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I took over the mechanic shop from our dad. He just retired a few months ago, and now the shop is all mine.
Ford was the chef in our family, but I’ve always been good with cars or anything with an engine. They make sense to me. There’s always a reason for every problem, unlike with people.
“My bike has been acting up. I was hoping to bring it by later today,” Ransom says, and I nod.
“Of course.”
A group of tourists pours into the diner, and Ford stands.
“I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll see you guys later. Are you going over to Dad’s place today?” He asks me, and I nod.
“Yeah, right after this,” I confirm.
“I’ll make a to-go bag for him. Tell him I said hi and that I’ll be by on Sunday.”
“Will do.”
He waves and heads back behind the counter, and Ransom and I finish off our lunch and get ready to go our separate ways.
“I’ll come by in a bit,” Ransom says as he climbs into his old truck.
It’s weird seeing him in it. Usually, the guy is always on his motorcycle. Even when it’s freezing out, he still prefers to ride his bike.
“Okay, give me a call if I’m not there when you drop it off.”
“I will.”
He waves, and we head off in opposite directions. My dad still lives in our childhood home in the northern part of town, and I head that way. I pull into his driveway a few minutes later, and my eyes still slide over to the house next door.
Lilliana grew up there. Her parents sold the house two years ago and moved further south then. I had been afraid that maybe Lilliana would move south too after college or stay in New York, but she’s always loved Wolf Valley. Hell, she stayed in New York, taking classes during the summer too, all so that she could graduate a semester early and come back to this place.
“Hey, Dad!” I call as I walk in through the garage door.
“Hey, Foster. I was wondering when you would be by,” he says with a smile as he pushes himself up from his favorite armchair.
I set the takeout bags that Ford packed for him on the counter, and he smiles when he sees them.
“How’s your brother doing?” He asks as he opens the bag and grabs a fry.
“Good. He said he’ll be by on Sunday.”
“Good, good. What about you?”
“I can come for dinner on Sunday.”
He nods, smiling.
It’s been just our dad and us for the last eight years. Our mom passed away when we were fourteen, and we were all devastated. I know that Dad won’t ever remarry. He always says that Mom was the love of his life and that no one could ever replace her.
I know what he means. Lilliana is the love of my life. I just wish that I was the love of hers.
“Lilliana comes back today. Are you ready?” He asks me, and I sigh.
“Ready for what?”
“To woo her.”
“People don’t say woo anymore, Dad.”
