lot, before yelling a vague threat about suing me and getting into his truck. I spun on my heel and walked out of the waiting room. Chieka was hot on my heels. She closed my door and clapped. I stilled her hands with mine, the ringing in my ears subsiding. “Shhh, Mama has a headache.”
“I hate to ask this, but can we really afford to be firing customers right now?”
I sat down and looked up at her. “Nope. But there’s nothing I can do to help him. He probably already fucked up his engine and he won’t do regular maintenance on it. Not dealing with him anymore.”
“I love it when you’re feisty.”
“Yeah, well, love it while you can. If we don’t bring in more business, we’re going to be feistily finding new jobs.” A knock at the door was like a gong, and I decided I really needed to leave. “Deal with that? I’m going home.”
“Nope. This is all you.” She opened the door and stepped out, trading places with the dark-haired, green-eyed man I never wanted to see again. That was a lie. My heart did a drum solo the moment I smelled his intoxicating scent.
“Luke,” I breathed, like an idiot. He smiled at me and holy hell, my champagne-addled memory hadn’t done him justice. Freshly showered but still scruffy, he could be a body double for Justin Baldoni. My body hummed with his proximity, because apparently I was still sixteen years old and had zero control over my emotions.
My eyes strayed to his lips, and the kiss I wanted to forget was most definitely not forgotten. He didn’t kiss you back and he’s selling your shop. Stop it!
He cleared his throat and I blinked, looking back up at his eyes. “Figured you needed breakfast.”
I cringed, hands flying to my stomach. “I don’t think I could even smell food without doing something embarrassing.”
“You mean like that time you threw up in a trash can after we rode every coaster at Cedar Point? Or the time you threw up in Jami’s lap because you were reading in the back of the car on the way to the sand dunes? Or the—”
I held up my hand. “If you value your life, you won’t continue.”
He bit his bottom lip and crossed his arms, rocking back on his heels. There was movement behind him and I caught Tamicka and Chieka staring shamelessly through the office window. With a huff, I gestured toward the door. “Fine. Get me out of here.”
Luke stepped aside, motioning for me to lead the way. As I stomped out of the office, the two troublemakers pretended to be absolutely fascinated with a calendar on the wall next to the door.
“That calendar was one of Grandpa’s decorations,” I called. “It’s from 1974.” It was from the year he and Mario, Luke’s dad, opened the shop. Luke coughed behind me, covering a laugh. “And I’m taking the rest of the day off.”
Chapter Four
Edie’s Tip #35: Committing to a new car is like committing to a new man. Make sure to take him around the block a few times to see if a warning light comes on.
As with every small town, there was only one good restaurant. Ray’s was a diner and ice cream shop styled just like it had been in the 1950s: black-and-white checkered linoleum floor, red and chrome stools, and a wide white counter separating the front of the house from the back. Chuck Berry rocked over the speakers as we walked in.
Ray, the owner, was sitting at the cash register reading a newspaper and chewing on an unlit cigar. Despite coming to America from India in the eighties, he had fallen in love with 1950s pop culture and had never looked back. “Hello, hello, hello!” he sang in his deep baritone voice. “How’s my favorite mechanic?” He did a double take and pulled the cigar out of his mouth. “And the prodigal son!”
Luke and Ray shook hands and exchanged hellos while his granddaughter, Celine, popped up next to me and pointed to the booth in the back corner. “You’ll be less on display there,” she advised.
We scooted into to our seats, not bothering to open the menus. “How long do you think it’ll take the Grenadine Herald to post a picture of us on Facebook?” Luke asked, leaning across the table.
The click of a shutter had us both looking at Gerdie Haninky, sitting backward on her stool at the counter. She was smiling while fiddling with her phone. She was eighty if she was a day, but had the fastest fingers in the city.
The old woman winked at me and I gave her a thumbs-up. “I’d say forty-three seconds. Nothing like the prodigal son coming home.”
He groaned and looked to the ceiling. “Don’t start. I’m not a prodigal anything.”
“You know this town thinks of you as their own.”
He shoved his hand through his hair and grunted. “They just feel sorry for me. ‘Look at poor Luke. Can you believe what his father did?’ I hate being back here.”
