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“I wouldn’t throw them haphazardly.” I say with some level of defeat. We both know I have no design sense.
Devon surveys the area, finding solutions I don’t have the skill or current mental capacity for. “I’m helping. Deal with it.” She walks around the patio, humming to herself meaningfully while she considers the new layout.
She points to the large window next to Turbine’s front door. “We can put three tables together right there, so it’s like one long community table.” Then she points to an empty space in the corner. “I’ve always felt that needed a potted plant. Now’s the time.” We spend thirty minutes rearranging furniture and trying out different ideas before she folds her arms across her slender waist and smiles in approval. “There, it’s perfect.”
It may even look better than before, but I’m not about to admit it. We have one table pushed right up against the line that Luke pointed out on the sidewalk. I move it three inches across the line, just to fuck with him. “There, now it’s really perfect.”
Chapter 8
Luke
“It’s still not fair that you’re the man of the house, but it’s still true.” -Grandad Ernie, to ten-year-old Luke, after Skye’s dad left.
The breaker box creaks as I pull the door open. It’s common enough for sections of my power to go out during the night that I check the box before I even go inside the shop now. Six on my side are flipped today, and like usual, none on Allie’s.Doesn’t she realize how obvious that is?
Me: Still no issues with your power?
Allie: I’d tell you.
Allie: Keep the noise down today.
Me: Noise?
Allie: Engines and stuff.
Me: I have to test motors.
Allie: Customers are complaining.
Me: No they’re not.
Allie: How would youknow.
Me: Allie. I know everything.
~
“Looks great over there. Really came together.” The man waiting next to me for his coffee says, pointing through the window to my shop. He looks to be in his late sixties, about my height with fair skin and iron gray hair accented with streaks of silver. His thick, black-rimmed glasses and light blue oxford shirt give him a distinguished quality. We haven’t met before, but I see him every day reading his paper in a leather chair by the front window.
“Thank you,” I nod. “Feels good to have that part finished and finally be working on bikes again. I missed it.”
“I’m Brian,” he says, offering his hand. “I don’t think we’ve met officially.”
“Luke,” I say, smiling as I return his firm handshake. He’s the first regular to introduce themself to me. Everyone is fiercely loyal to Allie, which I can’t blame them for.
“Join us for a bit?” Brian offers warmly once we both have our drinks. He points toward a man with copper-brown skin and full, graying black hair, who I imagine is his husband, sitting by the front window. He wears a navy button-down polo with white stitching and tailored khakis. I recognize him, too. Allie was talking to him the first time I heard her call me a jackass. He shot me some dirty looks in those first couple of weeks, but right now, his expression is neutral.
“Hi, Luke. I’m Hector.” He introduces himself as I take the seat across from him and Brian takes the one next to him. He acknowledges the surprised look on my face before I realize I’m making it. “Of course, I know your name. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“So, Luke, tell us about yourself,” Brian says, interlockinghis fingers and leaning forward in his seat. The conversation immediately takes on ameeting the parentstone I wasn’t expecting, and I instinctively run my fingers through my hair like a nervous teenager. This seating area even lends itself to a living room feel. A large, decidedly mid-century modern, green and blue, geometric rug anchors four rust-colored leather chairs arranged around a coffee table that holds Brian’s discarded newspaper and a few art and design books.
“Where are you from? What’s with the motorcycles? Why Palm Springs?” Hector elaborates. “Allie mentioned you want to turnTurbineinto a bar.” His voice is kind, but his shoulders stiffen.
“That’s part of thewhy hereanswer.” I give them a brief explanation of growing up in Ventura and my reasoning for moving to Palm Springs. Neither is surprised I’d move out here for Station 19.
Brian tries to hide a smile by taking a sip of his drink.
“Dammit,” Hector says, throwing his arms up in the air. “That’s sweet. It’s inconvenient for us that you’re not actually a jackass.”
