Flying Gold

by Vanessa North

  “Tiffani.”

  “Duke says you need to talk to me? You’re paid in full. Is there something else you needed?”

  I swallow. This is stupid. “I—Can we talk in private? I need your advice on something.”

  “Of all the damned nerve, you little—” The big guy steps forward, but Tiffani places a hand on his giant chest.

  “Duke, can you go ask Tegan to add a line for an air filter for the 2003 Camry on my lift?”

  He glares at me, then nods and walks away.

  “Let’s go in the office.” She opens the door and I follow her inside. “He wouldn’t hurt you. He looks scary, but he’s a pacifist.”

  Sure, I buy that. “A pacifist with a black eye?”

  She shrugs. “Wrong place, wrong time.”

  “Why are you working on a 2003 Camry?”

  “Saturday car clinic. We thought the women of Royal might be more inclined to trust a woman-run shop with their cars. So they make appointments throughout the week and we do services, tire rotations, simple diagnostics on Saturdays. If they need more work, we’ll work them in the rest of the week.”

  “So not just classics anymore?”

  Her smile falters and she crosses her arms over her chest like a shield. “It’s a shrinking market.”

  “No, I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s good—I’ll tell my mom about it. She’s convinced the guys at the dealership are scam artists.”

  She bites her lip and flushes prettily. “Thanks. It was my idea, so I’m a little protective of it. I think Dad would’ve hated it.”

  “It’s a good idea, Ani. Probably better than my lame-ass idea to race the Chevelle.”

  She straightens up in her seat, eyes widening. “I—uh, thanks. And really? You’re gonna take it to the drag strip? You?”

  Yeah, me. The nerdy camera guy who fell in love in the passenger seat of a green Chevelle and then threw it all away still wants to chase the feeling of being sixteen, reckless and in love.

  “Yeah. I’m going to be here—well, Atlanta—until the holidays. I don’t have any friends, I need a hobby, and I found this car on Craigslist, so it seemed like a sign. But then all this happened and I’m wondering if it was all a mistake.”

  “No, it’s a solid car. The ignition coil shit the bed, but that’s just straight-up bad luck. The car’s in good shape. You’ll want to tune the engine, of course. Where are you going to race it?”

  “Everywhere I can? Tate Field? Atlanta Dragway? Isn’t there an amateur race circuit in the Southeast?”

  She nods. “Yeah. The qualifying race is up in North Carolina in May. It runs through October. I was going to race Dad’s Camaro this year, but when Tanner moved back to town, it seemed like a better idea to let her have it.”

  When Tanner moved back—I want to ask about that. She was in college when Tiffani and I dated, so of all the Ellis siblings, I know her the least. But I don’t want to pry. “So it’s good? The car is good?”

  That lip worries between her teeth again, and then she grins at me. “It’s a fucking beast.”

  That grin, that first unguarded, unqualified smile from her since I saw her again, hits me like a punch to the solar plexus. And even though it’s for the car and not for me, I’d do anything to keep it. In my head, I’m taking a photo and filing it away to look at when I’m sad, though I don’t have any rights to her smiles anymore.

  “Will you tune the engine for me?”

  Brake squeal. The grin disappears and she shakes her head. “No—I’m sorry. No. I don’t want to work on your car. I don’t want to spend time with you. This?” She gestures between us. “This isn’t some cozy meet cute all over again.”

  “Ani, that’s not what I’m asking for.”

  “Stop calling me that. I’ll get your car.”

  She practically dashes from the office, her braid flying out behind her. What the hell did I say to fuck this up so badly? I was brought up to ask for what I wanted, to stake out my demands. It works in the film world, but not, apparently, in American Heavy Metal.

  I retreat to the front of the shop, where Tanner is shaking hands with the blonde lady. When the blonde gets into a car and drives away, I raise my chin in greeting, and try to look nonchalant.

  “Matthew.” Tanner turns to me, looking for all the world like she’s about to ask if I’ve finished my math homework. “I trust everything is fine with the Chevelle?”

