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Riley seems to read my thoughts. "I can give you a break on the labor," he says, his voice gruff. "Since you're new in town."
I look up, surprised by the offer. "You don't have to do that."
He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. "Up to you. But the parts have to come from Oakridge. Won't be here until Thursday at the earliest."
"I met Lou on my way in," I say. "He told me he might be able to help me with a car."
Riley nods. "His nephew is a doctor and got an old Subaru he's not using because he bought a new car. He said you could use it for a couple of weeks if you need to, just pay for gas."
"That's incredibly generous," I say, genuinely touched by the offer from a complete stranger.
"Like I said, town's good about helping newcomers." Riley turns back to my car, adjusting something I can't identify. "You can pick it up after lunch. I told him I'd let you know."
"Thank you," I say, and I mean it for more than just passing along the message. "For everything."
He glances at me, and I'm struck again by those amber eyes, how they seem to see more than I want them to.
"Just doing my job," he says, but there's something in his tone that suggests otherwise.
A silence falls between us, not entirely uncomfortable. I'm aware of how I must look to him—this overdressed woman in a clean sweater and carefully applied makeup, standing awkwardly in his workspace.
"Well, I should let you work," I say finally. "Is it okay if I leave my things in the car for now? Until I figure out how to get them to the cottage?"
"It's secure here," he assures me. "And I can help you move them later if you want."
The offer is delivered so casually, like it costs him nothing. Maybe it doesn't. But to me, a stranger in a strange town, it means everything.
"That would be amazing," I say, trying not to sound too eager. "Thank you."
He nods again, already turning back to the engine. Our conversation is clearly over.
I head back through the office, pausing at the door. Through the window to the garage, I can see Riley working, completely absorbed in his task. There's something compelling about his focus, his competence.
I know he's just being nice because I'm new and stranded. I must not read anything into it. But as I step outside into the bright morning sunshine, I can't help the small flutter of warmth in my chest. For the first time since arriving in Cedar Falls—maybe for the first time in months—I don't feel quite so alone.
Chapter 4 - Riley
I watch through the office window as Lucy walks away, her dark hair catching the morning light. When she's out of sight, I let out a long breath I didn't realize I was holding.
What the hell am I doing?
I turn back to her car, focusing on the task at hand. The alternator is completely fried—an easy diagnosis but a pain to replace on this model. Parts need to be moved, systems disconnected. It's meticulous work, which is exactly what I need right now. Something to occupy my hands and clear my head.
Because my head is anything but clear at the moment.
I offered to help her move her things. I gave her a discount without even thinking about it. Two things I never do. For anyone.
"You're losing it, Carter," I mutter to myself, reaching for a socket wrench.
I've built a life here—not a particularly social one, but a functional one. I have my shop. My cabin in the woods. My routines. I don't do complications, and Lucy Mitchell is definitely a complication.
She's too young, for one thing. Must be at least a decade between us, maybe more. Too young and too... everything. Too pretty, with those big brown eyes. Too earnest, with her grateful smiles. Too soft, with curves that her green sweater did nothing to hide.
Not that I noticed. Not that it matters.
I've been alone since coming back to Cedar Falls three years ago. Alone by choice. The few attempts at dating ended quickly—usually after the first nightmare woke me screaming or the firsttime a car backfired nearby and I hit the ground. Women want a man, not a collection of damaged parts barely held together.
Besides, a girl like Lucy would never look twice at a man like me. Not romantically. I'm older, scarred both inside and out, with nothing to offer but a mechanic's salary and a personality that most people charitably describe as "reserved" and more accurately call "antisocial."
I look up, surprised by the offer. "You don't have to do that."
He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. "Up to you. But the parts have to come from Oakridge. Won't be here until Thursday at the earliest."
"I met Lou on my way in," I say. "He told me he might be able to help me with a car."
Riley nods. "His nephew is a doctor and got an old Subaru he's not using because he bought a new car. He said you could use it for a couple of weeks if you need to, just pay for gas."
"That's incredibly generous," I say, genuinely touched by the offer from a complete stranger.
"Like I said, town's good about helping newcomers." Riley turns back to my car, adjusting something I can't identify. "You can pick it up after lunch. I told him I'd let you know."
"Thank you," I say, and I mean it for more than just passing along the message. "For everything."
He glances at me, and I'm struck again by those amber eyes, how they seem to see more than I want them to.
"Just doing my job," he says, but there's something in his tone that suggests otherwise.
A silence falls between us, not entirely uncomfortable. I'm aware of how I must look to him—this overdressed woman in a clean sweater and carefully applied makeup, standing awkwardly in his workspace.
"Well, I should let you work," I say finally. "Is it okay if I leave my things in the car for now? Until I figure out how to get them to the cottage?"
"It's secure here," he assures me. "And I can help you move them later if you want."
The offer is delivered so casually, like it costs him nothing. Maybe it doesn't. But to me, a stranger in a strange town, it means everything.
"That would be amazing," I say, trying not to sound too eager. "Thank you."
He nods again, already turning back to the engine. Our conversation is clearly over.
I head back through the office, pausing at the door. Through the window to the garage, I can see Riley working, completely absorbed in his task. There's something compelling about his focus, his competence.
I know he's just being nice because I'm new and stranded. I must not read anything into it. But as I step outside into the bright morning sunshine, I can't help the small flutter of warmth in my chest. For the first time since arriving in Cedar Falls—maybe for the first time in months—I don't feel quite so alone.
Chapter 4 - Riley
I watch through the office window as Lucy walks away, her dark hair catching the morning light. When she's out of sight, I let out a long breath I didn't realize I was holding.
What the hell am I doing?
I turn back to her car, focusing on the task at hand. The alternator is completely fried—an easy diagnosis but a pain to replace on this model. Parts need to be moved, systems disconnected. It's meticulous work, which is exactly what I need right now. Something to occupy my hands and clear my head.
Because my head is anything but clear at the moment.
I offered to help her move her things. I gave her a discount without even thinking about it. Two things I never do. For anyone.
"You're losing it, Carter," I mutter to myself, reaching for a socket wrench.
I've built a life here—not a particularly social one, but a functional one. I have my shop. My cabin in the woods. My routines. I don't do complications, and Lucy Mitchell is definitely a complication.
She's too young, for one thing. Must be at least a decade between us, maybe more. Too young and too... everything. Too pretty, with those big brown eyes. Too earnest, with her grateful smiles. Too soft, with curves that her green sweater did nothing to hide.
Not that I noticed. Not that it matters.
I've been alone since coming back to Cedar Falls three years ago. Alone by choice. The few attempts at dating ended quickly—usually after the first nightmare woke me screaming or the firsttime a car backfired nearby and I hit the ground. Women want a man, not a collection of damaged parts barely held together.
Besides, a girl like Lucy would never look twice at a man like me. Not romantically. I'm older, scarred both inside and out, with nothing to offer but a mechanic's salary and a personality that most people charitably describe as "reserved" and more accurately call "antisocial."