I get in my car and drive around without any destination in mind. Tomorrow’s Lemon Raspberry Cupcakes Thursday at the diner. I could go home and get a head start on those, but I prefer to make them in the evening so they’re still fresh the following morning.
One hour later, I find myself parked in front of Joe’s Auto Body Shop, where Sol told me he worked when we talked at Bev’s wedding.
The scene from Sunday after Mass pops in my head, Gavin’s words still fresh. I still can’t believe Sol punched him. I’m so confused. That image doesn’t really fit with the Sol I know.
A few people walk in and out of the shop, but I can’t see him anywhere. I’m still wondering if I should go in or drive off when he appears at the door of the workshop. I sit up straight, my eyes trailing him as he heads toward a white car parked under a tree shade just outside the shop. He pops the hood up, then turns the cap on his head backward before disappearing underneath. When he’s done, he starts heading for the workshop but stops in his tracks, turning around abruptly. He scans his surroundings, his brows lifting in surprise when he finds me watching him. He immediately changes direction, covering the distance between us in long strides.
Suddenly, my mouth feels dry, and my heart is racing as I take him in. The navy blue trousers he’s wearing are splattered with oil, giving him a rough look that fits him more than I’d like to admit. I roll down my window as he gets closer. My lips crack into a smile when he stops in front of my door, mirroring my expression.
“Hey.” He glances right and left as if scouting the area for something, before facing me again. He turns his cap around to face forward. “I feel like our roles have been reversed.”
“Yeah?” Shit, I sound breathless. Definitely not good. I really don’t want to scare him off. He already looks nervous as is it. “How’s that?”
Phew. My voice has gone back to normal.
“Stalker becomes the stalked.”
“Ha! Don’t flatter yourself, Solomon,” I say, rolling my eyes at him.
A few drops of sweat roll down the side of his face. He removes his cap and wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand before putting the cap back on. He smells like gasoline and oil and boy-man.
“What’s up? Aren’t you working at the diner today?”
“Bev’s back. She ordered me to take the rest of the day off.” My gaze drops to the white tag on the front of his navy blue T-shirt. It says Joe’s Auto Body Shop in bright red letters. “I was just driving by the garage, and . . . well, here I am.”
His hand reaches up and tugs one of my braids, rubbing the strands between the tips of his fingers. The back of his fingers brush my shoulder as they fall away. I jolt in my seat as the burning sensation of his touch ricochets all over my body.
Oh my gosh.
“I, uh, I should let you get back to work.” I grip the wheel with one hand, then use the other to turn the ignition key.
He studies my face, his features turning gentle. “Give me thirty minutes. Then I’ll be yours for the rest of the day.”
He walks back into the garage without waiting for my answer. I can’t help the way my gaze follows him, taking in the way his shoulders look, strong and sure, then my gaze drops to his ass, framed nicely in his work trousers.
Leaning my head back on the headrest, I blow out a breath and close my eyes, smiling. A hot breeze blows into the car, making the air inside the small space more stifling than before. I bunch up my T-shirt and tie a knot at my midriff to get some relief, then settle back in my seat.
I startle awake some time later to the feel of someone gently shaking my shoulder. I blink several times to clear my vision. Sol, now wearing a gray T-shirt and shorts, flashes his usual smile at me, causing my stomach to dip delightfully. I must have drifted off to sleep while I waited for him.
He opens my door all of a sudden and scoops me up from my seat, causing me to squeal. My arms flail around before clasping his neck for support.
“Put me down, you dork!”
He laughs, seemingly having gotten over the nervousness from before. “Nope.” Holding me with one arm, he leans back inside the car and rolls up the window and grabs my purse, kicking the door shut with his foot when he’s done. “We’ll take my truck. Your car will be safe here.”
“Where are we going?”
“You choose,” he says as he heads toward his truck. “Have you eaten already?”
I nod.
Sol sets me on my feet, then opens the passenger door. He looks at me thoughtfully, then at his truck, no doubt realizing I’m too short to climb the darn thing. Laughing softly as he shakes his head, he grips my hips and lifts me, settling me on the seat. Standing back, he waits as I buckle my seat belt with shaky fingers because oh my God! Sol is too sweet.
He rounds the car and hops into the driver’s seat, then twists his upper body to face me. “So where to?”
I bite my cheek, considering my choices. “Can I drive?”
He barks out a laugh. “No way. You look like you’re about to fall asleep. In fact, you were sleeping.” He watches me closely. “I could take you home—”
“Ranger’s Cove,” I blurt out.
He blinks, then says, “What?”
“You asked me where we’re going.”
“Okay.” He starts the car, then looks at me. “Ranger’s Cove it is then.”
I nod, smiling. I can’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed. Happy. It’s surreal. A few minutes into the drive, I reach over and pinch his bicep.
“What the—” He frowns while rubbing the offended spot. “What was that for?”
“Just making sure this is real.”
His eyes leave the road for a second to look at me. “Oh, it’s real. You’re sitting in my truck, and I’m trying my best to appear cool and calm about it.” Too soon, the mesmerizing ocean of his gaze returns to the road.
“Oh.” Oh. “You don’t have to pretend with me. Just be you,” I say quietly.
He sighs and rubs his forehead with his hand. “What are we doing, Grace? What am I doing?”
“We’re just hanging out. Don’t beat yourself up, Sol.”
He seems to consider this for several seconds, then he nods. “Cool.”
We drive for a few more minutes in silence. I study his profile with as much subtlety as I can muster. His features seem calmer now, carefree even. One of his hands steers the wheel while the other hangs loosely on the leather, his fingers tapping the wheel rhythmically.
“So what’s at Ranger’s Cove?” he asks, bobbing his head to whatever song is playing inside his mind.
I pull my legs onto the seat and rest my chin on my knees. “My mom and I used to go there when I was a kid. It’s one of my favorite places.”
“It’s always been just you and your mom?”
“Yes.” There’s a strain in the word. I don’t want to discuss my mom or the man who was never a father to me. “What song is playing in your head, Sol?” I tap my temple for emphasis.
His mouth curves into a smile. “‘Smells Like Teen Spirit.’” He points at his phone on the dashboard. “Put it on the docking station and check the playlist. It’s on there somewhere.”