She was right.
"I told her?—"
“She’s stubborn,” Ellie muttered.
“I noticed,” I replied.
“So?” Ellie challenged me. “You gonna do something about it?”
I pressed my lips together and looked down at the keys in my hand. “You sure are bossy.”
She shrugged with a smile. “Get your head out of your ass, Daryl. I actually like you. Don't mess this up."
“Merry Christmas to you too,” I muttered as she walked away.
I headed to my garage. Ideas came to me easier here. I wasn't going to see her until I could fix it. Fix us.
Pulling out my phone, I dialed the first number on my list. The shop where Beth’s car had been towed picked up after a few rings.
“Hello, Davis Auto,” a gruff voice answered.
“Yeah, this is Daryl Walker,” I said, clearing my throat. “Beth Morrison’s car was towed there last night.”
“Ah, yes. That little hatchback,” the man replied. “We’ve got it here.”
“I need it towed to my shop today,” I said, glancing at the clock on the wall. “I know it's Christmas. I'll pay.”
The guy on the other end chuckled. “Christmas Day service? That’s gonna cost you extra.”
“I don’t care,” I replied firmly. “Just make sure it’s here.”
“All right then,” he said after a moment of silence. “We’ll get on it.”
I hung up and ran a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly. That was step one. Now for step two.
I moved to the corner of the garage where the Impala sat. Popping the hood, I reached inside and unhooked the stereo system, careful not to damage any wires. My hands worked methodically, years of experience guiding me through the process.
When I finished, I heard the sound of a tow truck pulling up outside. Wiping my hands on a rag, I walked over to greet the driver.
“Mr. Walker?” the man called out as he stepped down from the cab.
“Yeah, that’s me.”
He nodded toward Beth’s hatchback being lowered from the tow truck. “Here you go. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” I replied, handing him a tip before he drove off.
I turned my attention to Beth’s car. It looked worse for wear, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle. Popping open her hood, I examined the stereo system. It was the only new thing in the car. Grabbing my tools, I set to work removing it, disconnecting wires and unscrewing bolts until it came free in my hands.
Stepping back, I looked at both stereos lying on my workbench. It felt like too much—a grand gesture that seemed almost ridiculous. But as I thought about Beth’s smile and her relentless kindness, something inside me softened.
She was worth it.
I installed her stereo into the Impala with careful precision. Once everything was in place and secure, I took a step back and wiped my forehead with my sleeve. The job was done.
The keys to the Impala sat on the workbench next to me. Taking a deep breath, I picked them up and headed toward the car. Sliding into the driver’s seat felt surreal; I hadn’t driven it since finishing the restoration.
Turning the key in the ignition, the engine roared to life with a satisfying purr. As I pulled out of the garage and onto the road, I marveled at how smoothly it drove. The powerful engine responded effortlessly as I accelerated, and the steering felt precise and responsive in my hands.
