by Nancy Naigle
“I can understand that.”
“I work just as hard with the candles, but the science of figuring out the right colors and scents appeal to my creative and analytical side. Plus my art was so personal. Everyone likes candles. Not everyone wants a big honking painting of a car, or a landscape, or whatever.”
“Will you show me more of your work?”
The waiter placed their meals in front of them and offered them fresh cracked pepper. A few well-placed twists, and he was off again.
She picked up her fork. Noah was probably just making small talk about her art.
“Maybe after dinner?”
Had she missed part of the conversation? “What?”
“You’ll show me more of your paintings. I’m interested in seeing them.”
Was he just being nice? “Nothing to really see. They’re all pretty much in the same style as the ones you’ve already seen, but I have a bunch in my studio.”
He looked pleased as he pressed his fork down into the salad. “Cool. I’d really like that.”
She wasn’t one to play a lot of games. It wasn’t her style. She put her fork down. “Really? Why?”
He stopped chewing, and blinked.
Megan smiled politely. “I mean people say stuff like that all the time and don’t even mean it. I was just wondering.”
“Oh, well.” He placed his fork down. “I’m not people then. Because I don’t say things to just be polite.” He held his hands out. “What you see here is what you get. And yes. I want to see your paintings. I’m intrigued. Unusually so, I might add, because it’s not like I know a thing about art.”
Interesting.
“But I know what I like.”
His gaze held hers.
The art? Or me? But those words didn’t come out of her mouth.
“And I am interested to see what else you’ve done.”
“Then I’d love to share that with you. I haven’t even done much with them lately. It’ll be fun to look through them again.”
“Good.” He held up his slushy. “A toast to being genuine and real. I like that.”
She raised hers. “I like that about you too. It’s rare to find these days.”
He took a sip, then slugged back his beer. “You’re telling me. You don’t know how refreshing it is to be able to sit and chat with someone who is being straight up about things. Not trying to impress. Not trying to psychoanalyze me. Just enjoying the moment.”
“I do know what you mean. This is very nice.”
“Did you know,” Noah said, “that there were only sixty-two DeSoto Adventurer convertibles made that year?”
“Like mine?”
“Yes. And I’m telling you, it’s rare to find one that someone hasn’t painted or ruined with some other kind of mods. I’ve been looking for one for years.”
“That’s hard to believe. What are the odds that two people who don’t know each other and both have a history with one of those sixty-two cars end up as best man and maid of honor in a wedding?”
“I don’t know. But I’m sure it’s like the lottery. Slim to none.”
“How did your dad come to fall in love with that DeSoto?”
“I’m not entirely sure. I was just a little girl when he got it. Mom was never a fan of it. Said it was too darned big. Not that he would have let her drive it anyway. I don’t think anyone ever drove that car. Ever. But him.”
“You’ve never driven it.”
She shook her head. “Never.”
“Really?” He looked shocked.
“No. Daddy always drove. I loved riding in that car with him. He was always so happy driving it.”
“Good memories.”
“The best.”
“Those cars were ahead of their time if you ask me. My granddad taught me everything I know about cars on his old DeSoto Adventurer. I loved that car as much as he did. Or maybe it was Granddad that I loved so much and the car is just part of that.”
“I know how you feel.” And it was neat to meet someone else who might actually understand how much this car meant to her because of her relationship with her dad. “So, did you get your start as a mechanic?”
“Not really.” He looked like he hadn’t really considered that before. “Well, no. I never worked as a mechanic, turning wrenches in a garage, except on personal projects. My car fixation was driven by my relationship with my grandfather and his love for cars. He taught me everything and I loved it. So, I can fix cars, but mostly I’m a collector and restoration guy. We cater to a pretty exclusive clientele. Not really a mechanic-type garage.”
That would explain his clean hands. He didn’t look the grease monkey type. “Just how exclusive?”
“Think of me as the car guy to the rich and famous.”
“Like anyone I’d know?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting.” He’d skipped the opportunity to name-drop. He wasn’t going to kiss and tell. That scored him a point, even if it was only because he’d had to sign some type of nondisclosure or something. That earned him credibility with her.
“Tell me about your candles. How’d you get into that?”
“The candle part was a little by accident. I used to just be into the aromatherapy stuff. People count on my blends to help them through things.”
“Like what? Like magic?”
“No. Like different aromas help different things. Everything from respiratory ailments to headaches, and stress and falling in love.”
Amusement rose in Noah’s voice. “And you don’t think a candle that is supposed to help you fall in love is magic?”
“Other people might think that. In fact, many of my clients pretty much do believe it’s magic. I even kind of used to believe it, but now I’m not so sure it’s not the Hawthorne effect.”
“Could be,” Noah said. “But I am a believer in the value of holistic methods. Aromatherapy included.”