  “Um, yeah. Thanks. I’m, uh, thinking about racing it, actually.”

  “Really?” Her eyes narrow. “Here in Georgia?”

  Jesus, it’s like being under a microscope. Was she this nosy when Tiffani and I were kids?

  Thankfully, the Chevelle pulls up just then, Tiffani behind the wheel, the loud-ass engine drowning out any hope Tanner might have for an explanation from me. Tiffani leaves the engine running, putting the emergency break on and hopping out to hand me a clipboard.

  “Sign here.” She points to a highlighted line, and I oblige.

  “Listen, if you change your mind about tuning the engine—I’d really like to hire someone who knows their way around this car. And you know it better than anyone.”

  “Excuse me, what?” Tanner looks from Tiffani to me then back to Tiffani. “Of course we’d be happy to tune your engine.”

  Tiffani looks down at her feet, face flushing again, and I’m willing to bet every dime in my checking account she’s embarrassed. “Fuck.”

  Tiffani

  “What the hell are you thinking, turning away business?” Tanner glares at me across the desk in the office. “We’ve been over this, Tiff.”

  “It’s not business, it’s Matt.” I cross my arms over my chest, trying to calm my racing heart. Do I want to tune his engine? Hell yes. And I can try to tell myself it’s just the car, and nostalgia, but not ten minutes ago, we were standing in this exact spot and he said, “It’s a good idea, Ani,” and something in my body betrayed me.

  Was it the nickname? The praise? The way he smelled—changed from ten years ago on the surface, a different soap or something—but familiar in a way that brought back memories I’ve tried to bury? Or maybe it was the way he looked at me—like he used to, when we were stupid kids in love, like he had sunshine in his soul. Whatever it was? It was fucking devastating. Because in that moment, I looked back at him, and I wanted him all over me.

  “It doesn’t seem like you find it hard to get along with him.” Tanner twists her hair into a bun and sticks a pencil through it.

  That’s the problem. I don’t want to get along. I hate him. I think. “Tan—”

  “Please?” She looks up at me, pinning me with her blue-eyed stare. “You’re working so hard, I know. Now that Duke is back, maybe he can take over more of the diagnostic stuff you’ve been doing. It would give you time to take on special projects like this.”

  Like tuning Matt Adams’s engine. Or other engines. Engines I can find on Tinder who won’t freaking care if I never call them again.

  “What’s that face?” Tanner’s eyes narrow. “Tiffani? Are you going to say yes?”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. “I’ll tune his engine. I’ll help him get his car ready for the circuit. But I’m not going to be nice to him.”

  She laughs. “Do you want to tell him or should I?”

  I take a deep breath. “I’ll tell him.”

  “Hey, I appreciate you,” she says. “Why don’t you finish putting the air filter in that Camry and take the rest of the afternoon off?”

  The air filter is already in the Camry, so I lower my lift to the floor, hand the keys to Duke, and head to the locker room to change out of my coveralls. I untie my braid, combing my fingers through it and slipping the elastic over my wrist.

  When I step outside into the chilly February afternoon, Matt’s sitting in the passenger seat of his car, feet up on the dashboard, wind
ow open. He looks over at me, as effortlessly cool as he was back when he was the most mysterious new kid in school, and he smiles. “Let’s go for a drive.”

  There was a time those words were as good as dirty talk. A promise we could get away somewhere and be alone. Those words, once upon that time, meant my hands in his curls, and his lips on my skin, and the hundreds of ways we learned to love each other. All it takes is five little words for those memories to come rushing back, and I hate it. Is there any way to untangle the people we were from the people we’ve become?

  I slide into the driver’s seat, and I meet his gaze. The smile falls from his lips as I put the car in gear. “Fasten your seat belt,” I whisper.

  He does as he’s told, and he doesn’t talk as we drive away from the shop.

  He doesn’t talk as we turn out of town and into the interstices between North Georgia cities: horse farms and sunflower fields, signs for pick your own berries and boiled peanuts. And I’m not going to think of that time we went berry picking the summer before senior year and all the places we found juice stains later.

