“I’m glad I came,” he said when the path widened and they were able to walk side by side.
“Me too.”
“Sorry about running off so quickly yesterday.”
“No worries. So what do you do?” she asked. “Don’t answer that if you don’t want to. I’m being nosy.”
“I’m fine with nosy. I am a graphic designer. I specialize in layout design and editorial illustration. I work with local clients mostly, but I do have a few clients across the country.”
“Cool.” Feeling a bit tongue-tied and awkward, she kept her head down as she walked.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m just not good at this.”
“At what? Talking?”
She laughed. “Exactly. For the past sixteen years I’ve lived alone. Well, not exactly alone. I have Mr. Baguette, a cockatiel.” She smiled, hoping she didn’t sound too pathetic. “I also have two sisters and a brother-in-law and a niece and nephew, but overall, besides work, I really don’t get out much.”
He smiled, nodded.
“I used to work part time as a barista, and you can’t really work in a place like that without talking to people. I’ve also been helping my younger sister a lot lately, so I guess I’m getting better at this talking thing.”
“What does your sister do?”
“She’s a crime reporter for the Sacramento Independent. Right now, she’s working on the Black Wigs story.”
“And you’re helping her with that?”
“Yes. I mostly help her with research. Every once in a while, I will go with her to conduct an interview. For instance, the other day we met with Nancy Lay. She used to be a cook at the Children’s Home of Sacramento, a place for troubled kids that was burned to the ground.” Aria looked at him. “You’re frowning.”
“Just trying to figure out the connection between the Black Wigs and Nancy Lay.”
She laughed. “Here I am telling you I don’t talk much, and I’m babbling on about my sister’s job.”
“You’re not babbling. I find the whole vigilante story fascinating. But I do have one question.”
“Yes?”
“What is your name?”
She felt heat rise to her face. “I never told you my name?”
“Afraid not.”
“No, that can’t be true,” she said. “I must have told you when I called you to meet at the coffee shop.”
He shook his head. “You said something like . . . this is the girl at the shelter where you brought the dog. His name is Duke now, and I was wondering if you would like to meet for coffee.” His smile grew bigger. “I was going to ask you at the coffee shop, but after getting a call from a client saying they needed something right away, it slipped my mind.”
“And yet you still came here today,” she said sheepishly.
“You’re way too hard on yourself. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve never been a people person myself. In fact, I had a tough time as a youngster. I was bullied, and I’m still working on having normal conversations with people.”
He stopped to unwind the leash from around Duke’s back leg. When he stood straight again, their gazes met.
When she realized she was staring, she looked away and gave Chompers a pat on the head.
“Two crushed souls meet at a shelter filled with neglected and abused animals that just want to be loved,” he said.
She nudged Chompers along and found herself asking, “I wonder how someone goes about fixing a crushed spirit?”
“They start by waking up each morning, looking in the mirror, and telling themselves they are beautiful and they are worthy.”
“I like that. Once a day?”
“Yep. Only once.” He rubbed his hands over Duke’s back, giving her and Chompers a chance to catch up.
“What about meditation and eating right?”
“All good,” he said, “but there’s one more important thing a person with a crushed soul must do.”
Aria arched a questioning brow.
“They must forgive themselves.”
“Forgive themselves for what?”
“For every bad choice they’ve ever made,” he said. “For eating the whole pie, when one slice would have done the trick. For not holding the elevator for a stranger, or for shutting the door in the face of a door-to-door salesman.”
“Do salesmen still go door to door?”
“Trust me. They do. But I have forgiven myself for that one.”
She laughed. “I wouldn’t know where to start. I have never eaten an entire pie.”
“I doubt you have anything to forgive yourself for. Just look at all the good you do for these animals.” His gaze settled on Chompers, who had plopped down on the ground, too exhausted to take another step.
“Looks like I wore her out.”
“We better get her back for some water.” He handed the end of Duke’s leash to Aria, then bent down and scooped up Chompers into his arms and headed back the way they’d come.
Aria followed close behind, thinking Corey Moran was too good to be true. The fact that he was sweet, funny, and nice was a little disconcerting. But he was also damaged goods. Even before he’d said what he said about being bullied, she’d recognized him as a lost soul. Scarred, and a little messed up.
It took one to know one.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Aston Newell made sure all the tools in the shop were in the cart before he rolled it to the side of the garage. He then grabbed the handle on the hinged panels of steel and rolled the garage door closed. Once he clicked the padlock in place, he stood tall, hands on his hips, and took one last look. The air was tinged with motor oil, grease, and sweat. Just as it should be.
He was proud of his shop. He’d worked hard to get where he was today. Just last month he’d hired two more mechanics, and yet he still couldn’t seem to get home at a decent hour. The sound of the front door opening and closing caught his attention.
“Sorry. We’re closed!”
He stood still and listened. The only sound was the whirring of the oscillating fan in the office. He took a step that way, then noticed someone standing within the doorframe. If not for the long black hair and crimson lipstick, he might have thought it was a man.
“Can I help you?”
He or she smiled, and something about those eyes . . .
It struck him then. He knew exactly who it was. He couldn’t help but laugh as he stepped over to the cart he’d just rolled to the side and picked up a crowbar. Then he turned back to Cockroach and said, “A woman—Sawyer Brooks from the local newspaper—came by today to warn me that you might be paying me a visit.”
Aston held the crowbar in his right hand and tapped one end to the open palm of his left hand. He did this again and again as he tried to process what was going on and what his next move would be if Cockroach came at him or pulled out a gun.
One thing was for sure, Aston thought. No way was he going to let Cockroach take his life for something that happened years ago. “Why are you here? Nick and Bruce were the instigators, the leaders of the pack. I only hung out with them because I wanted to survive.”