Fine Line (Inked Duet #1)

by Persephone Autumn

  Bringing the phone back to my ear, Penny rambles on. Who knows what I missed. “And will you grab Twizzlers, popcorn, M&M’s, Red Hots, and Mike and Ike’s. Oh, and ice cream.” God, she probably rattled off twenty other different forms of junk food before I paid attention. Oh well.

  “Are we serving sugar comas for dessert,” I joke. “We do not need all of that.”

  “Hey,” Penny says in a stern motherly voice. “We need them for movie time. Don’t be a Debbie Downer, Auti.”

  I laugh. “Alright, I’m hanging up now. Should only be another thirty minutes. You guys okay?”

  More giggles. Tickle-fest giggles. “We’re fine. Drive safe and see you soon.”

  Disconnecting the call, I toss my phone in my purse and back out of the space. Two miles down the road, the car idles high at a red light. I check the gauges and note nothing looks off. No warning lights light up the display. Giving the dash a gentle tap, I tell the car we are almost done for the day.

  Inside the grocery store, I snatch up the final missing ingredients for our Sunday night lasagna. Reluctantly, I grab a handful of sugary snacks for movie night per Penny’s request. After checking out, I head back to my car, slip inside, and go to start it.

  But the engine doesn’t turn over.

  I crank the key again. Nothing. No ticking or whining. Not a single sound.

  “Well shit,” I say, slapping my hands against the steering wheel.

  Digging my phone out of my purse, I call Penny. “Are they out of Cherry Garcia? Please tell me they aren’t.”

  “Pen, my car won’t start.”

  The television mutes in the background. “Won’t start? Does it sound like it’s trying?”

  I shake my head, then remember she can’t see me. “No. It sounded off when I left the mall, but nothing bad. Just louder.”

  “Need me to come get you?”

  Giggles erupt in my ear. “No, stay with her. I’ll call for a tow truck. Hopefully it won’t take long.”

  “You at our usual store?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  When Penny doesn’t answer right away, I pull the phone away from my ear to see if the call dropped. Nope, still connected. “Sorry,” she says when I bring the phone back to my ear. “Was looking up tow places nearby. Looks like there’s one a couple miles away. I’ll text you the number.”

  A second later, my phone pings with an incoming text. “Got it, thanks.”

  “Sure thing. Keep me posted.”

  “I will.”

  After hanging up with Penny, I dial the number she sent to me. A gruff voice answers and I explain my situation and ask if he can tow my car. Thankfully, I am met with a resounding yes. The man tells me he should arrive within thirty minutes.

  While waiting for him, I turn the key one click in the ignition and listen to the radio. At least it’s not the battery and I don’t have to wait in silence. Five songs and two commercials later, an older man pulls up behind me with a flatbed.

  As I step out of the car, he strolls forward staring at my Betsy and whistles. “Where’d you get a beauty like this?” he asks.

  “Long story short, it was my granddad’s. He restored it and passed it on to me.”

  “Well she’s a beaut.” The man extends his hand my way. “Name’s Aaron.”

  I shake his hand. “Autumn. Thanks for coming to my rescue.”

  “Tell me what seems to be the problem.”

  I explain to Aaron what happened earlier when I left the mall and at the traffic light. Then how it wouldn’t start when I walked out of the store. Thank goodness I didn’t buy any perishables.

  “Mind if I give it a try right quick?” Aaron asks.

  I shake my head and gesture to the driver’s side door. He sits in the car a moment and turns the key a few times, leaning closer to the dash. He listens intently, trying to locate the source of the issue. A minute later, he hops out and closes the door.

  “Not sure what’s wrong with her, but I’ll give it a full rundown at the shop in the morning. Anything you need to grab out of the car before I get it on the flatbed?”

  “Just a few bags.”

  After I collect my bags and purse, Aaron loads Betsy up on the truck. Soon, we are driving down the road toward his shop. A mix of gasoline and pine-scented cardboard trees fills the cab. Aaron whistles along with a country music song on the radio as he taps his fingers on the steering wheel.

