Page 183 of The Friends and Rivals Collection

As I pace around my garage, talking on the phone to a guy named Leon who runs the best auto repair shop in the tri-state area, I know Blue Betty is in good hands.

“It’ll take me some time, but I can absolutely fix this baby for you,” Leon says in his gruff, no-nonsense tone as he details the bodywork that needs to be done. “That must have been a hell of a tree.”

“Stubborn motherfucker, that’s for sure.”

“Well, if you’d hit the deer, the car would be worse, probably.”

“The deer probably would be, too,” I say, deadpan.

Leon laughs lightly. “True, that.”

I hang up the phone, check my messages, and then I kick the wall.

Slamming the toe of my work boot against the concrete of my shop doesn’t magically deliver a message from Henley to my phone. Nor does it get her to pick up when I call. Every time I try her, it goes straight to voicemail. I’m not sure if she’s ignoring me or if her phone is off.

I’m not sure of anything, especially what to do or say to help her.

This isn’t the engine in a Challenger. This isn’t a set of spanking new features on a Lamborghini. And this sure isn’t Livvy’s old Rolls restored to tip-top condition.

Hell, this is more like my Triumph, bent so far out of shape that even I had to send it to an expert.

I know how to fix cars, but that sort of repair job is for someone who specializes in mangled beasts.

I build and refine. I don’t pull snarled cars off the side of the road and untangle their broken parts from their whole ones.

I pace around the garage as night falls, wishing I had another vehicle to work on, something to shape from the ground up. Something I know how to do. I don’t know how to make things right with Henley.

I putter around the shelves with my tools for another hour, cleaning and polishing and generally making sure everything is spit-shined. But when I’m done, and she’s still not answering, it’s time for me to get serious.

I lean on the hood of a car and dial my sister’s number.

“Hey, you,” she says on the first ring as the honking of a horn sounds close to the phone. “I’m almost late to a business dinner. I need to be there in one minute.”

I curse under my breath.

“What’s wrong?”

I square my shoulders. “Nothing. I’m fine. I’ll catch you later.”

“Max,” she says, chiding. “Is it Henley? Did you tell her how you felt?”

“That’s not entirely the problem.”

“Then what is entirely the problem? Give it to me in twenty seconds.”

“She lost a huge business deal because of me. Because of us. She’s not talking to me right now.”

“But she’s in love with you, too?”

“What? I didn’t tell her I was in love with her.”

Mia sighs then laughs. “Seriously. It’s like you never learn. Now listen, I need to go, but I’m going to tell you what to do, and if you don’t follow my instructions, I will beat you up with my furious fists and powerful muscles, like I did when were kids.”

“I don’t remember it working out that way.”

“Then you’re remembering wrong,” she says, and then she gives me her recipe to fix my broken relationship. And recipe , I suppose, is fitting, since she sends me to a baker.