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Yesterday, the mechanic confirmed the repairs to the alternator, fan belts, and a few other items would cost a lot more than the car was worth. My little loose sparkplug shenanigans hadn’t been the car’s biggest problem, and the mechanic told her that throwing good money at the car now wasn’t the best long-term investment. Then her friend Annie convinced her she’d do better to donate this one for the tax write-off and put her money toward a newer car.
So, we were on our way back to the dealership. Jo looked defeated, slumping in my passenger seat, her elbow propped on the window and her head leaning against her hand after giving me the whole story.
“Is this about having to give up your precious Sheila?”
“What?” She glanced at me. “No … Maybe. I know it’s just a car, and it’s silly and all the things you’re fixin’ to say, so keep it to yourself.”
“What was Ifixin’to say?”
“Nothing that hasn’t been said before.” She paused. “I bought that car myself with money from my first job out of culinary school. Neither of us was in the greatest shape then, but we made our way together. I feel like I’m leaving a soldier behind. A new car, a new job, a new town. Everything is different all at once. It’s like I’m not the same person anymore. Weird, huh?”
“No. I think I get it.” I felt the same way. No fast-paced tech job, no big problems to solve, no sense of a higher purpose, no carefree one-night stands. Everything was different for me too, and for a moment, I regretted my role in Sheila’s demise.
“Time to let her go,” Jo said. “Move on, right? Like Mama says, can’t stand still. I talked to my mom yesterday, who talked to my brother-in-law, a mechanic, and he agreed with the decision to donate the car. I know it’s the right thing. It’s still hard.” She looked out the windshield like she didn’t see anything. She turned to me. “Thanks for the ride. You don’t have to stay. I can do this by myself.”
I pressed the button for the ignition. “I know, but I want to help.”
“Suit yourself, Hot Shot.”
Her expression softened as we once again passed the gently used Ford SUV offered at a very reasonable price. Tom, always on the lookout for hot women, was cocky but not dumb. He could tell we weren’t a couple, and he made her a deal she shouldn’t refuse. His eyes roamed her curves a little more than I liked, so I stayed close.
Jo bit her lip as she considered. The action drew attention to the bow of her top lip, and my dick twitched. “I like it, but I can’t afford it. Daddy always taught us to limit our debt.” She shook her head. “I should get the one in the back.”
Call it guilt, call it being a good person who can help someone else, but I wanted Jo to have that nice car. Something about her told me she deserved it. She worked hard and seemed to be on her own in many ways. I was familiar with that.
I pulled her to the side a few steps, away from Tom’s prying ears. “You want this one?”
“Lucas, we don’t always get what we want.”
“Sometimes we do. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll help with the down-payment, enough that gets your loan amount into the same range as that older one in back, and you teach mehowto cook while you're making the weekly meals. Teach me some of your recipes I love, like the almond cake. When I go back to Seattle, I'll want it, and Hill & Ocean can’t do it.”
She fought a smile as she looked away. There was a story with that so-called son-of-a-bitch chef, and I was surprisingly interested in hearing it.
“Cooking lessons from anyone else would cost money,” I said, arguing my point. “I might as well pay you. Win-win. It’s the least I can do.”
“No, you could do nothing.” I practically saw thought bubbles rise and pop above her head as she weighed her options. I didn’t understand her hesitation. She’d have to spend time with me, but was that so bad? Most women liked me.
“Okay. The money is tuition for cooking lessons, that’s all.” Her brown eyes carried a warning. Her skin, her hair, her body were all off-limits.
Damn, there went my dick again. I shook her hand. “Absolutely.”
The sun was gettinglow when Jo knocked at the door for our weekly session the next day. Winter in the Pacific Northwest meant short days with a graying sunset around four in the afternoon.
She was back for the second time to cook and the first time to teach. The pasta and meatballs and the pan-fried pork chops and fried apples she’d made Saturday had been delicious. Fortunately, she made multiple servings of each. She added sautéed creamed spinach to the menu after our greens discussion and left me with a list of small meals I had the ingredients for so I could make a quick breakfast or lunch on my own.
Since I asked too many questions about the groceries last time, Jo decided she would order the food and have it delivered. Everything arrived yesterday afternoon while my neighbors, Miss Natalie and Miss Nell, were picking up a few packages. They were busy ladies, traveling a lot, and asked me to grab any deliveries I noticed on their porch. Porch pirates happened, even in sleepy Perry Harbor.
I opened the door, and Jo stepped inside, bringing the scent of vanilla and citrus as she passed by me.
“The kitchen looks good,” she said and set her tote bag on the counter. I smiled at her praise of the gleaming quartz work surfaces. She went back to the entry to hang up her jacket and returned, shrugging on her chef’s coat, hiding her shape from my eager eyes.
“The food Saturday was great. Thank you,” I said.
She started unpacking her tote.
“Don’t thank me ’till you see my invoice. And here it is. I bill weekly. Shopping, prep, and cooking hours are all itemized there.”
“Great. Can I Venmo you?”
