“No need to do that. I’ll carry you home.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.”
“Don’t worry. It ain’t no bother at all.” Maple Falls was such a small town that he often took his customers home when they had to leave their cars. Harper technically didn’t live in Maple Falls, but she was just on the outskirts, and that was close enough.
“Thanks so much.” She bent over to get her purse and briefcase out of the car.
Now that’s a view—
He shifted his gaze to the ground before she caught him staring. It was hard not to, though. The last time she’d picked up her Merc after hethoughthe’d fixed it for good, he’d had to smack Percy, his only full-time employee, upside the head to get him to stop staring at her. “What was that for?” Percy had said, rubbing the side of his bald head as Harper drove away.
“You’re being disrespectful.”
“Look who’s talking,” Percy grumbled. “I seen you watching her, too, Mr.Goody Two-shoes.”
Rusty hadn’t been aware of that at the time, but he was now. He moved to stand in front of the car and pretended to inspect the headlights.
“I think I got everything,” she said as she stood. Then she frowned. “Are you sure you don’t mind driving me home? I forgot it was Friday night. I don’t want to mess up your plans.”
He almost chuckled at that. Tonight he was doing what he did every Friday night—work on his car, then head home. “I reckon I can make some room in mybusyschedule. Give me a sec to wash up. You can wait in the office if you want.”
“I’m fine here.” She pulled her cell phone out of her jacket pocket, instantly absorbed in whatever was on the screen.
Rusty hurried to the small bathroom in the back of the garage and washed his greasy hands, checked his fingernails, and scrubbed them again. As he dried off, he looked in the mirror. He faced this reflection every morning when he brushed his teeth and ran a brush haphazardly through his hair, but only now did he notice how sloppy he looked. His grease-stained ball cap with theRusty’sGaragelogo sat backward on his head to keep his bangs out of his eyes, and his beard was out of control. He took off the cap, but that made things worse—revealing all his wild red hair plastered against his head. He tried to finger-comb it into some sort of decent style but failed. Oh well. Harper had already seen him, anyway, and all he was doing was taking her home.
He shut off the light, locked up the garage, and went to his second, smaller garage where he worked on the GTO and turned off the radio. After locking that door, he got into his truck and went to pick up Harper.
She climbed into the front seat, the phone pressed to herear. “I understand that the Tarpin Road house isn’t suitable, but would you be interested in seeing something else?” she said into her cell. “There are six five-bedroom listings in this area. I can make appointments for you to go see them.” She set her briefcase and purse on the floor and softly shut the door. “Oh. I see. Well, if you change your mind, you can call me at any time, day or night . . . Thank you . . . Bye-bye.” She hung up the phone, then tossed it into her purse. “Shoot.”
He shifted his truck into Drive, and they headed toward her house a few miles outside Maple Falls. He’d never been there, but he’d filled out enough paperwork for her Merc that he had her address memorized. After a few minutes of silence, he asked, “Everythin’ all right?”
“Yeah. At least it will be. I hope.” She leaned against the seat and closed her eyes. “It’s been a long week.”
Since she didn’t seem in the mood to talk, he turned on the radio, keeping the volume low as he found a soft-rock station.
“I think you’re the only person under forty who still listens to radio instead of a playlist,” she said.
“Oh, I listen to those too. But sometimes I just turn on the radio and see what’s playin’.” Soon she was humming to an Air Supply song. “You like the oldies too?” she asked, her eyes still closed.
“Yep. Senior liked playin’ classic rock in the garage, and G’ma listened to adult contemporary at home. I ain’t heard this song in forever and a day, though.”
“Me either. I’m usually on the phone when I’m in the car. And by the time I get home, I just crawl into bed. But when I do listen to music, it’s usually the old stuff.”
He glanced at her. She had opened her eyes and turnedher head so she was looking at him, still relaxing against the seat. “Who’s your favorite group?”
“Toto. Eighties are my jam.” She grinned. “What about you?”
“The usual. Some Zepplin, Rollin’ Stones, Skynyrd.”
Her cell rang and she hurried to grab it. When she looked at the screen, however, she frowned and set it in her lap. “I don’t hear from her in three weeks, and now she decides to call me,” she muttered.
“Who?” He asked without thinking, then added, “Sorry. None of my business.”
“It’s okay. Madge—er, my mom. She must have been on another one of her trips with my dad and”—she made air quotes—“‘forgot to tell’ me.”
“You can call her if you want. I won’t eavesdrop.”
Harper shook her head. “She can wait.” When the song switched to REO Speedwagon’s “Can’t Fight This Feeling,” she said, “Can I turn it up? I love this song.”
