Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 79275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“I’ll be hoping for that, too. She kept your secret, by the way. Wouldn’t say a word about what was bothering her.”
“She’s probably bursting at the seams,” he mutters. “My sister is great at a lot of things, but keeping secrets isn’t one of them. It’s not a secret, though, really. I just asked her to keep it between us until I know more.”
“It’s killing her, but she’s as good as her word,” I reply. “And I’ll be hoping for the best. If you need anything, let us know.”
“Thanks. And I just have to say, thank you for being so good for her.”
Luna’s words from this morning echo in my mind.
You’re good for me.
“I know I came on a little strong when you first started things with her,” he continues, “but she’s my sister. And you’re—”
“I get it,” I assure him. “I totally get it. I’m not going anywhere. Not now or ever. I’ve set down roots here, and I’m happy in Huckleberry Bay. I’m happy at the lighthouse.”
“Good,” he says. “You did a damn fine job on that old car from the barn, by the way.”
“It was sincerely our pleasure. I’m just glad we got it out of there before the roof caved in. As it is, it barely missed June.”
Apollo stops cold and narrows his eyes at me. “What?”
“You know that June was there. That’s why we all went out the other night.”
“I knew she was there, but I didn’t know she was inside the fucking building.”
“She wasn’t inside,” I reply, shaking my head. “Because Rose warned her—if you believe that sort of thing. And I hate to admit it, but I’m starting to. She was safely outside, but she’d been working in that corner all morning.”
Apollo frowns down at the table.
“What’s going on between you two, man?”
“Nothing,” he says and raps his knuckles on the tabletop. “There’s nothing there.”
I simply raise my eyebrows, but he doesn’t say anything else about it.
“I’d better get back to work,” he says, no longer his happy-go-lucky self.
He’s not upset by his personal worries, but the idea that June might have been hurt seems to have hit a nerve.
Interesting.
“I’d better get these sandwiches back to Zeke before he sends out a search party.”
“I’ll be in touch,” Apollo says as we walk out of the café and go our separate ways. When I get back to the garage, Zeke is getting his ass handed to him by an eighty-year-old woman.
“I know what you people do to old ladies like me,” she says, wagging her finger in front of Zeke’s face. “You take us to the cleaners, that’s what!”
“No, ma’am,” Zeke says, shaking his head. “Forty dollars isn’t a bad price for an oil change, and I threw in the new filter for free.”
“Well, hello, Mrs. Snow,” I say with a wide smile. June’s grandmother is maybe the brightest character in our town. With her colorful wardrobe, pink hair teased into an old-fashioned beehive, and bright red glasses on her face, she looks like she belongs in a cartoon.
But she’s real, and right now, she’s mad at Zeke.
“How are you?” I ask her, catching her attention.
“Well, now, aren’t you a handsome one, Wolfe Conrad?”
“What am I, chopped liver?” Zeke asks.
“You’d be more attractive if you weren’t trying to pull one over on me, Zeke. If that is, in fact, your real name.”
“That’s his real name,” I assure her. “I don’t think forty dollars is too expensive for a good oil change, Mrs. Snow.”
“Are you kidding me?” She stares at me as if I’ve lost my mind. “Why, back in 1965, I paid all of three dollars and fifty cents. And right here at this very garage.”
“You weren’t even alive in 1965.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “I had my own children by then, thank you very much. Now, what are you going to do about this Zeke guy price-gouging me?”
“Well, we’re far out of the sixties, Mrs. Snow. But how about this? I’ll mark it on your account in the computer that for every five oil changes you pay for, you get the next one free.”
She purses her lips, thinking it over, and then nods. “I suppose that’s as good as I’m going to get. I’m telling you, this is the fleecing of America. We have to drive cars, and those cars need oil.”
“You should write to your congressman,” Zeke says.
“Don’t you get smart with me, young man.” She glares at Zeke, then takes her keys and wanders out to her car, a brand-new Buick, and drives away.
“Well, she’s a delight,” Zeke says, his voice heavy with sarcasm.
“She’s not so bad,” I reply and pass him his coffee and sandwiches.
“Do you think she’ll be mad when she finds out that we give that same deal to all our customers?”
I grin, shrug, and drink my coffee. “Who’s gonna tell her?”