Her mouth twitches. “You really do suck at this.”
“Painfully aware.”
As we step around boxes toward the SUV, I take in the garage.
Lawn equipment. Storage bins. Enough duplicate tools to outfit two houses.
Aspen gestures vaguely at the mess. “And this is why I don’t park in here often. I need to clean it out . . . I just haven’t gotten to it.”
“What is all this?”
Sadness that I recognize all too well clouds her hazel eyes.
“My grandma passed earlier this year.” She glances around the space. “I was the only one with room, so a lot of her stuff ended up here.”
“Were you close?”
Her eyes drift to the covered Jeep, growing glassy.
“She was the best.”
My fingers itch to pull the cover back. “And the Jeep was hers?”
Aspen smiles softly. “Myrtle was Grandma’s pride and joy.” Then her smile fades. “But she doesn’t run.”
“Any idea what’s wrong with her?”
“I’m a lot of things, but a mechanic isn’t one.” She runs a hand over the covered hood, patting it twice. “It might be a lost cause.”
The offer to take a look leaves my mouth before I can stop it.
Aspen pauses halfway to the SUV. “Let’s survive your follow-up first, hero.”
I grumble and climb into the passenger seat, and as the garage door starts to lower behind us, I glance back at the mess. “Your brothers should come help with this.”
Aspen snorts. “The one running a company in Chicago . . . or the one training for the Olympics?”
I look at her—really look at her—then shake my head.
“Respectfully . . .” I lean back in the seat. “I don’t give a damn what your brothers do.”
Her brows lift.
“You can barely park in your own garage.”
Silence stretches between us as she slows at the end of the driveway.
“Why does that bother you so much?”
My thumb drags across my bottom lip. There are a dozen answers I could give, but only one I’m willing to. “You shouldn’t have to do everything alone.”
She glances my way. “Says the man who’s made a career out of being alone.”
Fair.
Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.
Silence settles between us as she pulls onto the road.