  He doesn’t talk when I maneuver the car down a long dirt road to a field that’s been covered by gravel. It’s quiet now, but tonight the field will be full of cars and noise.

  When I ease the Chevelle to a stop and turn off the engine, he finally speaks. “Is this—?” He looks around, grinning. “Why on earth?”

  “Because there was room, and it’s cheaper than building a movie theater.” I shrug.

  “There aren’t any speakers?”

  I hold up my iPhone. “There’s an app for that.”

  “This is the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. What are they showing?”

  I smile. “The Fifth Element.”

  “Oh god.” They sound like sex words on his lips. “I love that movie.”

  “You aren’t even going to ask about the car, are you?” I glance over at him, and he shakes his head.

  “I knew you were going to say yes when you came outside in your street clothes.”

  “Am I that transparent?”

  He blows out a breath and scrubs a hand over his forehead. “No, Ani. I just know you. You and your sister had some kind of disagreement, but she felt bad about it, so she told you to take the rest of the day off. And you needed a day off more than you needed to hate my guts, so here we are in Old Man Traister’s corn field turned drive-in theater.”

  “You figured me out.” I drop the key in his lap and open the car door, needing to get away from the thoughts rattling around in my brain. Needing to get away from his familiar smell and his knowing eyes and his stupid sunny smile. Ten strides away from the car, I let the air out of my lungs in a rush. I’m not even sure why we’re here. Why I drove him out to my favorite thinking spot, a place so special to me, I never told anyone—never even told Dad—about coming out here.

  “Why here?” He comes to stand beside me.

  “I didn’t want anyone in town to see us,” I shoot back. “They’d gossip.”

  “Oh, honey, believe me, they’re gossiping already. My mom asked me about you last week.”

  Heat flushes up my chest to my face. I’ve seen Mrs. Adams around over the years, but by unspoken agreement, we don’t talk. Which is sad because I always liked her, but when you hate a guy’s guts? It sorta gets in the way of being friends with his mom. “How is she doing?”

  He shrugs. “She’s all right. Mad at the world. I honestly expect to get a call someday that she’s been arrested at a protest. I’m terrified and awed in equal measures.”

  I grin. When we were young, I learned more at Matt’s mom’s dinner table than in my current events class in high school. She’d been unflinching in her politics, and unwavering in her insistence that we understand the world we lived in. “Who would arrest your mom?”

  “Have you seen where you live? You think civil disobedience is prized here?”

  I wince at that. “It depends on whether you’re an old white Libertarian with a patch of weed in his garden or...” I trail off.

  “Or a loud-mouthed menopausal rabble-rouser with a shaved head, sitting cross-legged in the middle of Main Street, wearing a T-shirt proclaiming herself the granddaughter of the witches they couldn’t burn?”

  I laugh, but his description is apt. I’m pretty sure I saw her wearing that T-shirt at Ingles last week. “If I were Shane Tucker, I’d be scared to arrest her.”

  “Your lips to god’s ears,” Matt whispers fervently. “I don’t need her leading a prison uprising and getting locked away forever.”

  “You watch too much television.”

  “Hazard of the job.”

  I look at him, then, but he’s staring off at the screen up on the hill. He reaches down and takes my hand, giving it a squeeze. “I’m sorry about your dad, Ani. I liked him a lot.”

  The pain hits me like a punch to the gut. Everyone liked Dad. Everyone’s sorry. No one has any idea what it’s like to go home to his house every night and see him everywhere.

  When I catch my breath, I squeeze back, then extract my hand, crossing my arms over my chest. “Let’s go get supper and we’ll figure out a schedule for me to work on this beast.”

  If he’s upset that I’ve changed the subject, he doesn’t let on. Instead, he opens the passenger-side door to the Chevelle and gestures extravagantly. “Where to?”