  I glance over at his profile and can’t help but think he looks familiar. Not sure how, but his profile gives me déjà vu. But I shake it off and stop scrutinizing him.

  Just as another song starts on the radio, we pull into the parking lot of an auto repair shop. The exterior a bright and bold blue with an oval white sign in the center. Thompson’s Garage is swirled in the same blue on the white sign. Several cars are parked on the side of the building, shaded from the afternoon sun by a handful of various trees.

  As Aaron circles the lot and starts to back up to one of the white bay doors, it rolls up. I look in the side mirror, but don’t see anyone and assume Aaron must have pressed a garage door opener.

  When the truck stops fifteen feet from the bay, I glance over at him and he gives me a warm smile. “Time to get your girl inside. Then we’ll do paperwork. Do you need a ride home?”

  “No, I’ll request an Uber. Thank you.” We hop out and I hear him talking over the Diesel engine on the opposite side. I walk around the front of the truck, ready to ask him to repeat himself. “What was…”

  Words fail me as I round the tow truck and none other than Jonas is eyeing my Betsy with a giddy expression. He says something to Aaron, and I can’t quite make it out. He starts to say something else, turns his head to face Aaron, and spots me.

  A brilliant smile lights up his face and Aaron notices. “Hey,” Jonas says as he walks past Aaron, heading straight for me. “Is this you?” He points up at Betsy.

  I nod. “Yeah. She won’t start.”

  “Dad just told me.” Dad? Now the déjà vu makes sense. Similar profiles because they are from the same gene pool. “Sorry she’s being stubborn. We’ll fix her up for you.”

  I smile. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  Aaron sidles up to us. “Jonas, you know this pretty lady?”

  Before Jonas answers, I speak up. “We just met. I work at the tattoo shop a few miles down the street.” I point to Jonas’s forearm. “Worked on his newest addition.”

  A wide, toothy smile stretches from ear to ear on Aaron’s face. “Huh.” Aaron glances to Jonas then back to me. “Well you did a great job, sweetheart.” He throws a wink my way. “Gonna unload your girl here. Shouldn’t be long.”

  “Thank you.” Once Aaron is out of earshot, I face Jonas again. “That’s your dad?”

  “Yep. And this is our shop.”

  Oh, wow. Suddenly, I am wondering if there were any photos online of the shop owners when Penny chose this place. Sneaky wench. Not sure if I should hit or thank her.

  Not sure what to say, I glance up at the sign on the building. “So, has your dad owned it since eighty?”

  Jonas follows my gaze. “Yeah. He’d been saving for years. Worked as many hours as he could to still pay the bills plus save. Lucky for Dad, the bank took over the place from the previous owner and he purchased it cheaper than expected. Kismet, I suppose.”

  “Kismet,” I mumble.

  I had never given much thought or energy to the term. Fate. Destiny. Devine providence. Fate had its place in the world, I suppose, but the idea of some outside force steering me this way or that way didn’t sit right with me. I liked believing I was in control of my life. That I made the rules and held the power. The notion of being in control, I could apply it to so many scenarios from my past.

  No one held power over me.

  But the idea of kismet is starting to grow on me. How else could I explain meeting Cora and Gavin, and, by proxy, Jonas? Did they just stumble into a random tattoo shop? Or did some invisible force guide them my way?
Not sure I will ever know the true answer. And the more I think about it, the more my head hurts.

  What I did know for certain was Jonas walked in. He sat in my chair. And my heart somersaulted like a gymnast for hours. By the way he looks at me right now, I would venture to guess Jonas’s heart is flipping and twirling too.

  “While Dad unloads your car, we can step into the office and start the paperwork.”

  “Okay.”

  Jonas leads us into a spacious room on the south side of the building. As we step inside, I scan the room and see a couple rows of chairs next to a table with a Keurig and coffee fixings. A large window consumes half of the south wall and brightens the room naturally. A rack of magazines sits beside the coffee station and a small flat screen hangs near the ceiling. The large window is partially cut off by a wall, which looks to be an addition to the original structure. That specific wall is painted with a mural of the shop, I assume, when it first opened.

