his chair. “Eat your salad,” he said before heading back into the kitchen nook to heat up another slice.
She made a slight face but dutifully pulled her plate closer. She was more ‘meat and potato,’ not so much veggie-oriented, but she also wasn’t big on being rude. For politeness’ sake, she took a leafy bite and, between chews, teased, “Do you always force a serving of veggies on the people who come to your garage?”
“Dad’s Garage,” he reminded. Arms folded across his chest, he propped his lean hip against the counter while he waited for the microwave to finish.
Considering she was leading him on and stealing his labor, she ought to be grateful ‘spanking’ wasn’t part of the package. Just like that, her smile faded, and her mood crashed. The light, fresh taste of salad died on her tongue, leaving ash and vinegar in its stead. She swallowed it.
When the microwave beeped, he brought the steaming slice of meat and cheesy goodness to the table, sliding it off the reheating plate onto her own.
“Thank you,” she said, but her appetite was gone.
“If you’re worried about your car,” her companion said, reclaiming his seat and picking up his own fork, “it’s okay. I really can fix it.”
He wouldn’t be smiling if he knew he was doing it all for free. What’s worse, Georgia couldn’t see any way to dig herself out of her lie. She was long past the point of no return. Her car was in pieces in his garage. He’d already spent time and effort he deserved to be reimbursed for. If she told the truth now, yeah, she’d feel better… right up until he showed her the door, and she found herself without a hotel, without a car, without an ankle she could walk on without wanting to cry, in the middle of Butt-Fuck Nowhere… at night, for God’s sake!
Somewhere outside, a lonesome howl chilled the already cold night.
Great, now there were werewolves.
It didn’t matter, Georgia suddenly realized. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t stay quiet and pretend this wasn’t killing her. She wasn’t a dishonest person, and the guilt was mercilessly eating at her insides as if with barracudas and acid.
“I—” God, this was going to be so bad. Why couldn’t she just shut up about it? She pushed her plate back, pulling the bag of peas off her ankle and dropping it on the table before helping her injured leg off the pillow he’d put it on. Every bit of kindness he’d shown her was now a needle, pricking at her flesh. “I’m sorry. I-I just can’t.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Can’t, what?”
She fought back a sigh, only half successfully.
“This,” she said finally, not really meaning to gesture at the meal, but that’s where her hands went. It certainly wasn’t the lasagna’s fault she was in this mess. She covered her face with both hands, braced herself because this absolutely was about to go badly, then looked him straight in his mildly confused eyes as she said, “I have a confession.”
Putting his fork down, he wiped his hands and mouth with the napkin.
“They tell me it’s good for the soul,” he cautiously replied. “Are you about to say you can’t pay for the car repair?”
The wave of relief that rolled through her was almost as crushing as the guilt. It both lifted and flattened her, soothed her panic, and sent her stomach crashing to the floor all over again. She cringed.
“Please don’t be mad.”
To his credit, he didn’t look mad.
“Why didn’t you just say so?” His tone bordered on curious, and his face seemed confused.
“Because I can’t afford to be stranded here. First thing tomorrow morning, I’m supposed to be at an interview for my perfect job. A job that will justify the six years of time and money I put into my college education and won’t require I insert ‘do you want fries with that’ in every conversation. You don’t understand. I am so, so sorry! I’m not a dishonest person, I swear! It’s just…” She floundered, not at all sure how to go from this horrible revelation to a place where somehow, magically, everything could be okay again.
A tiny spark of an idea popped into her head. It wasn’t the sort of idea she ever would have entertained in any other circumstance, but she was desperate, he was nice, and hey, he said he was single. Propositions like the one forming in her head had to work sometimes, or there wouldn’t be an entire trope