How California of him. Not like any of the guys around here would admit to that. “Me too. Just not that it’s magical. It’s more scientific than that. I get beeswax from a local beekeeper. He actually pays me to take it. And I mix all of my oils myself too.”
“Good for the bottom line.”
“Yes, it is, and I do everything from beginning to end to purify the wax I use in my candles. There’s a lot more to it than people think. It’s a combination of science and art.”
“I’d like to see you in action.”
She cut her eyes his way to see if that was meant to sound like a come-on, but he looked sincere. “You are awfully curious about me.” Did that just come out of her mouth?
“I admit that you’ve got my attention. I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“Thank you. I think.”
“It was meant as a compliment.” Noah put his napkin in his lap. “I’m stuffed. That was one of the best meals I’ve had in a long time.”
“Told you it was top notch.”
“And even that blueberry concoction wasn’t bad. A little sweet and tangy for my taste, but it was good.”
“We have this huge blackberry festival here every year. It’s what our little town is known for—blackberry everything. You should try to come next year.”
“I just might do that.”
The waiter brought the check. “Everything good? Dessert?”
“No, thank you, we’re set.” Noah slid his platinum card into the folio, and the waiter stepped away. “Your place?”
A flurry of butterflies took flight in her stomach. “Sure.”
The waiter brought the receipt and Noah tipped generously and signed the receipt. “Let’s head on out then.”
He held the door for her and they stepped out on the sidewalk.
“We must have been in there a lot longer than I realized,” she said. The sun had set and stars filled the cloudless night sky. A soft breeze stirred. “It feels great out tonight.”
“Sure does.” She lifted her chin, toward the stars.
“Too
bad we don’t have a truck bed. We could be out under some real stars tonight.”
He’d had the same thought. “Yeah. Good night for it.” She dropped her head to his arm. “So what’s it like where you live? I mean, I know Los Angeles, but are you right in the city? Out in the suburbs? Near the water? Do you have stars like this?”
“I’m not right in the city. LA is big. My shop is out toward Calabasas, but I live in Malibu.”
“On the beach?”
“Yes. Great view.”
“I bet. I’ve always loved the beach. But I’ve only ever been to the East Coast beaches. Mostly the Outer Banks here in North Carolina.”
Malibu sounded pretty uptown, and she was pretty sure she could name at least a couple Hollywood stars who had mansions in Calabasas. “Aren’t you afraid of earthquakes?”
“No. Not really. It’s not any worse than tornados, or hurricanes. You can’t run from them.”
“Well, at least with hurricanes you get some notice.”
“That’s true, but most people don’t heed the advice or evacuate anyway.”
“There’s always a few. You’re right.”
“Have you ever been out to LA?”
“No. Never had a reason to go. I’ve always thought it would be fun to see the Hollywood sign.” She wanted to say Malibu, but that would sound like she was asking for an invite so she kept that little tidbit to herself. “And drive up the coast with the water on the wrong side. I’m an Atlantic girl. I think it would be cool to see the Pacific.”
“You’d be inspired. It’s so different. You’ll have to come visit me.”
“Maybe I will.” She looked both ways and then they crossed the street over to her house. The soft-lit solar lights gave the place a glow, and her Karmann Ghia sparkled under the lights of the canopy. She dug into her handbag for her keys, and then unlocked the front door. “Come on in.” She held the door as he came in and then closed the door behind him.
She hung her keys on the hook next to the door.
Noah did a double take. “You have a DeSoto key ring. Is that the one with the key blanks folded inside?”
“Yeah,” she said taking them back off of the hook. “It’s really clever, isn’t it?”
“Sure is. Never actually seen one like that.” He held the keys in his hand like they were a fine piece of jewelry. “Really cool.”
It was fun to have someone else as enthusiastic about the car as she was. No one else seemed to really understand.
He hung the keys back on the hook and followed her down the hall.
She opened the double doors on the right hand side.
“The more I get to know you, the more I realize how much this place suits you.”
“I like it.”
“What’s your favorite space here?” He sat down on the couch. “Mine would be the garage. Hands down. Especially if it had that car in it.”
“Yeah. Especially now that the car is here. But I have a secret spot. It’s still my very favorite. I’ve never shared it with anyone. Not even my friends. Not Angie or Flynn even. Only the contractor knows about it.”
He looked worried. “Now you have me curious.”
She paused. Lord, he probably thought she had a sex den or something. Now this was awkward.
“You going to show me?”
“I think so, but first I’ll show you the rest of my paintings like I promised. They are in my studio.”
“Great.” He stood and followed her to the room in the far corner. The whole wall slid, almost like a secret room, but really it was a barn rail door with the rail hidden under a soffit the same color as the wall. You didn’t even notice it from across the room.
“I know artists who would kill to have a space like this.”
She’d once felt that way. Thought it was her perfect place to create. But she’d lost that inspiration. That desire. Things were different now.