  Jonas leads us through a door and into an office, where the large window continues. Two desks sit butted up against one another. There is a small kitchen/dinette area and a plush couch with a coffee table. The walls have a coat of beige paint with several framed photos—which I can’t make out without closer inspection. Cozy—for an auto repair shop.

  “Have a seat,” Jonas says, gesturing to a chair near one of the desks. “Let me just grab the paperwork.” He sits at one of the desks and rummages through a drawer. Retrieving a triplicate form, he puts it on a clipboard, grabs a pen, and leans back in his chair. “Just a few questions and then you can head out.” Then he glances up from the form. “Do you need a ride? I can take you home, if you want.”

  I shake my head. “Nah. I’ll grab an Uber. Only live a mile or two from here, so shouldn’t cost much.”

  He nods, then prattles off a handful of questions. Name. Address. Phone number. When he asks for my number, I stumble for a moment. Your phone number is for the paperwork, idiot. At least that is what I tell myself. He continues the questionnaire as if he fills them out a thousand times a day. Most of it was simple maintenance history on the car.

  After all the questions, I sign the bottom and he gives me a copy. “Once we get a look under the hood in the morning, we’ll call you and let you know what we found.”

  “Sounds great.” I rise from the chair, grab my purse and shopping bags. Retrieving my phone, I open up the Uber app and request a ride.

  “Sure I can’t give you a ride?”

  I shake my phone in front of him and smile. “Already got one. Thanks, though.”

  “Mine is better,” he teases.

  No doubt about that. Heat crawls up my neck and blazes across my cheeks. “What if my Uber driver pulls up in a snappy sports car?” I joke.

  He rolls his eyes and laughs. “Mine would still be better.”

  We wander out of the office and back into the sticky, Florida fall weather. Just outside the building, we pause under an awning. The sun still shines down from above, but is slowly fading as afternoon drifts closer to evening.

  Beside me, I feel Jonas’s eyes on my profile. Tracing the angle of my jaw to my chin with his hypnotic eyes. Skirting them up to my lips and honing in on them. I tuck my lips in my mouth for one, two, three before I pop them back out. And I don’t miss the soft groan from him.

  “Can I call you?” he asks.

  I peek up at him and his eyes are exactly where I knew them to be. “About the car?” I play innocent, but know his question has nothing to do with the car.

  In slow motion, he shakes his head and meets my gaze. “You know I’ll call about the car.” His eyes drop to my lips for a split second before returning back north, and my heart skips. “What I mean is, can I call you” —he pauses and licks his lips— “and take you out sometime?”

  Every atom inside my tiny five-foot-five frame jumps up and down like I just won a million dollar lottery. Because Jonas is definitely a prize. A prize any woman would be lucky to hold in her arms. So why am I hesitant? What is stopping me from blurting out yes, yes, yes at the top of my lungs. I know the answer to this question. It’s a question I have had to answer several times over the years. But it’s an answer I keep to myself.

  “Jonas… I-I don’t know…” His eyes wilt as his shoulders sag. Damnit. “It’s not that I don’t want to.”

  And just like that, hope glints anew in his eyes.

  This is going to be so much harder than I imagined.

  Six

  Jonas

  She likes me. I see it in the upward curve of her lips. In the extra sparkle in her eyes. How her breathing changes. The way she automatically leans an inch closer. She likes me, but is afraid to admit it.

  “What is it then?” I run my fingers through my hair. “Am I too pretty for you?” I tease.

  Autumn throws her head back and laughs. The sound bubbly like a fountain-style cherry cola. “Maybe.” She waves her hand up and down my body. “I mean, how’s a girl going to compete with this?” Her words are meant as a joke, but they heat me from head to toe.

  When I finally get my wits about me again, I say, “Swear I’m not always this pretty.”

  She laughs again and shakes her head. “You’re persistent, aren’t you?”

  I shrug. “Only with people who count.”

