Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
As promised, my family came over a little after four to help me finish up what I needed to get done, and since there wasn’t much left besides my bedroom, they ended up helping me hang pictures and take boxes to be recycled and some stuff to Goodwill.
When my mom asked how I got so much done, I told her that Harlen had come over to help me after running into him at Marco’s. My mom, who knows Harlen, got a funny look on her face at the mention of his name, but she didn’t say anything besides “That was nice of him.” July and June, who overheard me telling Mom about Harlen, shared a look I didn’t understand. Thankfully, the rest of my family (the guys) weren’t around for that part, so I didn’t have to deal with them going all overprotective.
Shaking away those thoughts, I go to the bathroom and shut the door to see the mirror behind it. I rest my hands on my hips and study my black tank top, jeans with holes in the knees, and my four-inch black wedge booties with a peep toe. After thinking about what to wear all day, this is what I came up with—something casual but still cute. Looking at my watch again, my stomach starts to dance. The compound is about twenty minutes away, on the other side of town, so if I’m going to get there on time, I need to feed Dizzy then head out.
Going to the kitchen, I dump a can of wet food in his bowl and give him a pet before grabbing a case of beer from the fridge, my keys, and my bag from the counter.
Parking out front of the auto shop a little over twenty minutes later, I take a few deep breaths and open my door. Before I even have one foot on the ground, I see Harlen step out of one of the open bays, wiping his grease-covered hands on a red towel. Taking him in I notice that he’s wearing a pair of navy blue coveralls with the arms of the top down and tied around his waist and his torso covered in a black tee that’s been washed so many times it’s faded to an almost gray color.
“Hey.” I smile then bend back into my car, reaching across the seat to grab the beer I brought with me.
“You’re early,” he says, and I feel my stomach drop as I turn to face him. Lifting my wrist, I look at my watch and see that it’s six. Actually, it’s two minutes after six. I’m not early, technically I’m late.
“You said six.” I hold up my watch toward him. “That’s now,” I say, and his head tips to the side.
“Most women show up at least thirty minutes later than the time you give them,” he tells me, and my brows draw together tightly.
“So you told me six thinking I’d be here at six thirty?” I ask, and his lips twitch.
“Just figured if I told you six you’d be on time.” He comes toward me, taking the beer out of my hand.
“I’m always on time,” I inform him, and his lips tip up into a small smile.
“I see that now,” he replies, and my eyes turn squinty as I rest my hands on my hips.
“Do you want me to get in my car and drive around for half an hour?”
“Nah, since you’re here, you can come help me,” he says, turning back toward the shop taking the beer with him.
“Help you?” I ask his back, and he looks at me over his shoulder. “Yeah, you can hand me tools while I finish up on the car I’m workin’ on.”
“Great.” I shake my head then follow behind him, thinking this isn’t starting how I thought it would.
After we head through the open bay door he came out of earlier, I watch him drop the beer to the top of a tall black toolbox then go to a white Toyota that has seen better days—those days being a century ago—and lean into the open hood. Not sure what to do with myself, I cross my arms over my chest and watch him work, his arms flexing and his jaw twitching in concentration.
“Hand me the wrench,” he says, and I look from him to the toolbox. Finding what he’s asking for in the mess of tools, I pick it up and hand it over.
“What?” I ask when he looks at me strangely, closing his large hand around the wrench.
“Nothing.” He goes back to work, and I go back to watching him. “Did you finish unpacking?” he asks, looking up at me, and a piece of his dark hair falls forward across his brow, making my fingers twitch to move it aside.
“Mostly.”
“You want me to help you some more tonight?”