Page 55 of Full Throttle

I blinked as my musings were interrupted, and I looked up, seeing a woman with a young boy beside her.

“Can my son sit with you?”

I had been so deep in thought, I hadn’t even noticed the couple leave the table. I was alone.

“Yours is the one table with an empty seat,” the woman explained.

“Oh, sure.”

“I have a meeting upstairs, and my babysitter canceled last minute,” she huffed.

“I told you, I don’t need a babysitter,” the boy objected, color blazing on his cheeks. “I can look after myself.”

“I’ll watch him while I’m here,” I assured her. “Happy to share my table.”

She pushed him toward a chair, and he sat down heavily, rolling his eyes. I tried not to laugh. I guessed him to be about twelve, and I remembered Hannah at that age, constantly trying to prove her independence. His mother handed him a knapsack. “Your games are in there. And a snack. Get a drink if you want or something else to eat, and I’ll be back as soon as I’m finished dealing with this.” He nodded.

“Thank you,” she added to me before hurrying away. The boy watched her, then reached into his knapsack for an iPad. He ignored me as he began to play something on it, and I sipped my coffee, opening my Kindle. I rested it on my cast that was now a little dirty and covered in drawings and funny jokes everyone at the garage had scribbled on to it. Dom wrote me love messages, and I enjoyed finding a new one from time to time.

“What did you do to your arm?”

I met the deep brown eyes of the young man across from me. His dark hair fell over his forehead, and he pushed it away impatiently, the gesture somehow familiar.

“Oh, I broke it falling over a table.”

“Were you drunk?” he asked, grinning.

“No. My apartment was on fire, and I couldn’t see where I was going.”

His eyes became round with curiosity. “You were in a fire?”

“Yes.”

“Were you scared?”

“Yes, I was. But my fiancé saved me.”

“Cool.”

He looked at my arm again. “What’s all the writing?”

“Oh, I work at a garage, and the guys write me jokes.”

“Like a mechanic shop?”

“Uh-huh,” I said, taking a sip of my coffee. He reminded me of someone. The shape of his eyes and face. The way one side of his mouth lifted a little higher than the other when he grinned. He was tall and lanky. Awkward. But he seemed nice. Polite.

“I love cars. Engines.”

“That’s what my fiancé does.”

“Wicked cool. I want to be a mechanic.” Then he snorted. “My mom wants me to be something better.”

“Better?”

“Someone who wears a suit and makes a ton of money.”

“Ah.”