I opened my mouth to say somethi
ng—what, I didn’t know—but Celine approached our table. She was wearing a poodle skirt and a pristinely ironed white blouse. Her stick-straight onyx hair was in a high ponytail and swished with her quick movements. “Luke Moretti, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” She turned to me, her dark eyes twinkling. “And I heard you had quite the shock last night!”
Gossip spread like wildfire in this town. I cleared my throat. “Celine, we’re actually having a business breakfast. Think you can grab us some coffee and two specials?”
She tried to hide her disappointment about the lack of gossip with a shallow smile. “Sure thing. One regular, one Edie-special?”
“Perfect.” When she departed, I folded my hands in front of me and stared at my friend. “No work talk until coffee is in my mouth.” The walk had helped clear my head, but I didn’t want to take a chance.
He nodded and picked up a menu from behind the napkin dispenser. After giving it a quick once-over, he looked back up at me. “This menu hasn’t changed in ten years.”
I shrugged. “If it ain’t broke, yada yada.”
“What’s an Edie special?”
I pursed my lips, wondering if he was going to make a big deal about it like my last date had. Like Will had. I cringed. This isn’t a date, Edie. This is a business meeting. And he’s not his brother. “Remember my migraines?”
His face scrunched up. “Those were awful.”
“You’re telling me.” I tapped on the table. “Intolerant to gluten. I am now officially part of a fad.”
He nodded. “So no gluten, no migraines?”
“I get like one every three months now. And even that may be cross-contamination. But yeah, gone.” I pointed to the kitchen. “I came in to order an omelet one day and told them about my gluten issues. Ray had no freaking clue what gluten was, but he’s been great.”
“And now you have an unofficial menu designed after you.”
I smiled. “I’m pretty badass.”
“Yeah, ya are,” he teased. Celine dropped off our coffees and Luke grabbed one sugar and set it next to my cup.
My stomach tightened. He remembered how I took my coffee. Focus. Coffee. I needed this caffeine to chase away all the residual amorous feelings I had for the handsome man in front of me. He was just Luke. My oldest friend.
I tracked his movements as he lifted the cup to his mouth and took a bracing sip. His tongue slipped out of his mouth and caught an errant drop on his bottom lip. My eyes widened, and I struggled to take a controlled breath. Maybe two cups of coffee would do it.
A soft smiled touched his lips. “Tastes just like I remember.”
Three cups. I was definitely going to need three cups of coffee. I chugged half of my too-hot cup of coffee and somehow didn’t pterodactyl screech. Clearing the smoke from my throat—because my insides were on fire—I set my cup down and put my chin in my hand. “So, what are we going to do about the shop?”
He rubbed his eyes with one hand. “I was up all night trying to figure out what to do.”
So was I, but for different reasons. I glared at him as if me kissing him was his fault. “Easy. Don’t sell to Cynthia.”
He smiled sadly. “I need the money, Edith. But if you can find someone else who could be your partner, that’d be great.”
“Why? Why do you need the money so bad?”
He shook his head, looking down at the sugar packet he was playing with. “I’m going to try to help the shop pick up business. Maybe I can sell you some of the shares too.”
“We’d need a miracle,” I snapped.
He nodded. “How many staff do you have?”
“Five, including me.”
He shook his head. “We didn’t even have five when Dad and your grandpa ran the shop. How can you afford five now?”
I shrugged. “I pay my bills, put the rest back in the shop.”
He pointed his finger at me. “You and I both know that’s not how you run a business. It’s Saturday and you have no line. Five years ago, there was a line down the drive.”
“Five years ago, Grandpa was alive.”
He nodded and spun his coffee cup on the table. “Is the house paid off? Grandpa owned it for what...forty years?”
I sighed, running my hands through my hair. “I took out a loan when he got sick to pay for the hospital bills and get at-home care.” I took a deep breath to ease the tightness in my throat. “I’m still paying.”
“Damn.” He looked out the window. “What if you were only open four days a week? Cut all but you and one other employee down to part-time. You’ll save on operating costs.”
“Then my girls and Henry don’t get health insurance.”
He looked at me. “They can buy their own. And Henry Blinkner? He’s like seventy years old. What’s he doing at the shop?”
I reared back. “Uh, he was one of my grandpa’s oldest friends and he is the best painter in town. His hands are steadier than mine.”
