Chapter Thirty-One
Zane was up long before the sun rose. He crept out of Clara’s suite, feeling like a thief. She’s the one who should feel like a thief. She stolen his heart and stamped on it. Funny thing was he could have sworn she cared as much as he did. Her behavior last night didn’t make sense. She was being irrational.
She was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. Maybe Riley would have some insight.
Crap! Riley had married the love of his life last night. He wouldn’t bother a man on the first day of married life.
Restless and unsettled, he bundled up and headed outside. An hour of shoveling should tamp down the anxiety scratching at his mind. He shoveled the front and back walkways and the small, paved parking lot. The tension remained.
Overnight, clouds had come in and the temperature had gone up significantly. A walk might help. It was still only five in the morning. Even Clara wouldn’t be up yet.
One foot in front of the other, he plodded toward main street. Who knows, maybe there was a coffee shop open, or a café. Coffee wouldn’t do much to ease the roiling in his stomach but drinking it might take the edge off his urge to punch something.
The streets were empty except for a town truck dropping a salt-sand mixture on icy corners. The truck went by, and its sound faded into the still morning.
Ahead of him, several blocks away, a lone figure walked toward him. Someone else who couldn’t sleep. As they came closer, the figure looked increasingly familiar. Carl. Riley’s mechanic brother. What was he doing up and about this early?
“Morning,” Carl said gruffly, as if he didn’t want to talk. He stopped six feet away.
“Morning. You’re up early. Trouble sleeping?” Zane asked, suddenly reluctant to be alone.
“Always. When I can’t sleep, I walk. The bonus is I wear off all the sweets I eat.”
“Want to talk about it?” Zane asked.
Carl turned to walk alongside him. “Nope. You want to talk about why you’re out at this ridiculous hour? Trouble in romantic paradise?”
“What romantic paradise would that be?”
“You. Clara. You guys are so gone on each other it’s ridiculous. If Riley hadn’t reminded me that you’re a standup guy, I’d have warned you off Clara weeks ago.”
Zane grunted a non-committal response.
“You want coffee? I can make a pot at the garage. Probably the worst coffee you’ll ever drink, but it does have the bonus of being inside.”
“I could drink a cup, if you’re offering.”
They kept walking, a weird silence between them. Could he share his feelings with Carl? Riley would have been his first choice; they’d been friends for years.
Carl unlocked the garage’s front door and relocked it behind them. “Back here. I’ve got a coffee pot in my office. Not that I spend much time there. I’m short staffed. Falling behind on paperwork to keep up with repairs and pumping gas.”
“You need to hire someone. A mechanic or office staff.” He snorted at the inane advice. Carl roared with laughter and Zane joined in. “Forget I said that. Idiotic response. My brain took a holiday there.”
“It’s not easy to get people to move to a small town. Even for a good paying job. Hell, at this point, I’d take a complete newbie with any degree of interest and talent. I’d train them the way I want them. You don’t want a job, do you?”
“I’m a forensic engineer, not a mechanic.”
“So, you understand how things work. I’m willing to bet you do your own oil changes and half of your vehicle maintenance.”
He was right, but Zane didn’t want to admit it. “You making coffee, or what?”
Carl plugged in a three-foot Christmas tree sitting on his filing cabinet. The bright lights cheered up the cluttered but tidy space. He put a new filter and grounds into the coffee pot. He flipped the switch and the pot gurgled. Heavenly scented steam drifted from the pot. “Best thing I ever did was install a professional brewer, hooked up to the waterline. No more filling pots. Of course, the coffee’s still crap.”
Zane laughed. “You might want to wash the pot sometime.” The pot was stained and dirty looking.
“Once a year whether it needs it or not.”
“That often?” They chuckled.
