I thought he might reach for me. Maybe slip an arm around my waist and haul me roughly against him. Kiss me with that tongue that, the other day, had seemed intent on teasing out all my secrets.
“I need to get to work,” he said. “I have a shit ton to do today.”
I tried to ignore the little dip of disappointment. “Okay. I’ll be over there in a few.”
He nodded and headed for the door, then paused and glanced at Sasquatch. “Are you coming?”
The dog didn’t move.
“Traitor dog,” he muttered and left.
“You’re not a traitor,” I said, crouching down to scratch his chest. “You’re the goodest good boy ever.”
Sasquatch followed me over to the shop and took his place on his bed while I went into the office.
My office? Our office? Regardless, it was a far cry from my job working for my dad. There had been aspects of that job I’d enjoyed. I loved discovering hard to find cars or parts. It was fun to see an old rust bucket restored to its former glory, and the joy in the client’s eyes when they saw their new ride.
I didn’t miss the constant anxiety. The worry about what my dad was doing behind closed doors. Where he was going when he said he had a meeting. Obviously my fears had been justified. He’d been doing all sorts of things behind my back.
Working here was so much simpler.
I glanced around at the now-organized space. It was satisfying to have created a bit of order from chaos. There were so many things I could do to make Evan’s business run more smoothly and the amazing thing was, he appreciated it. He’d actually thanked me.
A question danced in the back of my mind. A question I didn’t particularly want to ponder, lest it ruin my good mood. Had my father ever appreciated me? Like, even once?
Letting out a long breath, I pushed that thought away. I knew I had some baggage to unpack when it came to my dad, but now wasn’t the time.
I set my coffee down and glanced at the big bulletin board on the wall. There was a new note pinned in the top right corner. Find ’59 Cadillac series 62 convertible for Chief. From what I’d learned about how Evan ran his business, some of his income came from cars he found and restored, then either sold or traded up for his next restoration. Others were client requests—cars people brought him to either customize or restore to their specifications. Those were usually quicker sources of cash, the kind of thing that kept a shop afloat during a project like the Pontiac he was working on now.
Tapping my finger against my lips, I searched my memory. Did I know someone who had a ’59 Caddy convertible? There was a guy out in Arlington who might, and that was only a couple of hours away. Another guy I knew with a lot of project cars sitting around was just outside of Seattle. He’d be another one to call. Evan obviously had contacts, too, but I figured I could poke around and see if I could find one in decent shape—especially for a good price.
Evan also needed help tracking down a few hard-to-find parts for the Pontiac. And he still needed a buyer for the Super Bee.
I wondered if Luke had any of the parts he needed. He probably did. But Evan wouldn’t bother asking. He’d rather drive hours out of his way than do business with a Haven—especially Luke. It seemed so silly to me, but their rivalry was deeply entrenched.
In any case, I had plenty to do, so I got to work.
Partway through the afternoon, Evan poked his head in the office. “I have to go into town. Hardware store. Want to come?”
Getting out did sound nice. “Yeah, I’d love to.”
He nodded and disappeared back into the shop.
Had I done something to spook him? Why was he so distant today?
Maybe he was trying to create a boundary around work. Or maybe he regretted making out with me and introducing me to his family. Or maybe there was something else going on in that broody head of his that had nothing to do with me.
It was so hard to tell with him.
I ran over to the house to change my shoes, then met Evan at his truck.
We drove into town and went straight to the hardware store. Like everything in Tilikum, it was quaint—a faded red building with a sign next