Plus, he has enough on his plate right now. As confused as I am about things, I think he has it ten times worse—having to figure out if he’s going to continue with his career or hang it up.
My chest tightens.
Last night I told Jake I’d be fine if things don’t work out with the shop. But ever since then, I’ve been reconsidering my answer. Because I don’t think I would be. Financially, yes, I’d be fine. But the more I think about it, the more I’d probably feel like Jake—like I was letting Dad down. Not to mention Gramps. Geez. We’d be third-generation let downs. Great.
It’s times like these I kind of wish I was more like Kylie. Able to stay upbeat and believe that things will work out. But I’m not. And maybe that’s for the best. Someone’s got to be the voice of reason.
I just wish it didn’t have to me all the time.
THE INVITATION TO AUNT Sheila’s and Uncle Pete’s for dinner really could not have come at a better time. For all of us.
The edge in Aunt Sheila’s voice when she called this afternoon had me questioning just how big of a wine bottle to bring tonight. By the look of desperation in her eyes when she opens the door, I’d say my choice of the jumbo size was the right one.
“Girls! Come in!” She envelops each of us in a hug and then ushers us inside. “Bless you, my child,” she says, eyeballing the wine.
Kylie trails behind me and sets the six-pack of a local brew on the kitchen island. She and Uncle Pete always bond over beers while Aunt Sheila and I go for the grapes.
“You really didn’t have to do this, Aunt Sheila,” I say. “We could’ve brought something.”
Aunt Sheila waves my words away. “It’s my pleasure. You two work hard. You deserve a home-cooked meal every now and then. Plus—” she jabs a corkscrew into the wine bottle “—it kept me from murdering your uncle.”
Kylie winces. “That bad, huh?”
Aunt Sheila pours two glasses, hands one to me, then takes a long gulp. “Let’s just say that if he ever fully retires, I think I’m gonna have to get a job. Honestly, I don’t know how all those retired couples do it.” She takes another slurp. “Did you know he’s taken over management of the dishwasher?”
“Oh. Well, at least he’s helping out,” I say.
Aunt Sheila’s fingers tighten around her wine glass. “Sure. If by ‘helping’ you mean griping about how I load the dishwasher, then grumbling when the dishes come out still dirty. It’s because he’s not loading the damn thing right! But will he listen to me or let me do it? Noooo. Not like I haven’t been doing it for fifty years, but sure. What do I know?”
Kylie and I share a glance, and she asks, “Uh, where is Uncle Pete?”
“I banished him to his cave.” Sheila brings her fingers to her lips and whistles. “Pete! The girls are here!”
“How is he?” Kylie tilts her head toward Uncle Pete’s den.
“You mean besides driving me crazy?” Aunt Sheila rolls her eyes. “He’s fine.”
“Hey, it’s my favorite nieces!” Uncle Pete ambles into the room, one arm in a sling and a big grin on his whiskered face. The fact that we’re his only nieces never stops him from referring to us like this.
Kylie gives him a side-arm hug, careful to avoid his sling. “So, when are you coming back, old man?”
“Not soon enough,” Aunt Sheila mutters.
Uncle Pete scowls at her, then turns to Kylie. “Doc says one more week of home arrest and then I can come cause trouble at the shop.”
“As long as you’re causing trouble one-handed.” Aunt Sheila pins him with a knowing look before looking at us. “Seriously. You guys might want to install cameras. Make sure he’s not taking off his sling. ‘Cause I am not going through this again.” She shakes her head. “You know how sometimes I used to say I wanted kids? Well, now I have one.”
“Hey. I’m standing right here,” Uncle Pete says.
“Yes, you are.” Aunt Sheila sighs. “All. The damn. Time.”
“Ookay...” Kylie glances between our aunt and uncle, and I can tell we’re both trying to figure out how to avert World War Three. “So, who wants to hear about Lauren’s secret lover?”
The bickering screeches to a halt as two silver-streaked heads swivel my direction. My face heats, and I send Kylie silent death threats. Not quite the diversion I had in mind.
Kylie shrugs, her expression a mixture of “sorry to throw you under the bus” and “I didn’t know what else to do.”
