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When I first bought the rundown garage, I never anticipated what it would become. I got it for a steal when the old owner passed, and his kids wanted nothing to do with a failing repair shop. I revived the old shop, naming it Phoenix because I was determined to make it rise from the ashes. I loved working on cars and helping people who needed it. I prided myself on fair prices and honesty. I quickly became the go-to repair shop in the area.
Everything changed when Edgar Worthington’s daughter’s BMW broke down in the middle of a storm and called me for a tow. I had no idea who she was, only that she was stranded on the freeway in the middle of the night and needed help. I towed her and her car back to the shop and set her up in the warm office while I got to work on her car. Less than an hour later I had her back on the road. She was shocked at the cost of the repair but paid without complaint. I brushed it off because she wasn’t the first to balk at a repair bill and definitely wouldn’t be the last.
The next day Mr. Worthington was waiting when I came to open for the day. Turns out he’s big in the finance world and worth billions. He’d come to personally thank me for helping his daughter and to give me a check to show his appreciation for taking care of his princess. I told him I appreciated the gesture but didn’t want his money. She paid a fair price for my fixing her car and anything more would be unethical.
I laughed at the dumbfounded expression on his face when he folded his check back up and returned it to the pocket of his expensive suit. He followed me around the shop while I opened up, asking me about what got me started in the business. I led him to the fourth bay and pulled the cover off the 1970 Chevelle SS 454 that my dad and I had been rebuilding before he died. The black paint gleamed under the bright lights of the shop, and a sense of pride filled me, knowing my dad would’ve loved to see the car finished.
Worthington whistled, circling the car like a vulture seeing his next meal. I knew before he opened his mouth he would try to buy it, but this car wasn’t for sale. When I turned him down, he tried to offer more money and I explained why I could never sell him this particular car. I led him out back and showed him my newest project. A ’67 Camaro that I’d picked up from a salvage yard. It needed a lot of work, but I could already see the cherry red paint with white racing stripes shining in the sun.
He handed me his card and told me to call him when it was done. Six months later when I finished the Camaro, I pulled out his card and called. I expected him to have forgotten all about me and the car, but he hadn’t. In fact, he dropped everything and came to look at the car. It turned out even better than I had pictured. He made an offer before I even popped the hood.
Business took off from there. I went from a simple auto repair shop to a shop that did custom rebuilds of classic cars. I quickly outgrew the shop and built a bigger one across town. Now there are seven Phoenix locations that do everything from oil changes to complete rebuilds. Rebuilds are the moneymakers, but offering affordable, honest repair work will always be my priority.
I spend hours under the hood of Winter’s car. It’s worse off than I first thought. Every belt needs to be replaced, both the oil and coolant are leaking, and, of course, the alternator is shot, plus a dozen other things. Getting this car back into good running order will take weeks and thousands of dollars. And that’s only the mechanical side of things. It doesn’t address the hole rusted in the passenger side floorboard or the bald tires and brakes that haven’t been changed in God knows how long. The car isn’t safe, and my girl won’t be driving around in it until it is.
I’m in the middle of pulling apart the engine when Sean walks in with a whistle. “I told you to find a woman, and you went and found a car.”
“Found the woman, too,” I say with a grunt.
“Wait… you found a woman? How? Where?” he asks incredulously.
I roll my eyes. “The waitress from Lush. This is her car.”
Sean is quiet for a moment before a wide smile covers his face. “I knew dragging you out was a good thing.”
“Keep your ‘I told you so’s to yourself.”
“I’m just sayin’.”
“Well don’t. Get your ass over here and help me with this.”
Sean jumps right in, tsking when he realizes how bad the car is. “She was driving this thing?”
“Yeah.”
“What are the odds that you find a hottie with a classic car desperately needing restoration?”
I growl at him for calling my Winter hot. He needs to keep his fucking eyes to himself. “Watch yourself.”
He holds his greasy hands up in surrender. “I’m engaged, asshole. I’m just stating a fact. Your little waitress was the hottest elf at the club last night. The fact that she owns this car seems like kismet, is all.”
I grunt in acknowledgment but don’t say anything else as we work. My mind keeps going back to Winter. I wonder if she’s up yet or if she sleeps in because she works so late. I want to call her just to hear her voice again, but I don’t want to risk waking her up. I manage to make it until noon before I call her. The phone rings several times, and I wonder if she’s going to send me to voicemail; then, her sweet voice answers, sending a shockwave of desire straight to my cock.
“Hello…”
“Hello, sweets. How are you?”
“I-I’m okay. You?”
“Better now,” I say.
She goes quiet like she’s not sure what to say to that. Not that I blame her. I’m probably coming off like a stalker. She’s a beautiful single woman that deals with pervy assholes at her job. I’m sure she’s just waiting for me to turn into one of them.
“I had your car towed to my shop. It’s in rough shape.”
“Your shop?” she asks with a squeak.
“Yeah, I own Phoenix.”
