Page 11 of Fall Over You

“No, I mean everything’s on a big delay. I might see if I can just fix it.”

I put a hand on my hip. “With what, a needle and thread? The thing’s snapped through.”

He puts his hands up. “Just trying to save you some trouble. Otherwise, I assume you’re going to be carless for a minute.”

“I think I know how to get around this old town,” I say, sticking my tongue out. I like to do that. If I beat people to the punchline, they can’t hurt me. And I am my own best punchline. I’ll make village bicycle jokes about myself any day of the week, because it’s not that far from the truth. Just about everybody’s had a ride.

Except the man standing in front of me. And his dad, come to think of it. But his dad’s best friend⁠—

“Hey, while you’re looking for parts, can I have you check for a part for my tractor? I’ve been getting real high quotes on it. I can install the thing, but I can’t find the part for less than a cool million.”

He chews on his cheeks, tapping on the ancient computer and its crusty, oily keyboard. “I can look. No promises though. You’ll have to pay up front if you’re doing the labor.” His deep brown eyes regard me without a hint of malice in them. Is Tyler Davis capable of being civil when it involves his business? “Where you going to do it at?”

“I’ve been building out my own garage on my farm.”

At a glacial pace, but he doesn’t need to know that. I was just going to do it in my barn, in all honesty.

He wrinkles his nose, much in the way his daughter just did. “Dusty teach you to tinker?”

My brother Dusty’s been the most stable man in my life, and we’re only two years apart. My dad’s name isn’t even on my birth certificate, and Mom was always so busy working that Mamaw did most of the work raising us. All that’s to say, no dad or even a peepaw was around to teach me about cars. I accepted a long time ago that I wasn’t gonna get handed a damn thing. So like with everything, I made my own way.

“Nah, I taught myself when I was trucking.”

His eyebrows flick upward as he taps on the computer, barely regarding me. “Forgot about that historical tidbit.”

“Our Becca always was the tough one,” Mr. Davis adds. “Could probably still win the arm wrestling competition.”

People call me “tough” all the time, but I’ve never had any choice but to be tough. And because I’m stubborn as hell, I never gave myself any option but to be grateful for it and give whatever challenge I face my own flavor.

A small, sweaty hand turns my palm up. “Here you go.”

A pretzel rod lands inside it. “Oh my gosh, these are my favorite, Ellie. How did you know?”

Her eyes light up and her dad’s dimple shows in her cheek. “They’re my favorite too!”

“Don’t spoil your dinner, El,” Tyler warns. “It’s Taco Tuesday.”

I cock my head back. “You taking her by the Legion for dinner? They do that taco buffet.”

“Heck no,” Tyler scoffs. “I don’t take my daughter to a bar full of degenerates.”

This is a jab at me, but also at his dad, who frequents the Legion. I feel a responsibility to stick up for both of us. I flick my hair over my shoulder. “They’re my degenerates. Best ones I know, actually.”

“What’s a generate?” Ellie asks.

“Ellie, why don’t you run along and play?” Tyler sighs.

“I want to play with T-Bone,” Ellie whines.

“I’m sure Miss Becca has to take T-Bone home,” Tyler rushes to say.

“Maybe we can take her to the park sometime, Ellie,” I suggest.

Ellie begins hopping in that preschooler way. “Now! Let’s go to the park right now!”

I shrug in Tyler’s direction. He scrubs a hand over his face, ass leaning against that rat’s nest of a desk while he pries open a can of peanuts. He tips some into his hand before dumping the savory treasures into his mouth. “I don’t think so, shug,” he says through a mouthful of peanuts.

“Please, Daddy? It’ll be so long before you’re done with work.”