Page 44 of Where We Stay

“Stop giving me a reaction, and I’ll stop using your full name.”

“No, you won’t,” Rory argues.

“No, I won’t,” I admit.

She rolls her eyes before returning her attention to the appointment book.

“Knox around?” I ask. “I saw his car out front.”

“He’s in the back trying to work out why the Subaru is misfiring,” she explains. “You’ve also got a full day.”

“How full?”

Rory turns the appointment book around and slides it toward me.

I scan the page.

“Jesus Christ.”

“I tried to warn you,” she says, taking another sip of coffee.

“No, you didn’t.”

“I was going to eventually.”

I push the book back toward her and head for the garage.

A full day is exactly what I need.

If I’m busy enough, maybe I’ll finally stop thinking about a certain new woman in town.

* * *

By nine, we have a Silverado waiting on an alternator, a Subaru misfiring on cylinder three, a Wrangler with a front-end knock and Mrs. Peterson glaring at me through the reception window because her brakes choosing today to start screaming is somehow my fault.

Knox walks over and wipes his forehead with the back of his grease-covered hand, leaving a dark streak across his skin.

“Dude, it’s only Monday, and I already need a beer,” he complains.

“You’ve got grease all over your face,” I tell him, pointing toward his forehead.

“Do I look like I care?” Knox asks.

“You look like an idiot.”

“Nothing new there,” he replies with a shrug.

“You said it.” I nod toward the car on the lift. “Let’s finish Mrs. Peterson’s brakes and get her the fuck out of here.”

As if she can hear me, Mrs. Peterson narrows her eyes through the glass.

“I swear, she acts like I personally wore down her brake pads,” I mutter.

“I can think of someone else you could make a little less tense,” Knox says, raising his eyebrows.

I throw the dirty rag in my hand at him.

It hits him directly in the chest before falling to the floor.