by Drea Stein
The sun was low in the sky, but the breeze was a light ruffle on her face as she got into the Mustang. She had programmed the address of Colby’s shop into her phone, and she knew exactly where she was going, up onto the highway outside of town. It wasn’t too long of a trip, and it was still warm enough that she could ride with the windows down.
She stopped at a light, and the guy next to her—bald, middle-aged and driving a convertible—glanced over at her and gave her a nod as the light changed and they both pulled away on their respective journeys. Yup, she was going to miss the Mustang, she thought as she turned into the parking lot of Classic Autosports. It was bigger, nicer than she’d expected. She supposed she had been imagining a hole-in-the-wall repair shop, but this looked like a new car dealership, and a high-end one at that.
Steel and glass combined with little touches to make it look like a retro garage. There were large, double-height windows that looked onto a showroom where she saw a plethora of steel and chrome. She saw garage bays off to the side with people moving around, working on cars up on hydraulic lifts as sparks from a soldering iron flew up and flashed in the air like sparklers on the Fourth of July. There was a hum of activity and industry about the whole place.
She pulled into a visitor spot, gathered up her things and held the key to the borrowed car in her hand.
Pushing open the swinging glass door, she was assailed by the smell of leather, vanilla and just the faintest hint of motor oil, which immediately reminded her of him. She looked around, taking it all in. The walls were a light cream color and adorned with large framed pictures, not of cars driving on the open road, which was what she would have expected, but of movie posters.
Tory smiled and settled down in the waiting area. The couch and chairs were rich, dark leather, much like something she imagined in some old millionaire’s library. There was a definitive masculine touch to everything, but Tory figured that was right on target with the clientele.
She shifted in her seat, her nerves stretched tight, and thought about pulling out her phone or her laptop, in the hopes that work would distract her.
Instead she got up, crossed the carpeting of the reception area onto the shiny concrete floor. All the cars were very nice. She peered into a classic convertible with the top down, running her hand along the smooth, shiny metal before she gave in to temptation and got into the car, putting her hands on the wheel and imagining what it would be like to drive this along Shore Road, the wind in her hair, the sun on her face. Maybe, just maybe, she would trade in her current Mini for the convertible model someday. She quickly tamped down the thought. A convertible in New England was entirely impractical nine months out of the year.
She was more intrigued by the posters on the wall, and she did a slow circuit of them, looking at the movies, remembering some of them, not certain about others. She stopped at one picture. Unlike the others, this wasn’t a movie poster, just a large black-and-white photograph of a man, middle-aged, dressed in racing gear, leaning against a racecar. He looked tough and sexy, and there was something vaguely familiar about him.
“Bobby Dean DeWitt,” a voice said from behind. She jumped. She’d been expecting Colby but it wasn’t him. She turned, saw a woman studying her. Taller than Tory, but only because she wore stiletto heeled shoes. She had a mane of dark black hair that swirled around her face and was wearing what Tory guessed was genuine Chanel.
It was the woman, the one Colby had called an old acquaintance.
“Should I know him?” she asked, looking more closely at the name scrawled on the bottom.
“If you’re a fan of car racing. He was a big winner for a while, in the eighties and the nineties. Had his fair share of endorsement deals, you know for motor oil, things like that.”
She nodded, knowing now why he looked so familiar. She could hear the jingle for the commercial in her head and remembered seeing it on TV when she was a little girl, somewhere around the time when she’d be doing homework and eating peanut butter toast.
“Did you know him?”
“Oh, you could say that, sugar.” Her voice was thick and full of the Deep South, reminding her a little bit of what Colby’s sounded like.
He appeared just then and she felt a surge of relief at his presence.
“Ellie, what’s going on here?” he said. He looked between the two of them, frowning as he tried to read the situation.
“Sorry. I just had to step away from reception to freshen up. Tory, right? You must be here for the Mini,” Eleanor purred as she glided over to him, her hand reaching out to rest lightly on his arm.
He looked down at her hand, took his own, removed hers and smiled at Tory, the frown replaced by a look of easy going charm.
“Where are my manners? Tory, you remember Eleanor DeWitt. She’s my new assistant.”
“Of course I remember her sugar. Who could forget her?”
Tory was sure it wasn’t a compliment but she held her ground. Eleanor smiled, as if she approved and then turned back to Colby.
“Well then, Colby, anything else for the day?”
Tory saw he had taken a step back from Eleanor.
“Did you file those papers?”
Eleanor nodded. “And sorted out your schedule for next week, as well as got you a refund on the defective parts shipment.”
Tory wasn’t certain, but she was pretty sure Colby looked surprised.
“Oh, that’s good,” he said.
“I know, sugar. Don’t worry, y’all are in good hands now.”
“Ok, well then, I guess you can go.”
“Want me to stick around, see if you need anything else?” she asked.
He shook his head. Eleanor’s eyes slid over to Tory, her gaze inscrutable, and then back to Colby. “Well then, have a lovely evening, y’all.”
