Page 4

Literally.

There was a reason people called it a fishbowl—sound travelled.

The chorus ofGood 4 Ubelted out loud and clear. Good for him, indeed. Now here’s hoping he’d move on from the yard and give her some peace and quiet.

She fell back down on the bed, lying there for a few more minutes hoping the noise would cease. Nope. She groaned, got out of bed, slid on her slippers and walked—no,stomped—down the stairs. Time for some peace and quiet.

She pushed open her front door and headed straight towards the van looking extra stylish in her grey sweats, old white T-shirt and the messy bun she’d managed to pull up on the way out. Nothing quite like a just-got-out-of-bed getup to give someone a piece of her mind.

She marched right up behind the guy. “Excuse me! Can youpleaseturn the music down? This is a residential area where people are trying to sleep and?—”

Sam stopped, momentarily stunned. “Taylor?”

Now that she was up close, she recognised the cargo pants and boots combo Taylor had on the day before—sans herFeeling Nautitop, which had been replaced with a cleaner polo shirt.

Taylor at least had the decency to look sheepish as she placed her tools down and quickly jogged over to the van, opening the passenger door and reaching over to turn down the music to a quiet, appropriate level.

“Sorry,” she said, turning back to Sam and running a hand through her short hair with a sigh. “It’s been a rough morning. Or, more like a rough week.” She gave a weak laugh. “I didn’t mean to bother you,”—she looked her up and down—“or wake you.” She grimaced.

“All good. The noise is down. Problem solved,” Sam replied with a smile and a relieved sigh. She noted the weariness in Taylor’s face, the dark rings under her eyes. “Sorry to hear you’ve had a bad week. Here’s to a better day ahead then. And, uh, no more spilled coffees, yeah?”

“Ha. Thanks, I’ll just be giving this girl a service and an exterior detail.” Taylor patted the back of the caravan.

“Nice. Are you, like, a caravan mechanic?”

“Kind of?” Taylor replied with just as much of a question in her tone. She unclipped one of the side hatches. “I work on caravans and boats, doing servicing and maintenance. I did the wholevan lifething for a couple of years around Australia, which taught mea lot. I enjoyed it enough, so I started up my own business when I got back.”

She ducked her head into the hatch and flipped a couple of switches before turning back to Sam. “I love tinkering, fixing things and seeing people smile when their pride and joys are brought back to their prime. You should see this van by the end of the day. Once it’s had a polish and I’ve resprayed the A-frame, it’s going to come up mint.”

“Gosh, if only everyone had as much passion for their job as you do.” Sam laughed, knowing full well she definitely didnot. She wished she did. She knew she didn’t want to be working at the family shop any longer than she had to. She wanted to be living on Manny already, sailing off into the sunset. It wasn’t a career, but it was her dream.

Taylor’s cheeks dusted pink. “Sorry. Please tell me to shut up. I can talk way too much about boring things like vans, and here you are, standing there clearly just woken up in your PJs thanks to me. You don’t need me yabbering your ear off first thing in the morning.”

“I don’t mind. I’m sure I could talk your ear off right back with boats, to be fair. But, with that said, I really should get back and start getting ready for work anyway. I’ll leave you to it.”

“See you round. And sorry again about the music. I’ll keep it at low angsty levels this time,” Taylor said with a grin, a dimple appearing on her right cheek.

With a small wave, Sam headed back with a smile on her face. That wasn’t the interaction she thought she’d be having after how she’d woken up. For the second day in a row Taylor—whoever she was—was definitely making her days more interesting.

It was nice.

Although now she thought about it, she wondered just what had Taylor wanting to blast that song so loud in the first place, and what had made her week so bad? It surely couldn’t have been just over a spilt coffee? Not that it was any of her business, she didn’t even know her.

Sam shook her head, thinking about what she needed to get done today. Not on the maintenance worker who seemed to keep popping up in her life all of a sudden.

Garner Marine was bustling again. It wasn’t much to look at from the outside, but the reputation the business had built meant people flocked to the shop. If you wanted old-school service, you went to Garner’s. Need nuts and bolts? Got ‘em. That thingymajig to fit on the rudder? There’s probably one of those sitting in the second hand section (it’s called a pintle, by the way). The shop brought in all walks of life, some days you loved the customers, and other days you wanted to hide in the kitchen. Today was a kitchen day.

Sam 1:56pm:

Alex, why does Sausage Fingers always need to use our toilet after wandering around the shop for half an hour without buying a single thing?

Sam held her phone, waiting for her best friend’s response. The dots began bouncing almost immediately. Sausage Fingers—actual name Henry—was a short, older man who looked like Santa Claus but with short stumpy hands. He was a regular, who regularly wasted her time and spent absolutely no money.

Alex 1:58pm:

Because you give him the shits?

Sam 1:59pm: