Page 5

Chapter four

Chris

I t’s been an unusually productive Sunday morning. I’ve gone for a run, tuned up my bike, and now I’m in the throes of washing my Jeep. No amount of exercise or distraction seems to eliminate the nervous energy floating around me that may or may not be a direct result of the business card in my back pocket. Anna’s flirtation came out of left field Friday night, and I definitely returned it. Go figure that a woman I’ve been interested in since the moment I shook her hand a year and a half ago would decide to turn up the heat when I’m supposed to be turning it down. My heart took off the second she walked into the backyard wearing that stupidly sweet sundress. Before I got that under control she was falling right out of her chair. Catching her was pure instinct, but holding onto her long enough to get a couple extra breaths of her shampoo was a choice that I’d make again and again. I had to return to the safety of my chair and close my damn eyes so my best friend wouldn’t catch me bricked up in his backyard. Five damn months and I’ve managed to ignore every flirtation that’s come my way…until now. I’m so close. Offering to cut my hair was a friendly offer, I thought. That look in her eyes, though? That was pure want, and it made me want her back.

To keep from showing up at Anna’s salon the second it opens, I grab my keys and drive over to my parents’. They’ll probably be on their second cup of coffee by now. I don’t bother to change my clothes since I’ll probably end up on my back in the garage or elbow-deep in an engine anyway. Dad and I are making steady progress on the 1932 Deuce Coupe, sourcing parts when we have the time. The front yard of the rancher I grew up in stands out among the immaculate golf green lawns on the street. My mom is big into natural landscapes that attract pollinators. In spring and summer, the whole place is abuzz with hummingbirds and Monarch butterflies. Dad waves at me from the open garage, impeccably organised as always. The checkerboard floor tiles give the space that vintage look, the glossy black squares reflecting the bright overhead lighting that allows him to work any time of day. He’s always been a night owl. Rather than tossing and turning and waking Mom he’d get up and work on projects. How many times did I pad down the hall after him, slinking into the garage in the hopes that he’d smile and welcome me to stay? The times he did wave me in were special. I’d perch on a chrome and leather barstool, handing him tools and trying to remember every step.

“Morning,” I say, skimming the tips of my fingers over the curves of the Deuce Coupe.

“No trips this weekend?”

I suck my teeth. “Nah, went for a run and washed the Jeep.”

“It’ll rain now. You watch.”

I laugh at his very dad-like prediction.

“How’s work going?”

“Busy. We’re booked out forever, it feels like.”

“So busy you can’t fit in a haircut?”

I glance at my watch. Five minutes. That’s how long I’ve been here, and how long I managed to go without recalling the weight of her body in my arms. Jesus, if I let her cut my hair will I ever be able to get her out of my mind?

“Yeah, I’m gonna get one. Can I help?” I lift my chin at the Deuce Coupe .

“Always. Grab me those pliers.”

I barely need to look to find them. Muscle memory and Dad’s meticulous organization work together to aid me. We fall into a rhythm beneath the hood, sunlight creeping across the garage floor as morning slips away.

“Hey, Teddy?” I hear Mom behind the door that leads to the house.

She’s the only one who calls him that.

“In here, Sam.”

Where else would he be?

“Oh!” Mom smiles as she peeks into the garage.

Her blonde and silver curls are piled on top of her head in a bun, framed by her reading glasses.

“Hi, sweetie. You want coffee? It’s hot inside.”

“Sure. I’ll come in and get it. You’re on your own, old man.” I pat my dad on the back before washing my hands with the orange degreasing soap at the sink in the corner.

Slipping out of my sneakers, I head toward the kitchen at the back of the house. The space screams eighties, oak everything from when they bought the house before my sister and I were born.

I choose a mug from the cupboard over the coffee maker, a simple glass carafe with one button.

“You want to come to my next ivy pull? ”

Mom isn’t just passionate about planting local flora, she also coordinates groups of volunteers to get together and eradicate invasive species. One of the most notorious is the English Ivy which essentially sucks the life out of healthy trees by blocking their sunlight.

“Could do.” I sip my sweet coffee. “Let me know the date.”

She ruffles my hair. “This is much longer than normal.”

Annoyance slips into my tone as I duck away. “I’m aware.”

Between my own desires and everyone’s comments on the state of my hair, it’s like the universe is forcing me towards Anna. I’m not exactly kicking and screaming.

“Sorry, sorry. Have you heard from your sister?”

I’d rather talk about my hair again. My younger sister’s extended travel is a constant source of tension.

“Couple weeks ago, maybe?”

It was three days ago, but I don’t want her to be jealous. I hate lying about it, but it’s less contentious this way.

“I just think it would be nice if she could call more regularly.”

Here we go.

I gulp my coffee and eye the spot above the fridge where I know the booze is. A small splash of Bailey’s would go a long way right now .

“You guys go to bed early and you know how the time zones don’t line up well. And her schedule is weird too.” I rattle off all the regular excuses I make on behalf of my baby sister.

“If she told me when she wanted to call, I’d stay up late.”

Right. And then she could get the third degree about when she’s coming home and how she should save up for a flight and the rest of it. I don’t envy her, but it’s also a little her fault.

It’s hard to keep the exasperation out of my voice but I’m sick of being in the middle of them. Right around the time my sister hit teenagerhood she and my mom began to butt heads. Dad took a wide berth around them, and I ended up in the wake.

“Christmas?”

Maybe she chooses to say that single word because it’s easier than asking the full question.

I draw a deep breath and shrug. “Maybe, Mom.”

Then I hold open my arms and she sets her mug down to accept my hug.

“What you got planned for the rest of the day, sweetie?”

Anna’s glossy business card practically burns through the leather of my wallet .

“A haircut.”

I’ve made up my mind. I have to see her. I have to find out if the chemistry between us was a one-off or if she’ll give me more of those heated stares.