The Mechanics of Mistletoe - Liz Isaacson Page 0,83

how he’d told his daughter not to park by the band room, that kids hung out there when they should be in class.

She hadn’t listened, of course. “So I want her to have to pay for it,” he said, coming to a stop at the driver’s side of a cherry red hatchback that looked really sporty to Sammy. “But if it’s too much, I’ll secretly pay the difference.” He looked at her, and Sammy saw all the emotions of a parent.

He wanted to punish his daughter, but not make it too harsh. Sammy smiled and ran her fingers along the scratches. There were three distinct lines she could see, and she couldn’t imagine being a teenager and doing this to someone else’s car.

“It’s on this side too,” Charlie said, and Sammy took a look on the passenger side.

“You have insurance?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, looking at her. “That will cover this?”

“Should,” Sammy said. “The ones on this side don’t look bad. The other side is a little deeper.” She did some quick math in her head. “Probably two thousand, Charlie. I’m sorry.”

“My deductible is half that,” he said. “Maybe I’ll make her pay for half.” He looked at Sammy. “When can you get it in?”

Sammy looked at the shop, enjoying the potted flowers she’d put there last week. It was November, but they’d bloom for a little longer, until a truly cold snap moved into the Panhandle. She liked making her more masculine profession a little bit feminine.

“Next week,” she said. “I can start on Monday.”

“Okay.” Charlie smiled as he rounded the hood. “Thanks, Sammy. You’re the best.” He got behind the wheel of the car and drove away while Sammy still stood there.

She didn’t feel like the best. She felt like a complete failure. As she looked south, she could almost see the highway that would lead her out to Shiloh Ridge—and Bear.

“You should just go,” she said to herself.

“Go where?”

She spun around at the sound of the voice and found Logan standing there. “Nowhere,” she said with a sigh. “I think I’ve made a big mistake.” She shook her head and headed for the door.

“We got sandwiches,” Logan called after her. “Maybe that will help.”

Sammy didn’t think so, and how Logan thought food could help was laughable. She supposed his wife had brought him lunch more than once when they’d had a little tiff, and Jeff had gotten his marriage back on the right track with a fancy dinner at the best restaurant in town.

Of course, that wasn’t the only thing he’d done. He’d stopped snapping at his wife too, and he’d started doing lots of little things that let her know how much he loved her.

Maybe that was what Sammy needed to do for Bear. She missed him terribly too, and she’d just pulled out her phone to text him when Jeff called, “Can I clear this timing belt? Sammy?”

She rushed back into the garage and shooed him away from the computer. “No, I need that.” She put in the order for it, annoyed it would take until next Tuesday to get in the shop. Another phone call she’d have to make to a customer that wasn’t good news. If she hated something about her job, it was making those kind of calls.

The busyness around the shop picked up that afternoon, and Sammy was sweating when Lincoln came into the back singing at the top of his lungs.

“How was choir today?” Logan asked, and Sammy smiled at Lincoln as he said how great it was. She’d signed him up for an after-school program that met a couple of times a week. They were learning songs for a Christmas program, and then the choir would disband.

She half-listened while she did the payroll, because her men would expect to be paid tomorrow. If she got this put in tonight, she’d have checks to pick up at the bank on the way to work in the morning.

“…and I hope Bear comes,” Lincoln said, causing Sammy to lift her head. She couldn’t find her son, though, and she looked around. He sat on the trunk of one car while Logan worked on a nearby one, way in the corner of the shop.

Sammy got up and left the computer, listening. “Because we’re singing one of his favorite songs. He told me once he sang it when he was in elementary school.”

“Yeah?” Logan asked, clearly not really listening. “What song?”

“My Favorite Things,” Lincoln said. “And I get to hold up this package wrapped