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“What are those?” Addison asked.
“Can we help you work on Aunt Beamer’s car?” Cecily shouted over her sister. “I’ve always wanted to touch stuff underneath the car!”
“Did you want me to open the garage door and drive in the BMW?” Bryce asked over her nieces, hooking a thumb toward where her vehicle likely waited outside. Then she caught sight of the VW front end, and whistled. “Holy cow. Are you restoring a vintage VW bus? My dad had one of these when I was a kid and we used to take the most epic road trips in that.”
Ryker’s head was on a swivel. State Street Garage officially had the most females in it since he’d first hung his shingle outside the door. For a moment, he was overwhelmed by the din of their chatter. Then he felt little Addison’s hand so trusting in his. His anxiety melted away.
“Those boxes are for you to play with.” He directed his words to the little blond fairy at his knees. Then he caught Cecily’s gaze. “You can help with the car if your aunt says it’s okay. The button for the garage door is there,” he said finally to Bryce, pointing to the side of the door. Then, forcing his face to remain neutral, he answered her last question about the VW. “And the bus restoration is…stalled. I only have a front end, nothing else for her.”
Seconds later, he’d corralled the two younger girls into the corner of his garage where he’d stashed a load of boxes given to him by a buddy down the street who owned an appliance store. Ryker held out a roll of silver duct tape and a box of crayons.
“My favorite thing to do as a kid was build forts. I thought you might want to—”
“We’ll build a pirate ship!” Addison shrieked at a decibel he was certain cracked a glass somewhere. She snatched the crayons as Cecily snagged the duct tape. They each moved so fast it was like being besieged by cute piranhas. “Can we build a pirate ship?”
“You can build whatever you want.” Ryker felt his lips lifting into a grin. Then he spotted June, arms crossed over her chest next to the VW’s yellow front end. The misery on her face reminded Ryker that these girls—Bryce included—had recently buried loved ones. Although he’d been inclined to leave the older girl to her own devices, something in her belligerent expression called to mind another grieving teen who’d buried a parent. He’d been about June’s age when his dad died. After the garage car door trundled open and Bryce drove her car inside the bay, he waved June over. The girl sidled up, curious as he handed her the box cutter, then spoke to her sisters.
“Here’s the deal—while I look at your aunt’s car, only June is old enough to use the box cutter. You two decide which boxes you want cut, and draw it out. Then June can do the cutting.” He waited for the little girls to nod before he turned to June. “I never lend my tools to someone who’s not trained to use them. Does your aunt let you use blades yet?”
Bryce had exited the car in time to hear the question.
“Hmm, it hasn’t come up. But she’s watched me unbox supplies at PattyCakes. I suppose she’s old enough. Hell, I was using a jackknife at her age. Why not? Cut away from your body because if you slice yourself open Nana and Pop-Pop’s lawyer will torture me in court for it.”
June gave her aunt a dark glance, her eyes narrowed. She mumbled in a tone too quiet for Bryce to hear, “Might be worth the stitches.”
Ryker kept his expression blank. He recognized her anger—similar to his dark passenger, transforming him into a person he didn’t recognize for months after his dad had died.
“You good?” he asked, his voice low. “No shame in asking for a tutorial.”
June stared at her combat boots. “Can…can you give me a refresher?”
Ryker’s opinion of the tween rose ten notches. He took one of the medium boxes, flipping it over. June handed back the box cutter, and Ryker made a show of telling the little girls to stand clear, then thumbed open the blade. He sliced the box, angling the sharp edge away from his body.
“Sheath it when you’re done.” He showed her how to slide the button until the blade sank into the holder. “If it gets dull, tell me. I’ll show you how to nip off the old blade to reveal the new one underneath. Dull tools are dangerous, and in my garage it’s safety first.”
She took the box cutter.
“Junie, cut this out first!” Cecily called.
The little girls had poured the new box of crayons out onto the concrete floor and had already sketched out what could either be a large porthole or a small doorway on one of the long appliance boxes. He watched as June knelt, shooed her sisters away, then carefully unsheathed the blade and cut the circular hole perfectly before sliding the sharp edge back down. She glanced up, giving him a questioning look.
He nodded. “Well done. Call if you need help.”
June drew up tall, not hunched as if heading into a stiff wind. While she didn’t smile, her mouth softened, losing some of its sourness.
Tools and gears—he knew how their power to fix broken things extended to broken people. The girl had just learned the same.
Bryce’s voice came at his shoulder. “Well, look who is the tween-whisperer.”
He pivoted. Bryce thrust a paper bag at his chest, and he reached for it reflexively.
“Your dinner. Go ahead and eat. My car can wait, but this hot dinner won’t.” Her left eyebrow cocked up as he hesitated, and she leaned in to speak in a voice her nieces couldn’t overhear. “It’s okay if you call out my name as you mouth-gasm.”
He barked a surprised laugh. His brain tried to come up with a funny response, but just then, the paper bag gaped open, and the scent of dill, mustard, and something buttery and delicious wafted to his nose. Ryker’s stomach growled, switching his brain to “off” mode.
Peeking inside, he counted only one soup-sized container and one plate covered in aluminum foil. “Aren’t you eating? Or the girls?”
“Are you crazy? I’d never willingly travel with my nieces on an empty stomach, and I certainly wouldn’t subject you to their hangry tantrums. Or mine, for that matter.” She snorted, then snaked an arm through his elbow, guiding him toward the tiny table by the VW. “C’mon and eat while the girls play. I need to make sure I haven’t lost my touch.”
