The end.
Love Edie’s Auto Shop and Grenadine? Vera and Jack’s story is available now! Read on for an excerpt.
FIRE TRUCKS, GARTER BELTS, & MY PERFECT EX
Edie’s Automotive Guide: Volume 2
Mom’s Bucket List #1: Take one photograph every day for a year
I stared at the red and white sign I’d thought I’d never see again in this lifetime. Welcome to Grenadine. It sported a cartoon-like font, with a smiling cartoon cherry as the dot over the “i.” A plethora of rainbow flowers huddled around it, butterflies and hummingbirds swooping in and out of view. If I held my breath and stood really still, I could practically hear happy music chiming, as if I were walking into a fairy tale. It was the kind of sign that should inspire the same feeling as, say, the Walt Disney World sign.
It was terrifying.
I was pretty sure this was how the plot of at least seventeen horror movies started. Reaching for my phone, I opened my group chat with my best friends, Payton and Jasmine. I snapped a picture of the sign and sent it with the caption, This is how I die, isn’t it? A small town in Michigan turns out to be more lethal than LA.
Jas: Prob. Good thing u went red, blondes die first
Jas: Just don’t shower @ night or b slutty
Payton: Too late...
I rolled my eyes. Haha.
I attached my phone to my selfie-stick and took a series of pictures with me in front of the Grenadine sign. I almost got stung by a bee while I heard the shutter click, so there was bound to be some great pics for this year’s Payton’s Playhouse holiday card. When you were co-founder of the largest female-run porn company in the United States, you got to be silly with your holiday cards.
I opened my car door, which went up instead of out, and tucked my selfie-stick away in my one suitcase. Yes, singular. I loved my 2019 Ford GT Carbon Series, even if it was the most ridiculous car I could take on a road trip. You’d think the $500,000 price tag would mean room for two suitcases, maybe even a cupholder or two, but no. This baby was built for speed.
It was fast and sexy. Like me.
In addition to the one suitcase, I had wedged in a collapsible cooler and a large tote bag that held my purse, a paper road map, and my mom’s journal. After climbing into the driver’s seat, I pulled out the journal. I crossed off 32. Dye my hair to match the Grenadine sign. from my mom’s bucket list. I was lucky that the bright red went well with the yellowish undertone of my light skin.
Then I took a deep breath.
And a second.
And a third.
What was I doing here?
Did I really take a sabbatical from work for this?
I sucked in my cheeks and used my right hand to grab my seatbelt. Carefully, I stretched it over my chest. It was probably a little too soon after surgery to be road tripping, but whatever. I couldn’t just sit around wasting my life.
While the stitches were gone, the swelling and bruising from a breast biopsy and subsequent removal of the massive fibroadenoma were still painful. We were being extra cautious. They had said Mom’s mass was a non-cancerous fibroid as well.
It hadn’t been.
Despite my doctor’s reassurance that it wasn’t necessary, I had asked that she remove the entire mass. Thankfully, it hadn’t really affected the size of my perfect C-cup breasts. Now, two weeks after my surgery, I was back in the one place I’d vowed never to return to eleven years ago. Because that’s where Mom’s bucket list started.
I was too young when she died to appreciate the list. Hell, I hadn’t thought about it in years. Now, the list was with me, and she was gone. She passed away two months before my high school graduation, fate refusing to grant her one last wish of seeing me walk across the stage and get my diploma. Two months and one day later, the Grenadine sign—and the first eighteen years of my life—were in my rearview mirror. But ever since waking up in my hospital bed, I’d had the unstoppable urge to complete everything my mom never got to finish.
This week I had already crossed off resizing great-grandma’s wedding band so I could wear it, as well as going to a karaoke bar and singing Mom’s favorite Britney tune. It had been an incredibly painful rendition for anyone within earshot. I was pretty sure it was only a matter of time before a video of that hit the internet.
I breathed deep as I pulled into town, everything somehow looking different, yet exactly the same. After checking into the local bed and breakfast—number eight on Mom’s list was eating breakfast at Grenadine Manor B&B—I headed to a fundraiser down the street that was raising money for the local auto shop. I was bolstered by the fact that no one seemed to recognize me, which probably had something to do with the bright red hair, huge sunglasses, and carefully planned outfit. I had gotten a few sidelong glances and at least one double take, but no one had acknowledged me yet, and I certainly didn’t acknowledge them. An “I won’t tell if you don’t” silent agreement.
To be fair, I was a long way from the girl with dirty brown, unmanageable curls, thrift-store clothes, and inch-thick glasses. Thank God for Lasik. And legal name changing. Gone was Vera Tompson. I was now Vera Eastman, having taken my mom’s mother’s maiden name. I was more likely to be recognized as Roni Vegas, porn star, but with my cherry leg tattoo covered and my naturally curly hair now straight, long, and bright red instead of the traditional blonde, it hadn’t happened yet…at least not out loud.
The last hour had been a blast, but I’d made a rookie mistake entering the oil change competition. While it was gratifying to kick everyone’s ass—except Edie’s, the owner of the shop—it had brought both a lot of pain and a lot of attention. Neither were on my to-do list.
