Page 37 of Hearts on the Line

I’m barely holding myself together. “Mr. O’Brien, my car.”

He puts down his worn pencil on the stained desktop blotter. Everything smells of oil and rust, and I can’t really focus with ABBA on in the background. Why does ABBA have such a chokehold over this town?

“Your car…” His words drag on, uncertain. The R’s are missing, of course. I hate to admit how much I’ve missed that. “Ethan said he’ll be back tonight to work on it.”

I let go, stumbling a step.

“Call Mary!” an older voice barks from the garage bay. “Mary, not Barry! Dammit. This fuckin’—” A much older man shuffles into the office in black orthopedics, worn blue work pants, and a bald head crowned with one puff of wild white hair. He stops, blinking at me behind thick, dirty glasses, then tosses his hand up. “Can’t work this fuckin’ phone, Pat.”

“No more high school for me,” Mr. O’Brien cuts in. “I help Dad out around the garage now that I’ve retired. Come on.” He jumps to his feet, his stomach round beneath his faded Celtics T-shirt. “Come sit, and I’ll get you something cold to drink. You walking on the beach?”

“Why is Ethan working on my car?”

He scratches at his jaw, then points, his bay full. “I’m booked solid, kid. Best I could do was order the parts. He didn’t tell you any of this?” He doesn’t wait for my answer, instead walking over to the wall of windows where I spot the full garage. Beside a row of old red metal chairs, he reaches into the mini fridge and pulls out a cold water, handing it to me. “Gave him a good discount, and you don’t have to wait as long.”

“Discount?”

“Let him tow the car here and checked it out, ordered what it needed. He’s doing the labor. Been here every afternoon…”

“Well, just checking on her,” I say lamely.

“She’s as good as the day Jimmy drove her. Or will be with the new transmission. In a few weeks, you’ll be back on the road.”

I nod along, the rest of the bottle of water.

Ethan’s fixing my car.

Chapter 12

Ethan

Isquint, blinking once into the bright orange of the three o’clock sun, then grab another wrench.

It’s been one thing after another. I was lucky to get us back into the harbor. So after offloading the lobsters, cleaning up, and saying bye to Annie before she headed to the Cape, I’m replacing a belt when I should be at the garage so I can work more on Sloane’s car.

“There you are.”

Her voice. Like the line of fog that hugs the harbor in the early morning.

“What is it?” My fingers slip on the engine, and I skin my knuckles. “Fuck,” I mumble. I can feel her standing above me on the dock. I know the stance—hands on her hips, the sun at her back. But I refuse to look up.

“When were you going to tell me about the car, Ethan?”

Because I’m pissed off, too fucking hot, and an asshole, I settle for the truth. “Wasn’t planning on it. You need to leave. Just trying to help.”

She jumps down onto the boat with a thud. The strap of her sky-blue swimsuit slips, hanging across her shoulder beneath a sundress. The tip of her nose is sun-kissed.

“Did you go to the beach today?”

Sloane laughs incredulously, shaking her head. “Listen, thanks for the couch. If I’m a bother, I’ll find somewhere else. I don’t mean…”

There are a thousand ways to answer that, but I press every one of those answers down, deciding instead not to answer at all.

“Ethan.”

I snap up, sucking in a breath at the way the soft breeze moves her hair around her face. She hasn’t been back long, but sometimes I swear I’m just a dumb eighteen-year-old again, crushing on his best friend’s little sister.

“What?”