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I sigh, dragging myself back to the here and now. “Relax. We have plenty of time.”
Taylor gawps at me like I just sprouted two heads.
Beside me, Charlie perks back up. “No, Taylor’s right. Let me finish here, then you can help me fit the tire back on its rim.”
“Sure. Just one more thought: closure is important. Endings clear the way for new beginnings.”
She pauses her stuffing and smoothing for a split second. With a nod, her hands go back to their task. But the corners of her mouth curl up a little, so I know she heard me and hopefully is thinking about the message.
We work in comfortable silence, finding an efficient rhythm to closing up the tire, me holding its standing position, her tucking and smoothing the liner. Taylor has finally overcome his reticence to the slobbering bloodhound, finding several of her favorite places for rubs.
He even came up with a game where he hides a treat in one hand, then holds both hands behind his back for Drooly to scent and track the right one. Every time she picks the right hand, he gives her the treat and she pays him back with wet kisses, which he pretends to hate. I’ve only known my partner as a bruising linebacker in high school, a gruff, dependable no-nonsense mechanic after I opened my shop, and a reliable partner as my business branched out into other fields. Seeing another, softer side of him is a pleasant surprise.
Maybe we should get out of Missouri more often.
And, most thought-provoking, maybe the tree-hugger posters I usually roll my eyes at aren’t as sappy as they sound. There really might be more to life than toying around with cars and making more money from all the opportunities that come our way from friendships with rich clients.
I’m chewing on that idea, watching how quickly and smoothly Charlie’s fingers fly around the tire lining. It takes dexterity to manipulate all the components.
“You’re doing a good job. Making it look easy.”
“Thank you.”
“If you’re ever looking for work, I could use a pair of efficient hands like yours in my shop.”
She laughs softly. “Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind if I need to supplement my income. Or the next time I need help keeping this Model A running.”
“What’s your day job?” Taylor asks.
She glances up at him, one eye narrowed against the glare of the noon sun. “I make things with stained glass.”
“Like church windows and stuff? That sounds cool,” he says, giving Drooly a brisk rub with both hands. Somehow, the dog’s droopy eyelids convey bliss. She’s in constant motion, trying to lash her playmate with her tongue. He laughs like a kid, dodging it. Wonder how long it’ll be before my partner has a dog in his life?
I’m more interested in this dog’s owner. “I thought maybe you were a surgical nurse or something, since you have a box of these gloves with you.”
“Understandable. But I use gloves to minimize glass slivers imbedding themselves in my hands like splinters. Speaking of day jobs, tell me more about your shop. Where in town is it? What’s it called?”
“It doesn’t actually have a name. It’s not the usual repair shop with a big sign or advertising.”
“So how am I supposed to call you about a job when I need it?” she grins, and my mouth curves in response.
“You can’t. It’s by invitation only,” Taylor says.
“Excuse me?” Her gaze whips from Taylor to me, those mesmerizing eyes wide.
“I’ll give you the number to call.”
She nods slowly, creases forming between her brows. “Okay.”
“Not so fast. There’s a catch.”
“Oh?”
“I only answer callers whose number is on my list.”
“Oh, you’re good,” she says, with a knowing smirk. “I’ve heard plenty of lines for getting a woman’s phone number, but this is one for the record books.”
I bet she has heard plenty of lines. Taylor and I exchange grins.