I stuck my arm under my boob, making a shelf for it to rest on. It was time to get out of here and rest for tomorrow. I had a water tower to climb and an estranged father to avoid.
The best-laid plans, however, were derailed when a bunch of incredibly attractive firefighters were led across a makeshift stage for a Date-A-Firefighter auction. I snapped a picture for the group text and sent it with a drooling emoji.
Me: It’s like a sexy firefighter calendar up in here.
Payton: uh…
Payton: buying my plane tix, BRB
Jas: Mama’s got a fire u can put out
Me: Thanks for making it weird, Jas
Jas: Ur welcome *kiss emoji*
“Grenadine, get those credit cards ready! The firefighter auction is about to start. You give us the money; you get a date with our town’s sexiest men and women!”
I blinked at the stage where the emcee, a beautiful woman with dark brown skin and short, natural hair, blew a kiss to the group of firefighters in tight white T-shirts and well-fitting jeans. Her name was Tamicka if memory served. “Give it up for our first firefighter, Cassie!” Cassie stepped forward and waved as the crowd cheered. She looked a few years younger than me, with a warm khaki complexion and a long, dark ponytail that shivered when she laughed.
Wowza. How was everyone in this town so attractive? It had to be something in the water.
A few things had changed in Grenadine since I’d left over a decade ago. She was probably the first female the station had employed who wasn’t a cleaning lady. A low whistle from a group of older men next to me made my shoulders tighten. I gave them a sideways glance, ready to run back to the B&B, rather than be approached.
But this trio wasn’t looking at me. They were looking at the stage. “She could make me dinner and then be dessert,” I heard one of them say as he scratched the straw-like hair under the sweat-soaked brim of his baseball hat.
His friend, who looked like he hadn’t showered in several weeks, snickered. “Everyone put in twenty and we could make it a group date.” They dug crumpled bills out of their pockets and shoved them into dirty-man’s outstretched hand. They elbowed each other as if their ingenious plan would mean all their sexual fantasies were about to come true.
I dipped into my pocket and fingered my credit card. I could easily bea
t a sixty-dollar bet and save her from a night of unwelcome advances. Sisterhood was sacred, whether or not we’d ever met before.
My palms started sweating. Bidding meant speaking. Loudly. Which meant even more attention, which meant small talk, which meant discovery.
I shivered, despite the humid August evening. Keeping a low profile was imperative to not causing drama. I straightened my shoulders and scanned the crowd again. It wasn’t that I was looking for someone in particular, it was more like avoiding them. But I hadn’t seen either my dad or my ex. This was good. This was okay. Not seeing my ex was probably for the best, and I’d prefer to talk to my dad in private.
“Can I get forty dollars?” Tamicka asked.
I scoffed, offended by the low starting bid. Forty dollars wasn’t going to save this shop. A hand brushed my upper arm and I tensed, instantly shrugging away.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,” the bombshell blonde, Edie, rushed out. She had some sunburn on the ivory skin of her nose and forehead, but it didn’t diminish her smile.
I shrugged with a half-smile. “I have an aversion to being touched unexpectedly.” I didn’t add it was because most people who randomly touched me were creepy ass men thinking a porn star was “free game.”
She nodded. “Got it.” She raised her hand up in apology. “You seem…annoyed.”
I bit my lip, heat flooding my face. “It’s just…” I cleared my throat. “Forty dollars isn’t going to save the shop.”
She smiled sadly as the bid only climbed by five dollars each hand raise. “Small town. Unless you’re one of the guys who got work in the auto industry or real estate, it’s largely blue collar. Forty dollars is a week’s worth of groceries to some of these guys.” She leaned closer. “She’s also the newest member of the force. The bids will go up as we get to the veterans.”
“Sixty dollars going twice…” the announcer said.
I looked down at my feet, willing myself to figure out what to do. My mom’s voice echoed in my ears, practically shouting the answer: 24. Do something reckless to help someone else.
Sixty dollars, my ass. Pursing my lips, I took a deep breath and threw my hand in the air. “Two hundred dollars,” I shouted. My heart was pounding so hard, I could barely hear the crowd gasp around me. I couldn’t believe I had just done that.
Edie squealed and wrapped herself around a dark-haired man who was smiling down at her in a way that made my stomach squeeze. She looked over her shoulder and mouthed “thank you” before burying her face in his neck. I turned away, trying not to think about how that was one of my favorite parts on a man.
The rest of the crowd applauded and stirred, looking back at the outsider who’d just showed up and outbid them. The trio next to me immediately stopped their celebrating and stared at me slack-jawed. I pushed my sunglasses higher up onto my nose, despite the fact that it was twilight and I was starting to have trouble seeing. If I had sunglasses on, they couldn’t see me, right? That’s how physics worked?
To my right, a group of women I had known in high school were whispering just loud enough to hear.
“Have you ever seen her before?”
“She looks so familiar…”
“Do you think she’s one of those…like Ellen?”
