Page 182 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

“Huh.” I wiped the grease from my fingers onto the rag hanging from my back pocket. “Thought you did your own.”

“Usually do.” He shifted his weight slightly before nodding toward his right leg. “Socket’s been giving me hell since yesterday. Don’t feel like crawling underneath the truck.”

That was all the explanation necessary. I looked toward Jax. “Bay three still clear?”

“Yeah.” He walked around the Silverado. “I can do it now for you,” he said.

Hunter nodded and tossed him the key. Jax caught them against his chest; he saluted before heading outside to Hunter’s truck. Hunter started toward the stool beside my toolbox.

“You owe me lunch,” I teased.

“For an oil change?”

“Labor isn’t free.”

Hunter laughed under his breath as he sat. He stretched his right leg farther in front of him, relieving whatever pressure the socket had been causing, then rested his forearms against his thighs.

For the next several minutes, there wasn’t much conversation.

There rarely needed to be with Hunter.

Jax pulled his truck into the third bay. Bad Omens played through the garage speakers at a volume that would’ve made Mom complain about hearing damage. I went back to the brakes I’d been working on, and Hunter sat nearby scrolling through his phone like hanging around an automotive shop in the middle of a Thursday afternoon was something he did all the time.

“Clover kick you out of the house?” His eyes lifted from his phone.

“No.”

“Blink twice if you’re being held against your will.”

He gave me the finger.

“Good talk.” I turned back to the car.

“She wants me to get out more.” Hunter wasn’t looking at me anymore. His attention had drifted beyond the bay doors toward the road, where two women pushed strollers along the opposite sidewalk.

“Get out where?”

“Anywhere.”

I waited.

“She’s been talking about the festival.”

That made more sense.

“You don’t want to go?”

“I didn’t say that…”

There would be families, tourists from neighboring towns, people Hunter didn’t know and who didn’t know him.

A lot of eyes.

I understood why he wasn’t thrilled.

Carson had already accepted more than forty vendors. Rosie expected hundreds of people throughout the weekend, probably more if the weather stayed good.

“You could hang around the Jones tent.”