He brightened. “So maybe I can snag a dance or two with you? If I promise to mind my manners?”
“I think that could be arranged.” She glanced at her watch. “But I really need to go. Grandpa promised to get my pickup running this afternoon. And he wants to teach me how to drive three-on-the-tree.”
“What’s that?”
She laughed and explained how the gear shifting worked in the pickup. Then, promising to see him tomorrow, she hopped in her car. But before going home, she made a quick stop at the hardware store. This was not an excuse to see Jordan either. At least that’s what she told herself as she parked in front. She’d gotten tired of using a dirty old barn broom in her trailer. She felt that Rose deserved a daintier broom and dustpan, as well as a nice welcome mat to put outside the front door. Of course, if she bumped into Jordan, she wouldn’t complain. But by the time she checked out, she knew that wasn’t happening. She didn’t like being paranoid, but she did wonder if he was avoiding her.
As she drove home, she told herself it didn’t matter. She did not care. Mostly she wanted to find out how her “new” vintage pickup was doing. Had Grandpa managed to charge the battery, or was there more to be fixed? She hoped and prayed that Jack wouldn’t turn into a money pit. But seeing the pickup parked in front of the house, her spirits lifted. And right next to it was Grandpa’s truck and some jumper cables already connected.
“Ready to try it out?” Grandpa asked as Dillon got out.
“You bet.”
Grandpa told her to get into his truck and what to do. “Hope this works.” He carried the other ends of the cables to her truck. “Fire it up as soon as I give you the signal.” Before long, he was in the cab, yelling at her to start it up, and after a few tries, Jack was running.
“Let’s let ’er idle awhile,” Grandpa said as he revved up Jack’s engine. He disconnected the jumper cables. “You go park my truck by the barn, and in about ten minutes, I’ll give you your first driving lesson.”
She parked his truck, then, feeling the afternoon heat baking into her, ducked into her trailer to change into cutoffs, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes. Within a few minutes she’d gone out to see Grandpa dropping the hood of her pickup. “Jack’s rip-roaring to go now.” He went to the passenger side, telling Dillon to take the wheel.
Next he explained how three-on-the-tree worked, taking her through each step. After a lot of trips around the farm—which included some loud grinding of gears—she was finally able to go up and down the farm road without too much trouble.
“You drop me at the house,” Grandpa told her, “but keep that engine running to get that battery good and charged.”
“How long?”
“Just take ’er for a nice long spin—” he paused—“I mean him. I put some gas in, so you won’t have any problem there. Why not drive Jack to town? Get yourself some ice cream or something, then drive around some more and come back.”
“Okay.” She nodded, glad that her phone was in her back pocket—just in case she needed a tow truck. “Here I go.” Thinking through the positions for shifting, and when and how to change gears, she cautiously continued down the driveway. Really, it wasn’t that hard. In fact, it was fairly easy. And then she realized it was fun. Driving her old pickup with the windows open, hair flying in the breeze, she didn’t feel midthirties like Chelsea had suggested. She felt sixteen again. And it was awesome! Like this was what life was meant to be—and she planned to embrace it.
By the time she was rolling into town, she’d gotten three-on-the-tree down pat. And although she knew she shouldn’t be hungry after that fantastic lunch, Grandpa’s suggestion of ice cream sounded like a good reward. Especially since it was a hot afternoon and the old pickup didn’t have AC. She didn’t really mind that. But ice cream did sound cool. She parked on the street in front of the Cream Cup, Silverdale’s oldest and best ice cream and burger shop, then got in line at the window—along with the Fourth of July tourists. It took a few minutes, but when she saw her soft-swirled vanilla cone, she knew it was worth it.
Feeling pleased with herself, she carried her ice cream back to the pickup. But since she was not confident enough to eat and drive, she opened the tailgate and sat down on it, watching the holiday traffic and remembering how she used to do this very thing as a teenager. Kicking the heels of her tennis shoes, she felt so right. Like she was exactly where she needed to be at the moment. And she didn’t need a guy by her side. Not Brandon. Not even Jordan. This was more than good enough, and she planned to savor it.
Finally her ice cream was gone and it was time to restart the pickup. But it only gave out a strange little growl . . . and then nothing. She tried again. Nothing. “Oh, Jack,” she said. “What’s wrong?” As she got out of the pickup, wondering what to do, she noticed a familiar pickup coming down the street toward her. An old red pickup, with Jordan Atwood at the wheel. She made a halfhearted wave, and he stopped on the opposite side of the street and hopped out. To her dismay, Vivian Porter was sitting in the passenger seat, peering curiously at Dillon.
As Jordan crossed the street toward her, she almost didn’t recognize him. She’d never seen him in a tie and jacket—and wondered why he was so dressed up. She also wondered about Vivian. She looked dressed up too. But Dillon didn’t want to ask.
“Is this Uncle Jack’s old Chevy?” Jordan’s brow creased.
“Yep.” She nodded glumly. “But it’s not running.”
“Then how did it get here?” He tilted his head to one side.
She quickly explained about Grandpa charging the battery and telling her to take it for a drive. “I got an ice cream, and now the pickup won’t start.”
“You didn’t shut down the engine, did you?” His expression suggested that would be an idiotic thing to do.
“Yeah,” she confessed.
He shook his head with a grim expression. “Well, that’s not how you recharge a battery, Dillon. Didn’t you know that?”
“If I had known it, do you think I would’ve done it?” She wasn’t quite sure why she felt so exasperated at him, but she did. It felt like he was criticizing her . . . or maybe he just resented her having his uncle’s pickup. Whatever it was, it didn’t feel good . . . or right. And for the first time since meeting Jordan, she didn’t like him quite so much. Not only that, but she felt funny standing next to him in her shorts and T-shirt—with him looking like a city slicker.
“Well, if you don’t know much about an old pickup, why are you driving it around?” He removed his sports coat and loosened his tie with an aggravated expression.
It didn’t help that Vivian was now getting out and coming over. “What’s up?” she asked as Jordan headed back to his pickup.
“Broken down,” Jordan tossed back at her.
“I, uh, think it’s the battery,” Dillon told Vivian.
“Good thing we came along.” Vivian frowned in a way that suggested she didn’t approve of Dillon’s ultra-casual attire. Or maybe it was just Dillon’s imagination, since Vivian looked even more chic than usual.