“Hold on. I swear I know her from school. I’m checking our graduation class on Facebook. Maybe there’s a pic.” Their leader—Jessica? Jordan? Jennifer?—whipped a phone out of her leggings and started presumably looking through photos.
A drop of sweat ran down my spine. This was not my best move. Now that I had committed to paying, there was no way I could leave if things got dicey. Maybe I should’ve worn a Scream mask, like that one guy did when he’d collected his lottery winnings. I’m sure that wouldn’t have raised any concerns.
To my left, a group of teens were hard at work posing for their selfies. I scooted closer to them; they wouldn’t recognize me. They were trying to get the stage in the background of their kissy-face pictures. Their tank tops were conveniently tugged down to show a shadow of cleavage, their skirts rolled up, and they wore high-heeled sandals on gravel.
I wanted to impart on them the wisdom of wedges for rough terrain, but it was a lesson we all had to learn the hard way. Besides, I did not want to talk to teenagers. They scared me more than spiders, and I was really terrified of spiders.
Kitty-corner from them was a group of working women, some still wearing their aprons and uniforms. I recognized a few of them but couldn’t remember their names. They laughed and shot their gnarled, cracked hands up with glee, elbowing their friends and generally having a good time as another two firefighters were bid on. They made even my jaded heart happy.
With the exception of Edie, the rest of the shop girls—all in the shop’s coveralls—were standing in the front row and screaming, trying to get the audience to up their bids. They seemed generally happy to be there and willing to make fools of themselves for a good cause. When they got one woman to double her bid on an older man with a bald head and a baby face, even I clapped.
There was one glaring difference between everyone here and me: I was the only person here alone. I pulled out my phone again.
Me: Sooo…I maybe bid on someone…
Jas: YAS GURL!
Payton: That seems counterintuitive to keeping a low profile
Me: I didn’t say it was a good idea
Jas: Take him around the block a few times & then cut loose
Me: Her
Jas: Oh! Even better.
Me: It’s not like that. Was trying to save her from creepy bros
Payton: Bid on a man next. Send pics.
Me: Low profile
Jas: Too late. Live UR life!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I rolled my eyes at the number of exclamation marks Jas had sent. I was tempted to count them, but they all began blurring together after the fifth one.
“Welcome to the stage the first quarterback to lead the Grenadine Tigers to a state victory, his graduating class’s homecoming king and valedictorian, and winner of the highest bid for the last three auctions…”
My entire body stilled at Tamicka’s words. Jack.
“…Jack Reeves!”
At the sound of my ex’s name, years of laughter, memories of making out under the bleachers, and the feeling of his skin against mine all slammed into me at once, forcing me back a step. I mumbled an apology to whoever I’d walked into, but I didn’t move. I couldn’t move.
My Jack.
I dropped my phone, my hand unable to figure out how to hold it anymore. What were hands, even? All of my brain power went to staring at the amazingly sexy man who slid forward and into a dance move I had taught him when we were kids, his hips rotating as he spun around.
Eleven years had been very, very kind to this man. He had been the cutest boy I had ever seen when he was seventeen. Now he was off the charts. My mouth went dry. My eyes nearly fell out of my head.
The reddish-brown hair I had loved to rake my hands through was still short on the sides, but now a little longer on top. His once clean-shaven face now sported a close-cropped beard that I bet would feel amazing against my thighs. I had kissed every single freckle that dotted his fair skin over and over again.
He was still…
And his smile…
The way his collarbone…
Those forearms…
All the women around me, and some of the men, started murmuring and reaching into their purses and wallets.
I’d known it was a probability I’d see him while I was here, but I hadn’t expected to suddenly feel like I was home. I twisted the gold band on my right ring finger over and over again, concentrating on yoga breathing so I didn’t pass out or do something stupid.
I raised my hand, not even sure what Tamicka was saying or if bidding had begun. All I knew was that I needed to be near him again. “Three thousand dollars!” I yelled.
Well, so much for not doing something stupid.
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Acknowledgments
A huge, huge thank you to you readers! Time is our most precious commodity. Thank you for spending your time on my words.
The biggest thank you goes to Mr. Heather, my very own Prince Charming. Thanks for rolling with late nights, early mornings, dirty dishes, and rescheduled date nights. I literally wouldn’t be able to do this without you. You’re my favorite human.
Thank you to Lindee Robinson Photography and Najla Qamber Designs for my amazing cover, and to Danielle for all my logos. And of course, my human and canine models Michael Pack, Alexis Susalla, and Banner (and your families) for bringing the characters to life.
Thanks to Janna. You know what you did.
And Amber, for her Edie-isms.
Ellie at My Brother’s Editor—you are awesome. Thanks for understanding that deadlines and I get along like cats and baths.
My assistant, Nicole, you are the reason anything gets done.
Michelle, you are an amazing alpha reader and I couldn’t do this without you.
Thanks Erika (Myra) and Iveta for being wonderful proofreaders! Big thanks to my sensitivity readers and translators Matt, Tamicka (T-Money), Andrea, Chie, Claire, and Kevin.
Headlights, Dipsticks, & My Ex's Brother Page 20