Page 5 of Falling for the Mechanic

Cameron

Every part of my mind is urging me to ask her if she’s okay. Something has a tight grip on my chest, a fist roughly squeezing with every second that I go without knowing the answer.

It’s an alien pressure, a weight I don’t recognize. Since when do I care about a stranger’s well-being?

Is this what Nash has claimed I’ve been missing? He might be onto something here. I’ve never cared to hear anyone’s sob stories, but I’m dying to know this woman’s.

Not for the gossip, not for the drama, but because the shadow in her eyes feels like a personal offense. I want to be the one to chase it away.

Can’t make her feel better if I don’t know what’s wrong.

Biting my tongue for as long as I can, it doesn’t take long for me to hit my limit. Just as I’m rolling out from beneath the van, she’s clearing her throat to beat me to it.

“You don’t happen to know somewhere I can relieve a little stress?

” Still sounding so exhausted, she rests her elbows against her knees.

She’s claimed that chair as her own. The overhead light catches the faint tracks of dried tears on her cheeks, and that fist in my chest gives another painful squeeze.

“Might have a good place in mind. Want to get out of here?” The question leaves me without thought, and another foreign sensation fills me. Is it anticipation, or hope? Could be both.

It’s the feeling of throwing a line into the dark, hoping something—hoping she—will bite.

“Won’t I be getting in your way?” Looking at the vehicle, she purses her lips together. “What time does your shift end? I can wait.”

I don’t tell her that I work the usual nine to five job. Lately, I work as long as my body lets me to keep up with how many appointments I’ve booked to keep up with our bills.

“I work my own schedule. This is fine.” The words come out as a smooth lie.

I’m not genuinely sure how fine we’ll be, but a couple hours away should be okay.

Chelsea is on her feet without another word. She’s nodding her head, happy to keep moving. If I have to take a guess, she’s trying to stay distracted.

Well, what better place to do that than The Hollow Oak?

Abandoning the ground, I wash up and pluck off my stained shirt, leaving me in my undershirt. Feeling eyes pointed in my direction, a stupid part of me hopes it’s her. I look over my shoulder, but Chelsea’s more interested in the van than she is in me.

The disappointment is an unexpected sting.

Scoffing under my breath at myself, I shake my head as I throw on my jacket. Need to stop myself now before I get too ahead of myself. She’s a customer who has no reason to look my way.

We take my truck up to the bar, but something tells me I’ll end up abandoning it in the lot with a few others. It all depends on how the night runs.

The bar is as lively as ever. People cheer as they watch the current game, and a pair fight over onion rings.

Taking Chelsea by the elbow, my thumb brushes against the soft skin of her inner arm. There’s an instant tingle against my fingertips I can’t explain, but can’t find myself minding.

I guide her straight to the bar top. Claiming two stools of our own, I signal down Eden.

She doesn’t look too pleased to see me. Again, most people don’t.

“The usual?” She asks before noticing I’m not alone. “Oh.” Her eyes flick to Chelsea, then back to me, wide with disbelief.

Chelsea must not hear the surprise in her voice, because she’s already ordering a shot of tequila. Jesus .

“One for him, too.” She points her thumb at me before giving me a side eye. An invitation for trouble. “Yeah?”

Yeah. She’s got her issues, and I’ve got mine. My usual glass of whisky would barely scratch the surface today. She’ll lead. I’ll follow.

Eden shrugs her shoulders and pours us both shots. Sliding them forward, she tends to the next customer.

“So, who should we toast for the first shot?” She pinches her glass, looking too eager to drink hers down. The neon sign behind the bar paints a streak of pink against her cheeks, her lips, and for a second, I struggle to register her question. Forget how to blink.

“The first?” Repeating her words, I shake my head and think about it. “To the owner of the shop. To his speedy recovery.”

We swallow, and she has a full-body grimace. “Wait, you’re not the owner?”

“Not yet.” Clearing my throat, I sniff. “My uncle is. He won’t give me the shop until I stop scaring the business away. Even though he’s resting after fucking up his back, he still won’t loosen his grip. At his age, he should be retiring before something worse happens.”

I sound bitter about the whole thing. The familiar frustration is a cold knot in my gut.

“You’d be a pretty good owner.” She sets her glass down and motions for another. Her gaze is direct, unnervingly sincere. “You’re a hard worker.”

