Like I could hang all my worries on a hook by the door.
“Honestly? It happens all the time,” I said. “I’m used to it. But don’t tell anyone that.”
I could see Ella’s frown in my peripheral vision.
Ella’s mother thought I was a friend of her boyfriend’s and I figured she’d kick the shit out of me if she knew I was entertaining dirty thoughts about her daughter. If her mother was that intimidating, I wondered what her father would be like.
My own father used to scare the hell out of me when I was younger. He’d only have to say one sentence in his imposing voice and I knew it was his way or the highway. I couldn’t wait to be finished with college, done with having their money influence my decisions, just so I could take off somewhere the hell away from them.
I could have done it when I turned eighteen. I’d even planned it, but then everything happened. I was in shock, grieving, scared shitless, and had made the decision to do something for Sebastian and his parents. My parents never even asked what the hell I was doing and why, they were just glad I’d chosen a major good enough for the child of a politician.
Over the years I’d been asked countless times if I had similar political aspirations as my father. Fuck no. I didn’t have any damn desire to be like my father.
“Do you have other family in the area?”
“My aunt and uncle,” I said. “But . . . it’s a long story.”
I was hoping she got the hint that I didn’t want to talk about it.
She must’ve because she changed the subject. “So, where do you work on cars?”
I pulled into my long driveway. I was almost embarrassed by the size of our home. It was a shell of an empty house anyway. Too many bedrooms and all for show. I had sent the housekeeper home for the weekend. No need for her to stay and make me dinner when she had a family of her own to be with over the holidays. Besides, I just wanted to be alone.
“I’ll show you,” I said, jerking the car into park. I walked to the passenger side and opened the door.
That small action had surprised her. “Thank you,” she said, a shy grin lifting the corners of her lips.
She stepped out and looked up at the monstrosity that was my house. “Wow. Impressive.”
“Not really.” We walked through the side door of the garage and I flipped on the light.
Car parts were littered around the spacious cement floor. Portions of an engine I had abandoned the other day, in favor of fixing the brakes on my car. The canister of candy-apple-red paint stood tall against a brush. I walked toward the driver-side door of my latest project. “I’ll be able to drive this baby someday. I’ve been restoring her for years.”
She knelt down to inspect the paint canister. “That color kicks some serious ass.”
“It does.” I couldn’t hold back my grin. “I finally got the right mix for this paint job.”
She stroked her hand across the car bumper. “Where did you learn to work on cars?”
“My uncle. He taught me everything I know,” I said, making sure the lid on the can was secure. I’d planned on coming back and painting more tonight, but my plans had obviously changed. Probably in the only way that could possibly be better. “He owns his own shop here in the city.”
“How come he hasn’t snatched you up yet?” she asked, now inspecting my worktable, as if truly interested in spark plugs and lug nuts.
“Ha, don’t think he hasn’t already tried,” I said, carrying the paintbrush to the slop sink. “But my parents would have something to say about that and their college funding.”
I twisted the hot-water handle and watched as the red paint washed down the drain. “Instead I’m learning about how to be a businessman. That keeps them quiet.”
It was brief, but I saw anger pass through her eyes. “I hope it comes in handy for you someday.”
“I plan to make sure it does,” I said, stepping toward her. She was in my sacred space and it was hard not to want to grab her hand and show her all of my treasures and toys, but I shoved my fingers in my pockets to restrain myself. She was probably bored to tears here.
Ella was staring at me, a ghost of a smile on her lips.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You just . . . I’ve never seen you like this,” she said, replacing a wrench she’d been inspecting. “There’s this fire in your eyes when you talk about cars. It’s . . . amazing.”
I felt open, on display, like she could see inside my soul. I turned away and pretended to put a stray screwdriver back in the toolbox.
I cleared my throat. “What’s so amazing about it?”
“It’s your joy, your passion . . .” she said, then slanted her head, studying me. “Maybe even your lifeline.”
“Never thought about it that way,” I lied. Of course I had, a million times. I just didn’t know I wore my heart so openly on my sleeve. It must have just been Ella. She saw inside me, through me. Brought my passions out of me, even. Little did she realize she had influenced me to resume this project after our conversation at the car wash. To be brave. My fingers had been itching to get started since the last day of classes. “I guess in a way, it is.”
She moved closer, determination blazing in her eyes. “So why not do something about that?”
“I . . . don’t know,” I muttered. “I had planned to . . . but then everything went to shit.”
I turned away again because it all became too real. Having Ella here at my house, inside my garage, around all the things I loved. I hoped she understood how overwhelming it was. I needed to move us along.
“My father will be thrilled to see your car,” she said, and I breathed a sigh of relief at the change of topic. “He’s an aficionado.”
“I’d be honored to show him,” I said, meeting her eyes, silently thanking her for not pushing the subject.
“Come inside?” I said, moving toward the door. As I passed her, I reached for her hand and she took it willingly. It felt so natural to lead her through the kitchen and offer her something to drink.
I leaned against the counter, a water bottle in my hand. It was time to put Ella on the hot seat. “So, you didn’t tell your parents about Joel?”
“You noticed that, huh?” she bent her head, pink splotching her cheeks. “Just wasn’t ready to yet.”
“I think I can understand that,” I said. Recently, conversations with my parents consisted only of perfunctory facts.
“My parents are very involved in our lives, and even more so since . . .” She stopped suddenly and shook her head. “Never mind.”
“No, wait.” I reached for her arm feeling like she needed me close, needed my support. “Since what?”
“I don’t want to be a Debbie Downer.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“I’d like to hear,” I said never feeling more like I wanted to know Ella. Really know her. After all, she was in my home, had been in my intimate space, and I felt almost as vulnerable as maybe she did in that moment.
“My brother Christopher.” Her voice was soft. As if she was revering his name. “He committed suicide when I was in high school.”
I felt a strong slice to my gut, almost like a laceration. “Damn it. I’m sorry, Ella.”
“No, it’s okay,” she said, meeting my gaze. “We’ve worked through it as a family. And I have, too. Well, as much as I can.”
I couldn’t help myself. I grabbed her and enveloped her in a tight embrace against my chest. She hesitated at first, but then wrapped her arms around my waist. Her skin was soft and warm and she smelled like almonds. In that moment, I felt like we were both in a safe and protected bubble, even though it was only supposed to be me comforting her.