He walked over to the large wooden bins with the stacks of completed canvases arranged by size. None of them small, though. She did work on the big scale. Always. The smallest being twenty-four by twenty-four.
“You did all of these?”
She nodded, wishing now the incomplete piece under the drape wasn’t sitting on her easel. She hoped he wouldn’t want to look at that one. She hated showing anyone work that wasn’t complete.
“These are great.” He flipped through them, stopping more than once to really look closely and comment on color or intensity. “You have enough here to open your own gallery.”
She laughed out loud. “If all it took was paintings to open a gallery, anyone and everyone could have one.”
“You’re good enough, Megan. I’m serious.”
She shrugged off the compliment. She didn’t even really want to hear it. She’d been told a million times that she had skill, but it hadn’t gotten her where she needed to go. Or maybe it had, but after what had happened with Kevin, how could she trust that part of her life again? It was too much to risk.
“You have enough automotive-themed drawings to have a show.”
She was not going to go into it with him. She couldn’t, so she just sucked in a breath and hoped she could get him out of there.
“This is my absolute favorite.” He tugged out a twenty-four-by-thirty canvas.
Daddy’s car. The whole car—tip to tail—and parked right in front of this building. The old Mobil Pegasus was even still on the front of the building at the time. She wasn’t living here then. She’d been home from college break.
“It’s perfect.”
“Nope, there’s one thing amiss.” She hugged her arms to her body. “I could have fixed it, but I kind of like making a game out of it. My dad had this painting. He made a buttload of money betting people they couldn’t figure out what was different.”
“Try me.”
“Okay. Bring it with you.”
He carried the framed canvas and followed behind her.
As they approached the garage door, she stopped. “You a betting man?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Good. Let’s make a bet out of it. Daddy will get a little laugh from heaven,” Megan said.
“Sure.” She liked it when he smiled like that. “What are the stakes?”
“If you figure it out—I’ll show you my special place.”
“If I don’t . . .”
“Then, you have to place an order for custom candles for California Dreaming Restoration. A big order.” He could afford it. If Daddy had taught her anything, it was not to miss an opportunity.
“You’re on.”
“All righty, then.” She pushed the door open and flipped on the lights.
Chapter Eleven
Noah locked his knees against the rush of adrenaline attempting to toss him off balance as the light flooded the room and reflected from that car in the middle of it like a shiny gem. I want this car. More than anything.
He propped the painting on a giant toolbox that graced the far side of the room. Probably full of anything but tools. He was dying to open one of the heavy drawers and see. It looked to be one more treasure from this building’s past.
Noah considered himself an expert on this car, but he didn’t notice anything out of place on this painting. And he had an eye for detail. This bet was right up his alley.
Being pragmatic about his approach, he started at the front and worked his way down the car. Comparing the painting to the car.
After making his way up and down the car three times, Megan spoke up. “Are you ready to give in?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He stopped and stood next to the painting. Leaning against the toolbox. “No, ma’am.”
“All right. I’ve got all night.” She watched with smug delight.
“Don’t need it.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He couldn’t help but curl his lips into a smile. “I know what’s different.”
“You only get one guess.”
He folded his a
rms across his chest. “That car is missing the gas tank flap on the left side.”
Her mouth dropped open. “I can’t believe you got it. No one ever figures that out.”
“I know this car.” He turned and picked up the picture. “And I still love this picture. It’ll look great over my desk. What’ll you take for it?”
“It’s not for sale.”
“Why not? It’s just sitting back there collecting dust.”
“I don’t sell my paintings anymore.”
“How about you think about it?”
“I don’t think I’ll ever change my mind.”
He put it back on the toolbox. “Well, it’s not entirely fair that I took that bet.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I know cars better than anyone. If you really don’t want to show me your secret place, I understand. It wasn’t a fair bet.” He’d much rather stand here next to this car anyway. He’d spent the better part of his years living and breathing to find a car like this. Right down to the original gold bullet hubcaps. Standing here today was what had been his ultimate goal. He could still hardly believe he was here. Touching it. Hearing its stories. And if Megan was here too, so much the better.
“A deal is a deal. I’d have made you order those candles.”
“Who says I won’t. I just hadn’t thought of it yet.”
“Don’t be a suck up,” she said playfully.
“Hey I like nice smells.”
“I don’t make a new-car-smell candle.”
“I know what aromatherapy is. I happen to have a love-hate relationship with peppermint.”
“That’s good for all kinds of things. Nausea, indigestion, as a liniment, and to relieve itching from poison ivy or even herpes. Don’t have herpes, do you?” She leaned back against the door with a shifty grin on her face.
“No.” He laughed. The girl was ballsy. He’d give her that. “No, ma’am. I have a clean health card. I promise. I hate it because it reminds me of the liniment they used on my shoulder. College football. Love it because my grandfather was always eating those puffy sugary peppermints.”
“I love those mints too.” She picked up her pace heading back toward the front door.