The silence cracks open as Aunt Sheila rapid-fires questions. “What? Who? Spill!”
Uncle Pete sniffs, the scent of pot roast hanging heavy in the air. “Any chance we can discuss this over dinner?”
“Pete!” Aunt Sheila barks. “There are more important matters than your stomach.”
“Right.” I nod, finally finding my voice. “Like clearing up the fact that I do not have a lover.”
The disappointment on Aunt Sheila’s face might be comical if I wasn’t on the receiving end of it. “Damn. And here I was hoping to live vicariously through you.”
“Again!” Uncle Pete throws up his good arm. “I’m right here.”
Aunt Sheila rolls her eyes again, then turns her attention to herding us into the dining room.
Following a few tense moments wondering if something other than the roast beef might end up getting stabbed, things settle into our normal routine. Uncle Pete and Kylie always wind up talking sports, while Aunt Sheila and I talk books and movies, with shop-talk all-inclusive.
As Kylie fills them in on the proposal, I get that unsettled feeling once again. I wait until after we’ve clinked glasses in celebration, then throw in the two cents that’ve been giving me pause. “Okay. So, I know being in the final three for this is a big deal, but I still think we need to talk about what happens if we don’t get it.”
Kylie’s eyes go wide. “Why? Is there something you’re not telling me? Did you find something in the books?”
“No. Nothing like that. It’s just...” I drive a piece of pot roast through my mashed potatoes. “We know Dad’s life insurance money will be coming soon. But we also know it wasn’t the top of the line, so it won’t be as much help as we were hoping. We’ve had a good spring so far, and the classes and one-on-ones Jake’s putting together should help, too. And I want to believe we’ll win the proposal just as much as you, but I think we have to plan for both possibilities. What we’ll do if we get it, and what we’ll do if we don’t.”
Relief settles on Kylie’s features. “Phew. You had me worried, there.” Her eyebrows draw together in inquiry. “How are the numbers?”
“Good. For now. It’s that balloon payment I’m worried about. I just don’t see us being able to manage it if things remain status quo.”
“We can always go back to the bank and refinance it.”
“Yeah. Maybe. But what if they don’t refinance it? What then?”
Kylie sighs and sinks her head into her hands, her elbows propped on the table. “I don’t know.” She gulps a breath, her voice wavering as she continues. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”
Shit. And now I’ve made my sister cry. Great job, Lauren.
Aunt Sheila and I stand up and surround Kylie, pulling her into a hug, while Uncle Pete looks like he’d rather be somewhere else. Somewhere without estrogen and emotions.
Kylie sucks in a breath, and I can tell she’s trying her best to keep it together. She hates crying just about as much as Uncle Pete hates to be around people with leaky tear ducts. “I’m scared, too,” she whispers. With a deep breath, she nods, then pulls away, and we all take our seats again. “But I have to believe things will be okay. It’s too overwhelming otherwise.”
Hmm. I totally get that. But I also get that there’s a fine line between optimism and delusion. And I don’t want us ending up on the wrong side.
“You know—” Aunt Sheila reaches across the table, placing a hand on each of ours “—this is exactly why your father left the shop to both of you. B
ecause you balance each other out.”
She squeezes our hands, and Uncle Pete clears his throat. “And, um, no matter what happens, your dad would be real proud of you. Both of you.”
By the convulsive swallowing and the tick of Kylie’s jaw, I’d say Uncle Pete’s words are hitting her just about as hard as they’re hitting me. For someone who likes to avoid the “touchy-feely crap” as he usually calls it, he sure pressed the right button.
Kylie clears her throat. “Thanks.”
I nod, still battling the emotions lodged firmly in my throat.
“Anytime.” Aunt Sheila squeezes our hands again, then lets go. She winks at Uncle Pete, her features softened. “Now. Who wants pie?”
AFTER DESSERT, KYLIE and Uncle Pete head to the Man Cave while Aunt Sheila and I have another glass of wine in the kitchen. It’s as much because Kylie and I are trying to give our aunt and uncle some breathing room from each other as because that’s just how it usually pans out—me chatting with Aunt Sheila and Kylie watching sports with Uncle Pete.