Luke shook his head. “Maybe you should stop doing body and engine work. Pick one or the other. You can’t afford—”
I put my hands up and leaned forward, whispering harshly, hoping like hell that Gerdie didn’t have her hearing aids in. “Listen. I know that you’re trying to help, but you do not get to show up, take one look around, and twelve hours later make demands about my staff.”
He crossed his arms and leaned forward on the table. “I’m trying to help you.”
“Trying to help me? Yeah, okay. Not selling would help me the most.”
He ran a hand down his face. “Edith.”
“Lucas.” Then my nostrils flared, picking up the custom scent of lavender, orange blossom, and sulfur.
We both looked up when she cleared her throat, interrupting our standoff. Great. Just what this day needed.
One hundred percent more of my mother.
Chapter Five
Edie’s Tip #24: Carry an air horn in your pocket to honk at people who annoy you, even when you’re not driving.
The sigh that came out of my mother’s mouth was absolutely Oscar-worthy. I considered clapping, but Luke kicked my shin under the table. He was always too good at reading me.
“Edith, you’re not answering your phone,” Mom said, indignant. Her perfectly manicured nails were wrapped around her designer purse strap. Her engagement ring was on full display, all four shiny carats. Why she felt the need to show it off was beyond me. I was pretty sure it could be seen in the next county.
I made a show of patting my coverall pockets. I had unzipped the top and tied it around my waist, a look my mother hated. “Must have left it at home.”
She pursed her perfectly painted lips at me. “What if one of your staff needed to get ahold of you?” She said the word staff like it was a vulgar word. Go staff yourself!
“Uh...” I looked out the window, confirming my shop was, indeed, still only one block over. I could literally see the top of my sign. “Pretty sure they could find me in an emergency. The bakery ran out of gluten free flour two days ago. Not a lot of options.”
Celine walked toward us with our food and I caught her eye and shook my head. If she dropped off the food now, my mother would either join us or expect us to hear her out before we ate. Neither of those options was acceptable. Thankfully, Celine had been waitressing since she could carry a tray and knew how to read the room. She immediately spun on her heel and hustled back to the kitchen. She was one smart, gluten-free cookie.
“Mom, we’re just wrapping up. What do you want?” I asked.
She looked at Luke for a long moment. “Luke, it’s nice to see you again. My lawyer is waiting for your paperwork.”
He put on his best innocent face. “Oh my word, you didn’t get that yet?”
She paused as if deciding whether or not to believe him. “No. Please have it re-sent.”
He nodded. “Right away, ma’am.”
Celine came back and dropped two to-go boxes and the bill on the table, running away as fast as she could. Luke grabbed a twe
nty from his wallet and tossed it down before standing up. “Well, Cynthia, it’s a pleasure as always. We’ll be in touch. Edie, come on. I’ll walk you home.”
When I stood, my mom turned toward him. “You know, Luke, congratulations are in order. I’m going to be your new sister-in-law.” She took a step toward him, getting a little too close. He took a step back into the wall.
I saw red. “Mother! You already snagged one brother. Leave this one alone.”
The diner went silent. Oh shit. I had said that out loud, hadn’t I? I rubbed my forehead as the dull ache returned with a vengeance. This is why I didn’t like to people. I should’ve just stayed at home in my jammiest of jammies, curled up on the couch, and complained to Jami about how much I’d had to drink.
Luke’s eyes met mine and went wide as Mom turned slowly to face me. I knew I was in trouble. She was a venomous snake who was rattling her tail and ready to bite.
“Well, Edith Doreen, if you weren’t so busy living a man’s life, maybe you wouldn’t have so much trouble holding on to one. Men want pretty things. Not someone with grease under her ragged fingernails.” She squared her shoulders. “I try and I try with you. But you just keep on failing me.”
Yep, I should’ve expected that. If anyone else had said it, I would’ve gone on my feminist-smash-the-patriarchy-women-deserve-pockets-too rant. But she knew where all my insecurities were and directed her spotlight with pinpoint accuracy.
I hated myself for looking at my fingernails. Sure enough, one of my nails had broken sometime between the wedding and the showdown. Come on floor, swallow me up. When I looked back up, Luke’s eyes were locked on me, dark with anger.
He grabbed our food and put his arm around my shoulder. Everyone who was blatantly staring at our table quickly picked up menus or loudly commented about the weather.
“Smooth,” I said loudly. “Almost believed it.”
Headlights, Dipsticks, & My Ex's Brother Page 4