  Matt

  She directs me to a taproom, and it’s the kind of place that would fit right in back in Los Angeles. The front windows are open to the crisp late-winter air, and heaters warm the patio, packed with hipsters and rednecks. The bartender is a young Black guy with piercings and tattoos, blue contact lenses, and a quick, shy smile.

  “Tiffani, hi.” He presses a hasty kiss to her cheek. “How’ve you been?”

  “Hi, Brendan.” She grins and gives him a hug. “Haven’t seen you around lately.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Your brother’s cute, but I don’t play games.”

  She nods seriously. “I get it. Hey, can you tell your sister to call me? She has my number.”

  “Misty? Of course. You buying a house?”

  She shakes her head. “Definitely not. But I want to talk about our options with Dad’s house.”

  “I’ll tell her. What can I get y’all to drink?” He turns his blue-lensed eyes on me and gives me a once-over. “Draft list is on the wall.” He gestures with his head.

  A few moments later, Tiffani and I are facing each other down at a corner table, matching glasses of a local IPA between us.

  “There’s a taco truck out back.” She smiles. “If you’re hungry.”

  Let’s be honest. I don’t need to be hungry to eat tacos. But I am hungry.

  “Are you? Can I buy you a taco or three?” I gesture toward the back door.

  “One carne asada, one al pastor, street-style on corn tortillas.”

  “You got it.” I make my way down the stairs to the parking lot and the line for the taco truck. I end up ordering the same thing as Tiffani, along with elote and chili-lime fries. When I return, arms laden with heavenly smelling food, my seat’s been taken by a tall, loose-limbed guy in designer jeans, neatly trimmed brown hair, and a serious expression, talking in a low voice.

  Tiffani looks upset, then relieved, as he says something and places his hand palm down on the table. He glances up at me and smiles, then turns his attention back to Tiffani. “So I’ll see you Thursday, don’t be late, wear your uniform.”

  She nods. “This means a lot, Mac.”

  “Thursday.” He stands up and walks away, giving me a nod as he goes.

  “What was that about?” I carefully drop the food onto the table and slide her tacos toward her.

  Flinching, she reaches for a french fry. “I sort of got a ticket while I was test-driving your car.”

  “How do you sort of get a ticket? Isn’
t it a binary situation?”

  “Not when your sister’s oldest and most very bestest friend is a lawyer.” She grimaces. “And he agrees to keep your secret.”

  Jesus. “So that’s Tanner’s ‘oldest and most very bestest’ friend?”

  She nods.

  “And Tanner? Doesn’t know you got a ticket?”

  A headshake.

  “And Thursday?”

  “Court.” She frowns. “And keeping my fingers crossed Shane Tucker is a no-show. Mac is pissed at me for putting him in this situation, but if Shane does show, Mac can just explain that I was trying to heat-soak the engine to test the ignition coil.”

  “Uh huh.” I stare across the table at her while she squirms. “Were you?”

  She squirms some more. It’s adorable. “Not exactly. I was just seeing what the old girl could do.”

  “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?” I can’t help grinning as I ask, and apparently that’s the wrong thing.

  “I’ve changed more than you know.” She picks up her taco, and I pick up mine, and we’re quiet after that for a long time.

  When she finally speaks, it’s back to business. “I can work on your car on Friday afternoons, and we can take it to Tate Field to test drive it. I emcee some of the events out there, so I have a key—I’m allowed to use the track whenever I want. You’re going to want to set aside money for tires. Racing slicks ain’t cheap and you’ll go through them faster than you’d believe.”

  “Got it. Friday afternoons, set aside a tire fund. What else?”

  “Go ahead and pay your entry fee for the qualifier in Mooresville. Do you have someone crewing for you?”

  I pause with my beer glass halfway to my lips, then set it down slowly. “Do I need someone crewing for me?”

  She stares at me then rolls her eyes. “You’re hopeless.”

  “Will you do it?” I tease, knowing she’s going to say no. She doesn’t disappoint.

  “Fuck you.”

  “I’ll ask around on my crew at work. Maybe someone else needs a hobby too.”