Aunt Sheila gives me a shoulder squeeze. “You okay?”
I nod. “I could ask you the same thing.”
She shakes her head, a wry grin on her face. “Yeah, I’m fine. Ready for him to get back to work and out of the house, but fine.” She gives me a pointed look.
“Yeah. I’m fine, too. It’s not like I’m lying awake all night thinking about the shop. I just...” I sigh. “I don’t want to let Dad down.”
“Oh, honey. There is nothing you could do that would let him down. You know that, right?”
I shrug, the emotions clogging my throat once again.
“Your father loved you both so much. Whatever happens with the shop won’t change that. It’s just a business.” Aunt Sheila sips her wine and continues her knowing stare until I nod. “Good. Now that that’s taken care of, let’s circle back to that whole ‘secret lover’ thing.” She wiggles her eyebrows, a smile playing at her lips.
I groan. “Do we have to?”
“Yes. Inquiring minds want to know.”
“Do inquiring minds promise to keep their lips sealed?”
As Mom’s younger sister, Aunt Sheila has always been a good sounding board. And it’s killing me not to be able to confide in anyone right now. I mean, what good is panty-melting kissing if you can’t brag about it? Plus, I could really use an outside perspective right now. But how much do I tell her?
Aunt Sheila locks her lips and throws the key over her shoulder, her eyes bright with excitement.
“So... It’s not so much a secret lover as a secret kisser.”
“Do you want it to be more?”
“Yes.” The word explodes out of my mouth.
Aunt Sheila grins. “Alrighty, then. Tell me how you really feel.”
“Ugh. That’s just it. I don’t know how I feel. I mean, I really like him, but he’s so far out of my league it’s not even funny.” Even though I’m less intimidated by him than when we first met, that fact’s still true. “And I don’t know if we’re just having fun, or if we’re headed for something more.”
“No one does. Unfortunately, things like this don’t fit nicely into spreadsheets.”
“Ugh, I know.” Life would be so much easier if they did.
“Are you gonna tell me who it is? Do I know him?”
I weigh out the pros and cons, finally deciding to let her in on my secret. “It’s Jake. Our new mechanic.” I brace for warnings, but instead, excitement lights her eyes. “Ooh... Good choice. If I were twenty years younger and single, I’d go all dreamy-eyed over him, too.”
Yeah. You and every other female. “So? What do I do?”
“Well, I could tell you to be careful. That he’s got ‘heartbreaker’ written all over him.” She tilts her head to the side and studies me. “But sometimes you’ve just gotta relax, let go, and enjoy the ride.”
Right. Easy for her to say.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Jake
WHAT THE HELL AM I doing?
I mean, I know what I’m doing right now—replacing the tires on a couple of the shop’s rental bikes. Unfortunately, there isn’t anything more complicated that needs fixing right now. Which means that my thoughts keep ricocheting back to Lauren and what the hell we’re doing.
Are we just kissing friends? Kissing coworkers? Friends with mediocre benefits? Okay. Maybe more than mediocre. The kisses have been spectacular. But they make me want more.
The problem is, do I deserve more?
I feel like I’m totally out of my element here. Because I like her. I really like her. But I don’t want to hurt her. And I’m afraid if we go any further, that’s exactly what I’ll do. One, because I’m not exactly stable boyfriend material, and two... Well, that’s pretty much it—I’m not exactly stable boyfriend material. Which is what she deserves.
Shit.
When did I start to grow a conscience?
“Uncle Jake!”
Reece’s excited yell and the thudding of his steps breaks through the tangle in my brain.
Thank God. Saved by my nephew.
Reece appears in the doorway, Tracy right behind him. “Sorry,” she says, a wince on her face. “Hope this is an okay time to stop by.”
“It’s perfect. Hey, Reece’s Pieces.”
“Hi!” Reece skips into the room and stops beside me. “What are you doing?”
“Working.”
“Duh.” He rolls his eyes. “I know that.”
“Oh. My mistake,” I say, straight-faced. “Well, if you must know, right now, I’m about to put new tires on this bike. You wanna help?”
“Can I, Mom?”
