Faith’s told me a lot about how she and her dad used to spend hours in the garage fixing up the Cougar parked out front. Knowing what I know about her mom and home life, my guess is that’s the only place Mrs. Jenkins left the two of them alone. From what she’s told me, working on that ride used to be her and her dad’s thing. Now, I’d like to make it our thing. As the silence extends between us, I feel presumptuous.
“You’ve got a deal, but you’ll need to bring around a trailer to pick her up.”
“She’s not running?” I suppress the smile that tries to grab a hold of my face. That’s more time together, although if I’m being honest, I can get most cars running in a matter of hours, if not days, as long as the parts are all there.
Her face falls, and she answers, “Not presently. But she’s still worth the money and then some.”
I laugh, running my hand over my buzz cut hair. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Jenkins.”
Shaking her head, she says, “And you’re a terrible liar, Mr. Cartwright. So, when does this arrangement start?”
“Like I said, it can go as fast or as slow as you like. I’ll let you set the pace.” She swallows hard, her eyes flickering towards mine, and I swear she’s trying to decide if we’re talking about cars or hearts, too.
Chapter Three
TRAVIS
ONE YEAR LATER
“You ready to take her for a spin?” I question, staring down at Faith and brushing a stray mahogany lock away from her sweaty face. “Her” refers to the Chevelle parked out front. I try to sound nonchalant, but inside my nerves are raging.
We stand in the lot next to the feed store where hay and grain overflows get stored. We’ve spent hours unloading and stacking new shipments. Between that and the unseasonably warm March day, sweat drenches us. I removed my shirt about thirty minutes ago, and she hasn’t stopped side-eyeing me since. I even caught her mid-ogle while turning around, and her cheeks stained the color of her pink tank top. It was fucking adorable.
In answer to my question, Faith rolls her eyes, exhaling sharply.Damn, she’s cute when she gets exasperated.
In all fairness, this is at least the fifth time I’ve asked her to go out with me since arriving this afternoon to help unload and move straw and grain bags.
Wanna grab dinner? Or watch the sunset? How about we catch a flick at the Ophir City Drive-In? Or cuddle on my couch and binge-watch car shows?
She’s shot down every suggestion without making any of her own. And always countering with the same flimsy excuse: “I’m feeling kind of tired.”
Tired on a Friday night? Come on.
I guess I should be used to it by now, but that’s not the worst of it. I know she has nothing planned for tonight, and neither do I. Around ten o’clock, she’ll call, keeping me on the phone for hours. It happens every weekend without fail, and I go along with it because somewhere in the middle of this volunteering at the feed store experiment, I had the terrible misfortune of falling …hard.
What keeps me going are the hints that I’m not alone in my feelings. Faith’s cheeks flush when I’m around, her eyes dilate, and her breath comes in sexy little pants. And when another girl comes around me? Damn, Faith’s eyes shoot daggers.
Staring down at her gorgeous face, I wish I could convince her that being in my arms is a helluva lot better than having a screen pressed to her face. I guess the phone calls are better than nothing, though. At least, when she talks to me, I know she’s not with somebody else.
Faith shifts her weight from one foot to the other as we stand outside in the feed store yard, and I brace myself for another rejection. “I just don’t know if tonight’s a good night. But thank you for your help. I appreciate it. How about I call you later?”
Friend zoned again. Fuck. “Are you telling me you spent three days this week in my garage helping me tune up Calamity, and you’re not going to take her for a spin? How anti-climactic is that? I can’t think of one car show on TV that doesn’t end with the hosts driving around. Can you?” Calamity’s what Faith calls my Chevy. It’s fucking goofy, but the name also kind of fits my pride and joy.
She raises her eyebrows, her pouty pink lips stopping mid-air as she weighs my words.
“I don’t know, Trav. You seem to have more than friendship on your mind.”
I smile gently, taking her cheek in my hand. “What I have on my mind is you, Faith. And it isn’t wrong.” I try to deliver the words with confidence, but I’ve got a lump in my throat.
I’m putting myself out there for her, and I know the risk of her shutting me down or breaking my heart is high. But she’s got me so far in the friend zone, I have to do something. “You know, playing it safe and not taking a chance on us is a risk of another kind, don’t you think?”
Swallowing hard, she looks torn. My hand drops from her cheek. I don’t want to pressure her into anything she doesn’t want. But that higher thought doesn’t make the ache in my chest hurt any less. I rub my hand over my heart, feeling the Grand Canyon-sized hole she’s put there.
I continue, “We’re good together, you and I. How would getting closer ruin that?”
She shakes her head, looking at the ground.
In low tones, I command, “You need to answer my question, Faith.”
