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I suck in a few deep breaths as I walk into the waiting area. Gemma is busy on the computer, but when she looks up at me, she blushes, then lowers her eyes and tries to hide her reaction.
She’s embarrassed about being a tipsy hot mess Friday night, but I thought it was kinda adorable. Drunk Gemma is fun and easygoing and not so reserved once the alcohol hits her system. But now, we’re back to where we were when I arrived here on Wednesday last week—awkward tension.
The silence pierces my ears.
Thankfully, Jerry walks in and greets me in his booming fatherly voice. I turn to him and smile as he picks up a donut.
“I have to pull some engines this mornin’, so I thought Gemma could show you around the place and give you a rundown of shop rules. We can meet up after lunch, and I’ll get you started on your first project,” he explains.
“Okay, sounds great.”
Jerry grabs a cup of coffee, then goes back to the garage. Once Gemma and I are alone again, all the air in the room seems to evaporate.
She finishes typing something, then stops and looks at me. “Well, this is the lobby where customers wait, over there is the customer bathroom, and next to it, is the break room and fridge—employees only, though.” Gemma grins, though she tries to hide it.
I chuckle at her smart-ass tone. “Yep. Figured that much out.”
Gemma walks out from behind the counter and takes me into the garage. It’s much smaller than I remember it being. She explains where all the tools are kept, and her dad’s hard rules.
“My dad runs a tight ship. He’s fired people for being lazy and late,” she warns, and I make a mental note, so I don’t disappoint him. “Make sure to clean up after yourself. Messy shop, unhappy Pops.”
After the grand tour, she takes me into the small office that smells like engine oil and Old Spice. She turns and stares at me. At first, she hesitates, then just comes out and says what’s on her mind. Something I know isn’t always easy for her.
“Can we forget about Friday? I’m absolutely humiliated by my behavior.”
I lean my shoulder against the frame of the door and cross my arms over my chest. Smirking, I shake my head. “No way. Forget seeing you down in your underwear, begging me to sleep on your couch? It’s been on repeat in my head all weekend.”
She groans. “When you say it like that, it sounds much worse than what really happened, though, it’s still pretty bad.”
“Whiskey is your kryptonite. But I kinda like that about you, Gemma. You weren’t so uptight.”
“I’m not uptight, Tyler.”
The way she says my name has me swallowing hard. She’s trying so hard to convince me, but it’s not gonna work.
I grin. “No?” I tuck my hands in my pockets and shrug. “Okay, well maybe we both are. You more than me, though,” I tease.
She glares at me, and I laugh. Gemma grabs a book from the desk, then changes the subject. She sits and flips it open.
“This is the schedule book where we write the appointments. It’s old-school, but Dad prefers not to have to get on the computer for anything, so I save it electronically but also write it in here. If you ever wonder what’s planned for the week, it’s in here.” She taps her finger on the pages. Her handwriting is as meticulous as I remember it.
I lean over and look at the calendar. She tilts her head, aware of how close I am. Though I pretend I don’t notice how her breasts rise and fall with each of her breaths, I do.
“Awesome, seems straightforward,” I say, and my breath brushes against her skin. Goose bumps form on her arms, and I take a step back, needing space. Those old emotions threaten to come to the surface, but I force them away.
“Great.” She stands and walks out of the office. Before following her, I regain my composure, then meet her back in the waiting room. Only three chairs sit against the wall in front of the counter that’s big enough to hold a computer, keyboard, and for a person to write a check. Yes, a check, because they’re so damn old-fashioned here. Mimi still refuses to get a debit card.
“That’s pretty much all I have for you, and there’s still a few hours before lunch.” She doesn’t look up at me as she types.
“What do I do then? Your dad isn’t meeting with me until after lunch.”
“Not sure. Wash the windows? Sweep the floor? Clean the bathroom?”
Though she’s messing with me, the windows are filthy. Instead of sitting around, I decide to make myself useful.
“Alright, where are the cleaning supplies?”
“I wasn’t serious.”
“Yeah, but look at them. I can take care of it and anything else you need, then meet your dad after lunch.”