“Sure. Knock yourself out.”
I glance up at Tracy. “If you, uh, need to go run some errands, we’re fine.” I know how much work Reece can be, and my sister could probably use a few moments to herself.
“Really?” Tracy’s face lights up. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’ve got this.”
“Okay. I’ll be back soon. Be good for your uncle.”
“No sweat, Mom!”
Thank God the kid’s curious. His steady stream of questions keeps my mind off my personal life as I teach him the ins and outs of basic tire care.
“Hey, Jake? Can you—” Lauren stops in the doorway, surprise on her face. “Oh. Hi. Kylie didn’t tell me you had company back here.”
“I’m not company. I’m his nephew! Reece!”
“Hi, Reece. I’m Lauren.”
Reece hops from one foot to the other. “Are you Uncle Jake’s boss?”
“One of them, yes.”
He tilts his head to the side. “Do you like my Uncle Jake?”
“Uh...” Her cheeks flush, and her eyes dart to mine before settling back on Reece. “He’s a very good employee, yes.”
“Well, I like my Uncle Jake. He’s fun. Do you know he rides bikes?”
Lauren nods. “I heard something like that.”
“But he can’t right now, ‘cause he messed up his leg. But that’s okay, ‘cause now he gets to hang out with me. And you know what else? He even let me pick out the colors for his casts.”
“He did, huh?”
“Yep. His first one was green for the Hulk. And this one’s blue. But I couldn’t decide if it was for Batman or Superman. Batman’s got blue legs, and Superman’s mostly blue with red legs. So I guess it’s kinda both.”
Lauren bites back a smile as she catches my eye. “Your uncle sounds like a pretty cool guy.”
Reece’s cowlick waves as he nods. “Uh-huh. He is. You know what else is cool?”
“What?” Lauren asks.
“His penis does tricks!”
Damn. And this had been going so well. “Oh, hey, Reece, buddy.” I pull him toward me, one hand clamped over his mouth. “Remember what your mom said?”
Reece’s gives me a mournful look. “No penis talk in public,” he mumbles through my fingers.
“Yep.”
“Okay.”
He heaves a sigh twice his size, then turns back to Lauren. “I’m not supposed to talk about penises in public, because Mom says so. She also tells me to keep my hands out of my pants.”
Lauren presses her lips together as she struggles to maintain her composure. “Well, I’d say that’s some pretty good advice.”
“Hey, Reece,” I interject. “Why don’t you tell Lauren what else you like to do?” Besides embarrass me and play with yourself. “What’d we do last night?”
“Oh! We played dinosaurs. And cars. Do you drive a car?” he asks Lauren.
“Yep.”
“Me too. When I get bigger. And you know what else I’m gonna do when I get big? Ride with Uncle Jake. He has a cool bike.” He tilts his head and studies Lauren. “You’re big. Do you ride with Uncle Jake on his cool bike?”
Glancing at Lauren, my blood makes a detour to my groin as she licks her lips, a faint blush highlighting her cheekbones. I wonder if she’s picturing what I am—her behind me on a motorcycle, her arms locked around my waist, her softness molded against my body. I shift to relieve some of the pressure building below my waist and clear my throat. “You ever ride a motorcycle?”
“No.”
“Do we need to add that to the list?”
She nods. “Definitely.”
An idea begins to filter through my brain cells. Damn. I think my penis-obsessed, four-year-old nephew might just be a genius.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lauren
“I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE I let you kidnap me.”
Jake barks out a laugh from my passenger’s seat. “Kidnap? Please. You’re driving.”
“Yeah, but under extreme duress.”
“Duress. Right. You practically jumped into the car.”
Argh! He’s right. I did. But in my defense, I underwent a healthy dose of second-guessing beforehand. And I still can’t quite believe I’m doing it. Not that I actually know what it is. Or where we’re headed. Or why I agreed.
Okay. I know why I agreed. It’s because of the hot guy in the seat next to me. Well, that and the fact that he said it was part of my homework. How can I say no to homework? Especially in light of Aunt Sheila’s “sit back and enjoy the ride” comment. Of course, it’d be much easier if I knew where the ride was taking me.
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