  At this, her smile softens. Becomes more shy. “Jonas…” She steps closer to me and I pick up hints of vanilla and something fruity—cherry, maybe. “I really would love to talk more and go out sometime, but…”

  At the tattoo shop the other day, she said she wasn’t seeing anyone. Right? “But?”

  “I- I have other obligations.”

  What does other obligations mean?

  Maybe she has a sick family member she helps when not at work. Or maybe she works more than one job. I never really took that into consideration. Could be something completely innocent. She could be a volunteer at a shelter or attend school during the day.

  But does she have said obligations every day of the week? I wouldn’t think so.

  “Well, if you ever find yourself free of said obligations for a teeny, tiny minute, I would love to take you out. I’m willing to beg, if necessary.” I glance over at Dad who continues to ogle Autumn’s car. “Dad would never let me live it down if I got on my knees and groveled. But I’m willing to live with the incessant teasing.”

  She laughs again, and I press record in my mind. I love the carefree sound and want to play it on repeat. A white SUV pulls into the lot and Autumn glances down at her phone.

  “My ride is here.” She locks her phone and drops it in her black, white, and red purse which looks strikingly similar to a bowling bag, only smaller. “Let me see your phone.”

  I glance down at her outstretched palm. Without hesitation, I pull my phone from my back pocket, unlock it, and hand it over. Polished nails matching the rouge on her lips tap with efficiency over the screen. Seconds later, her phone pings in her bag and she hands me back my phone.

  “Gotta go.” She salutes me. “Talk to you later.”

  My head drifts in the clouds. I watch as she gets in the SUV and buckles up. I wave as the car drives off and just stand there like an idiot. Hand still up a minute later. Snapping out of my fog, I unlock my phone and stare down at the screen where she messaged herself from my phone.

  Jonas: Can’t wait for you to call.

  A smile slowly creeps across my face as I fixate on the simple text. Me either.

  “So, that’s her, huh?”

  I jump. “Argh! Dad, you scared the shit out of me.”

  He laughs. “Guess there’s a first for everything. She must have you all kinds of twisted up if your old man scared ya.”

  “Guess so.”

  He points to my phone. “If my instincts are right—which let’s get real, they always are—she’s a keeper.”

  Yeah. But how do you keep something not yet yours? “Couldn’t agree more.”

  * * *

  After parking my bike near the back of
the lot, I enter the pub, wave to the hostess, and weave through the crowd to our usual table. Twenty feet away, I take a deep breath and throw on a smile as I approach Cora, Gavin, and Shelly.

  More than a week has passed since Cora and Gavin’s wedding. And so much has happened in that small blip of time.

  Tonight will be the true test. To see whether or not the love I have had for Cora over the last ten years has changed. If it has really transitioned from romantic to friendship. Most people wouldn’t be able to set aside such potent feelings. But when something else—someone else—clicks in place, you see the world a little different.

  As I step up to the table, Cora laughs at something Shelly said and I absorb her laughter. Test how it makes me feel. See if it strikes me as it did weeks and months and years ago. It echoes across the table, has the corner of my mouth perking up for a beat, then settles.

  The first thing I realize is it doesn’t sink in. Her laughter doesn’t seep into my pores, bleed through my veins, and root itself in my marrow. It just floats through the air and settles. The only reason I smile is because it’s natural. Her happiness makes me happy.

  “Hey, man,” Gavin says as I settle on a stool next to Shelly.

  “Hey.” I raise a hand and nod at Chris, the bartender. He throws me a thumbs up. “Any good ones hit the stage yet?”

  For years, Cora, Shelly, and I came to this bar at least once a week. The local bar and grill hosted karaoke several nights a week. If it was a slow night on non-karaoke days, the manager would let people go on stage and sing for the hell of it. The more drinks people consume, the more interesting the singing. Definitely some memorable performances.

  Cora perks up. “You just missed the Momma Train Gang.”

  I glance over at her and see her for the first time. No doubt, Cora is a beautiful woman. But in a strange twist of events, I no longer see her how I once did. I don’t study her eyes or lips or smile with too much depth. Don’t feel the urge to stare at her for hours and pine over what I can’t have.