She glided away. Colby didn’t turn to watch her go, just looked at Tory. Today he wore pressed, crisp khakis, a polo shirt with a Classic Autosports logo embroidered on it and black cowboy boots with silver stitching. She wondered if he always wore boots.
“Eleanor, my new assistant.”
“So you said,” Tory said.
He gave her a smile and nodded toward the poster. “You know who that is?”
It took Tory a second to remember. “Yeah, the guy in the motor oil commercial … Bobby something.”
“Bobby Dean DeWitt,” he said.
She frowned. “Wait, as in Eleanor DeWitt. What is she, like, his daughter?”
Colby almost laughed. “More like his wife. Third.”
“You knew him?”
“After my dad died, well, the family friend who stepped in, it was him.”
“Really? That’s some sort of fairy godfather.”
Colby gave her a wistful smile. “Yeah, it was a big change. I was a small town kid, never really had much, Bobby and Eleanor took good care of me for a while. It was a long time ago, but Bobby just died a few months ago. Bobby and I sort of lost touch. Haven’t seen Eleanor in a while. She needs a little help, and well since my receptionist quit, she offered to step in for a few days.”
“So she’s sticking around for a while?” Tory could hear the question in her voice.
A look that Tory couldn’t quite gauge passed over Colby’s face. “I guess she is.”
There was another short pause, and then he said, “Should we get you back in your car?”
It was there again, a quick deflection, a change of topic. Ok, so Colby didn’t want to talk about his past. She could roll with that. After all, all that was in her past was a nerdy girl who wore ripped jeans and faded t-shirts. She much preferred the elegant, stylish career woman she had evolved into.
She smiled, and he smiled back. She felt that undeniable pull to him. Yup, she had it bad, and there was no getting away from it. His hand dropped to the small of her back as he guided her away from the picture.
“You know you didn’t have to lend me the Mustang,” she said as he led her toward the back of the building.
/> “Did you like driving it?” he asked her, his blue eyes twinkling and a smile dancing across his lips. She found herself smiling back at him. It was impossible not to.
“It was an, umm, interesting experience,” Tory said.
“How do you mean?”
“Well, every time I would come out of somewhere, like the grocery store, I would see some middle-aged, balding guy drooling all over it. They kept asking me questions I had no idea how to answer, like what the torque was, and how it handled….”
“And how fast it went from zero to sixty?”
She smiled. “I figured that one out on my own.”
Colby laughed. “I am glad you had fun. It’s not a bad little car. I drive it myself sometimes, on the weekend. But don’t worry, we’ll have you back in your cute Mini soon enough.”
“It’s not cute. It’s a practical car for a single person,” she defended it.
Colby shrugged. “Ok, so it’s not quite as much of a chick car as the VW bug, but it’s pretty close. Nothing wrong with being cute. It sort of fits your personality.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of being cute.”
Colby stopped and turned so he was facing her, a considering look on his face. “No, I guess ‘cute’ isn’t quite right. You should get rid of the Mini and get something like the Jaguar convertible over there … sleek, sexy, sophisticated, kind of like you.”
Tory looked at him. His blue eyes were no longer sparkling, the light in them replaced by something different, a heated, dangerous look. She had to swallow and blink, breaking their connection before she could finally find something to say.
“It would probably cost me a small fortune.” She wasn’t an accountant’s daughter for nothing. Her father had often lectured her on the silliness of spending good money on fancy cars, when all you needed was something to get you from point A to point B.
“I know someone who can give you a deal,” he suggested.
“I think I’ll stick with the Mini,” she answered, relieved that the electricity between them had died down. It was overwhelming, this feeling and she was quite certain she would do something reckless in his presence. And the thought of that was entirely too enticing.
“Good, because it’s all ready,” he said as he led her down a corridor toward the double glass doors that opened up to the garage area.
“Uncle Hank said that he thinks it might have been one of the moving vans that were around all day, ferrying stuff from the old offices to the new.”
“Uncle Hank?” Colby said.
“Officer Sisson, I mean. He’s a family friend,” she admitted.
“From the quarterback to the local cop, all looking out for you. Guess I’ll have to be on my best behavior with you,” Colby said.
She almost said, “I wish you wouldn’t,” but didn’t, just managed to smile as her heart thumped a little faster and her whole body tingled.
“Oh,” she said, and then he opened the glass door and waved his hand with a flourish. It was noisy in here, with rock music blaring from an old radio and the whine of a saw, metal against metal. Against the raucous backdrop stood her Mini, shiny and perfect. She rushed over, ran a hand along where the dent had been and felt … nothing. Her side mirror was perfectly attached and at the proper angle.
“Wow,” she said, truly impressed, raising her voice to be heard above the din. “It’s amazing, like it never even happened.”
He smiled. “Since you had a factory paint job, we were able to match the color exactly, so we just had to hammer the dent out, paint it and fix the mirror.”
“Thank you so much,” Tory said.
“My pleasure,” he said, and Tory felt a moment of awkwardness, wondering just what she should do. They had progressed beyond a handshake, she was sure, but a kiss seemed too intimate since she could feel curious eyes on her, as the guys in the garage pretended not to look at them.