I want to scoff and brush her words off, but the truth is, it feels like a splash of warm water on a cold day. It seeps in, warming parts of me I thought had gone numb.

Everyone is always happy to point out what I’m doing wrong, but I don’t get too many compliments. This one, from her, feels like a key turning in a lock I forgot existed.

I ask for rum this time, and cradle my glass. “What about you? Who ruined your day?”

Sucking on her teeth, she drinks her next shot first. “My family. They’re really a big handful. My brother is the only one I can stand. But the rest of them?” Her brows come together, and her cheeks are already turning flushed. “They suck .”

She purses her lips together before saying the last part again.

“You know, I get that you might know my mother, but she really sucks. She stresses me out. A lot.” Shaking her head, she asks Eden if she can have a whole bottle, but I shake my head, and the bartender is sweet enough to tell her no.

Can’t say I know where she’s coming from. Not when I had great parents, and Alina is all I’ve got left. Love her to death. But watching Chelsea’s pain up close like this makes me want to understand.

Makes me want to find the people who put that look on her face and have a few words.

I’ve got a gut feeling that with the third shot, I shouldn’t ask her the fine details without setting her off. Don’t want to give everyone a show. More than that, I don’t want to shatter this fragile bubble we’re in.

Soon, her frown dissolves, leaving behind a lazy smile. It transforms her face, and I can’t look away. It’s like the sun breaking through a week of rain.

“Hey, you were right.” Tapping my shoulder, it takes me a second to register her words. Her touch is a brand through the fabric of my jacket.

“I was right?” Repeating them, I press my thumb against my temple to focus. It’s the rum that’s blurring the world’s edges, but she remains crystal clear and stunningly focused.

We’ve had one too many drinks. She went on about her chaotic childhood. I shared some stuff about Nash. As the conversation kept flowing, so did the drinks. I should’ve called it a night sooner. Now I’m regretting it. There’s no chance I’ll get any more work done today.

“Yeah. I feel amazing.” Annunciating the last word, she giggles.

God, she’s got a cute laugh. It’s a light, bubbling sound that cuts through the bar’s roar and goes straight to my heart.

Feels like the room is getting brighter right along with her. She’s becoming the center of it, the brightest thing in this whole damn place.

I don’t know how many shots we throw back, but when it’s time to pay, Chelsea insists. No, she demands it.

“I worked really hard to get in my position.” Her words come slurred, but I can feel the fierce, wounded pride behind them. “While I might not be able to impress my parents, I’m going to show you that I am amazing.”

While I don’t have a clue what she’s talking about, I don’t dare stand in her way. While she’s like this, she’s more passionate, more alive. I’m just a spectator to her fire, and I’m captivated and happy to get engulfed.

I’ll slip a bill in her pocket before we part ways. Don’t want her regretting a charge on her card once she realizes how much she just spent. The thought of her waking up with a headache and regret is…unacceptable.

“You want to tell me where I can take you?” Wrapping an arm around her, I hold her up so she doesn’t fall over. She melts into my side, her head finding the crook of my shoulder like it was made to fit there. Talk about a freaking lightweight.

Then again, maybe we did slam a few rounds back to back. While I may be used to coming here through the week, who knows how often she relies on booze as a distraction.

The thought that this might be a habit for her sends a protective surge through me that’s so strong it almost chokes me.

“I can’t go.” She shakes her head, and her hair tickles my chin as she leans closer. Closing her eyes, she makes this little whining sound that makes my stomach clench tight.

I already know I’m a bastard. I don’t need to catch myself staring at her lips to know what I want to do. Can’t kiss her. Not when she’s like this.

When was the last time I let my guard down enough around a person? Hell, I don’t think I wanted to kiss them.

Chelsea just makes me do things I don’t do. What is it about her?

Why can’t the answers be more obvious and on the surface?

Even if every person in this town has a problem with me, I want Chelsea to see me in a better light. I need her to.

“My brother will kill me.” She sniffs and opens her eyes, and I catch myself getting lost in a forest of green.

Her eyes are glassy, but deep, and they hold a universe of hurt I suddenly feel compelled to explore.

“I can’t let my parents see me like this.

Not after—” She hiccups and groans. “—not after I made a scene of running away.”

Damn it. What do I do with her then? Can I trust myself? These cravings are forming a mile a minute, and wanting to give in to the temptations here, she’s going to make the act of holding back impossible.