I direct them to the spot near the window and they lower it exactly where I asked.
Oh, yeah, that looks good there.
“I can’t thank you enough,” I tell them both. “I thought I’d be able to lift it on my own, but clearly I overestimated my strength.”
“Don’t mention it.” He stares at me a beat, then says, “I’m Jared.”
It’s a name that fits him perfectly.
“Nia.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
I feel heat rising in my cheeks at the unexpected compliment.
“Thank you.”
He glances over his shoulder out of the window toward the garage before bringing his attention back to me.
“Looks like we’re neighbors, huh?”
“It looks that way. Is it just you and Slide?”
“Slider,” the second man corrects, “and our buddy, Beanie, works with us too, but he’s out on a tow.”
Slider, Beanie… These people have strange names.
“Have you worked at the garage long?”
“I bought it about two and a half years ago,” Jared says. “Then I invited the two knuckleheads to work for me.”
Slider grins and winks at me. “You’d be lost without us, pal.”
Jared grunts, but I can see the quirk of his lips as he does. I get the impression there’s a lot of banter that goes on between these men.
“You’re all friends?”
“Yeah, doll. We go way back,” Slider says. “We served in the Army together for years.”
Looking at the two men, that I can believe. They look built enough to have been in the military. Clearly, they both maintain working out.
“What did you do in the military? Or is it top secret?”
Slider snorts at my wiggling eyebrows. “We were mechanics, although J had med training too.”
Jared shakes his head. “Barely enough to patch you up until the real medics arrived.”
I can’t tell if he’s being modest or not, but an image of him in cammies and Army gear flashes across my mind. It’s a good image.
I stare at Jared and shake myself when I realize I’m ogling him.
“That’s impressive.”
“Yeah, that’s J-Dog. Impressive.”
Jared smacks him in the ribs, but Slider just chuckles.
“So, that’s why you set up the garage?”
“Yeah. It made sense to come out and do the same shit we spent most of our twenties training for.”
Jared glances around my store and I take the moment to study him in profile. God, he’s attractive. I might be off men, but I’m not blind. He has this rugged, sexy thing going for him that I have to admit, I like.
“How’d you get into antiques?”
I tear my eyes from staring at him just as he brings his gaze to me. I shrug, picking up an ornament and giving it my full attention. “I was always interested in old stuff. I didn’t expect to have my own store at twenty-eight, though.”
“I guess life has a way of dealing out the unexpected.”
The way he says this makes me think we’re no longer talking about me—or anything positive. He looks suddenly distant and sad.
“It does,” I murmur, not sure what else to say.
“We should probably get back,” Slider says, breaking through the growing cloud of tension—a tension I don’t really understand.
“Do you need help with anything else?” he asks.
I shake my head. “The rest are light things. I can manage. Thank you both.”
“Anytime, Nia.”
I’m not sure why, but hearing my name on Jared’s lips has my stomach fluttering.
You can look, but no touching, Nee.
I repeat this over and over in my head as I watch Jared’s back retreat across the street, and I wonder if I can keep that promise.
3
Jared
When we get back inside the garage workshop, Slider moves to the bench and reclaims the wrench he was using before I called him over. My gaze darts back toward the antiques store across the street, back to Nia. For the first time in a long time, my interest was piqued by a woman. That hasn’t happened since Robyn died. No one has managed to turn my head, but there is something about her. She’s a little quirky and she definitely has an air of independence about her that reminds me of my late wife.
I push those thoughts aside, feeling like the worst jerk on the planet for even considering another woman. After what I did to Robyn, I don’t deserve to move on with my life. My sole focus needs to be on my son and my business.
“She seemed nice,” Slider says as he saunters over to the hood of the car he’s been working on all morning.
“Yeah, she does,” I mutter back, returning to the vehicle I was repairing.
I don’t know what possessed me to go over there and help her out, but doing it has opened a door I’m not sure I want to step through. I’m equal measures scared and hopeful that feeling something for another woman—even if it was just a brief tingle of emotion—is a good sign.
“You like her?” Slider questions, and I see a hint of a smile cross his face.
He and Beanie both moved out here after Robyn died. I fell apart. My world ceased to turn, and I blamed myself for her passing. If I hadn’t insisted we visit my mom, if I hadn’t stopped the car where I stopped it—a hundred thousand ‘what-ifs’ rolled through my brain in the months after the collision. The other occupants of the car were okay, although the driver went to jail for dangerous driving. He’d crossed the center line and careened into oncoming traffic. He hit another vehicle before he plowed into the side of our car with enough force to roll us down the verge.
I didn’t get any punishment, although I should have. It was my fault for parking up where I did. I put us there, in the line of fire.
But Slider and Beanie saved my life. I was lost, floundering with a new baby to take care of. They moved to Louisiana and became my rock. I bought the garage and took them both on as mechanics. It was the least I could do after they dragged their asses across the country for me.
Until today, I haven’t thought about another woman in that way. I can’t. Robyn doesn’t get a second chance, so why should I?
“I don’t like her. I mean, I like her as a person, but not in the way you’re thinking.”
Slider sighs and rubs his hand over his shaved head. We’ve been out of the military for years, and still he cuts his hair regulation short.
I went the other way.
Mine is long enough to tear my fingers through, which my three-year-old often has me doing.
“It’s okay to move on, J.”
His words lance through my chest. He’s always been astute, but I didn’t realize he could see through me this easily. I bring my shutters down immediately.
“I’m not looking to move on.”
“Man, what happened was terrible, but your life didn’t end too.” He speaks these words quietly, but it’s like a grenade going off in my head.
I wish I had died instead of her.
I throw the wrench across the workshop floor and, like a teenager, I storm to my office. As soon as the door shuts behind me, regret floods me. This isn’t his fault. If I’m being honest with myself, I’d admit I know deep down it wasn’t my fault either. Bad things happen. This was just one of those chain reactions that couldn’t be stopped.