“You know, sometimes when people want to thank someone, they take them to dinner, make them some cookies, you know?” he said.
“Isn’t my insurance company paying you for this?” she asked, suddenly suspicious.
“True, but I added a few extras. I had them give it a car wash, shampoo the mats, condition the leather. I don’t do that for just anyone.”
“Still, I’m the one who gave you the business,” Tory said, enjoying the light teasing going on between the two of them.
He nodded, a sage look coming over his face. “I see where you’re going with this. Since you did me the honor of favoring me with your custom, perhaps I’m the one who should be taking you out.”
“‘Favoring me with your custom’?” she said, laughing. “What is this, the eighteen-hundreds?”
“We grow up polite in the South; what can I say? Can I convince you?”
“Convince me?” she breathed.
“Go out with me,” he said.
She blinked in surprise. She wasn’t sure what she had expected but to be asked out on a date, in front of an audience, wasn’t quite what she’d had in mind. A date suggested seriousness, as if it were leading up to something more than just a casual encounter. And she had already decided that an encounter, preferably soon, preferably intense and hopefully casual, was the only thing that was going to get Colby Reynolds out of her mind.
The shop had grown suspiciously quiet as if about half a dozen men, along with Colby, were waiting for an answer. “What?”
“I would like to take you out this Saturday.” He said slowly, enunciating each word, watching her face carefully.
“Ok,” she said, her breath coming out in a whoosh. Great, she thought. Now she’d done it.
“Good,” he smiled and said, as the noise resumed its former level. “I’ll see you at six in the morning.”
“What?” She was confused.
“Six am. Not afraid of seeing the sunrise are you?”
“No.” She waited a beat. “But there had better be coffee.”
“Deal.”
He handed her they keys after that. Because there was an audience, he just smiled at her, and she knew that she wanted him to kiss her. Then she looked around and saw that Joe, the man of few words with his arm still in a sling, was staring at them with a knowing smile on his face.
So instead, she let him help her into the car. As she drove away, she saw him touch his forehead, as if there really was a cowboy hat sitting on top of it. She glanced back at him in the rearview mirror, just once, and saw that he was still standing there, watching her. She wrenched her attention back to the road as the blare of a horn told her she was about to drift out of her lane. Just what had she gotten herself into? There was nothing casual about Colby or the way she felt around him.
Chapter 24
He didn’t mean to be a stalker, but the thought of waiting days to see her was really too much. So, when he was in town on a visit to the bank and caught a glimpse of her—her runner’s legs flashing in a pair of high heels that led to a beautiful expanse of bare legs that led to the flounce of a skirt topped by a denim jacket—he let out a quick prayer of thanks.
She went into a storefront. Without thinking, he plunged from the sun of the afternoon into the calm and quiet of the store. There was music on the radio, something instrumental, a mix of wind instruments and rain sounds, almost New Age-y, and the floor and walls were crammed with stuff. Doo-dads, gimcrack and other things that his grandmother would have liked. And hoarded. Except that she had been prone to shop at the dollar store, and this was a different type of place. He shoved that thought out of his mind.
Colby squared his shoulders and took a breath, telling himself that he was a successful businessman who could buy anything he wanted in here without looking at the price tag. And all he wanted to do was to say hi to a girl.
She turned around at the clang of harness bells that sounded as the door shut behind him.
“What are you doing here?” she said in surprise, and he gave her his best grin. She smiled back at him, a tentative,
awkward one. He decided it was a good thing. She wouldn’t be smiling at all if she didn’t want to see him. He moved closer to her, so that she didn’t have room to run.
“I might ask you the same thing,” he said, taking the chance to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear.
She was looking at him with gold-flecked caramel eyes, her blonde highlights glinting in the sun pouring in through the window, making the little spot they were in warm and close. She smelled good, like lemon and flowers, and he wanted to kiss her, but decided that she wasn’t quite ready for that.
“I’m looking for a present for my mom’s birthday,” she said. “I wasn’t sure what to get, so I was browsing. You?”
He looked around, thinking fast. The store’s name, the Garden Cottage, was written in gilt letters on the large bay window. It was filled with candles, mirrors, jewelry, even a birdbath, and it was, all in all, the kind of place only a girl could love.
“We’ve been working really hard at the shop, working late, and I thought it might be nice if I bought some presents for the guys’ wives and girlfriends, a sort of thank you….” He fumbled for a moment, hoping it was a plausible enough reason as to why he would be here.
“That’s very thoughtful,” she said, and looked around the shop, considering. “Maybe candles would be a good idea. Or there are some bath sets. I think I saw something like that around here.”
“I wouldn’t be anywhere without all the hard work the guys put in. Least I can do.” He found a candle, picked it up and juggled it from one hand to the other.
“I wouldn’t drop that, you know. Not unless you want to pay for it.” He stopped the balancing act as he noticed the small, neat price label on the bottom.
“It’s all organic, made from natural soy and fragrance. They’ll love it,” Tory said. He couldn’t tell if she was pulling his leg or entirely serious.
He frowned. “A candle? Are you sure?”
“Every woman loves a candle.”