Drive Me Wild Page 6

  “Main Street Deli. They make great sandwiches.”

  “Got a favorite?” I picked up my pen again.

  “I like the roast beef. With spicy mustard.”

  “Got it. How about Andy?”

  “He brings his lunch.” A grin appeared. “Pretty sure his mom makes it for him every morning. Probably cuts the crust off his sandwiches.”

  I laughed. “What about your other employee? I haven’t been introduced yet, but would he like a sandwich?”

  Griffin shook his head. “Nah, McIntyre goes home for lunch to let his dog out. He lives close.”

  “Okay, then it’s just you and me.” I smiled and slung my purse over my shoulder. “I’ll be right back, boss.”

  “Just a second.” He pulled his wallet from his jeans and set a twenty-dollar bill on the counter. “You don’t have to buy lunch. You’re covering for me today.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Because you gave me a place to stay last night. I’m trying to pay you back. I might be low on funds, but I can afford a couple sandwiches.”

  “I don’t want your money, okay? Take this.” He shoved the twenty closer to me. “I’m buying lunch.”

  “No, Griffin.”

  His eyes held mine for a moment. “Don’t make me come behind that desk.”

  The flirty threat, delivered with a straight face and gruff tone of voice, ignited something inside me. “You’re a tough boss, you know that?” But I picked up the twenty and tucked it into my purse.

  He leaned a little closer over the counter. “And don’t you forget it.”

  Five

  Griffin

  Blair had been gone about twenty minutes when my cell phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, dear.”

  I grimaced. “Hi, Mom. How are you feeling?”

  “Fine, fine. Just got back from physical therapy. The therapist says my hips will feel good as new soon.”

  “That’s good.”

  “But listen, dear. I didn’t call to talk about me.”

  “No?” I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly what she was calling about.

  “Who is she?” she asked, confirming my suspicion.

  Leaning back against a workbench, I decided to play dumb. “Who is who?”

  “Don’t play games with me, Griffin Dempsey. I ran into Yvonne Davies at the physical therapist’s office. Her daughter Natasha works at the Bulldog Pub, and she told Yvonne there was some sort of accident last night involving a mysterious woman in a wedding gown. And then late last night—after midnight, in fact—Natasha was driving home from her shift and saw you and the mysterious bride going into your apartment. Then this morning, Louise from the diner told Fern Walton—she’s the nurse at my physical therapist’s office—that the mysterious woman had supper alone there last night but that she was back again this morning ordering coffee for two and a dozen donuts to take back to the garage. And she specifically mentioned you by name!”

  I exhaled, pinching the bridge of my nose. Fucking small towns. “Are you done?”

  “No, because I just got a call from Neona Pappas, who said she was at the Main Street Deli just now and she saw a mysterious dark-haired woman ordering sandwiches for two, and one of them was roast beef with spicy mustard, which I happen to know is your favorite.”

  “Jesus, Mom. She’s not even back from the deli yet.”

  “So, who is she?”

  “She’s a—”

  “Why haven’t I met her?”

  “Because I—”

  “Griffin Dempsey, if you got married without telling me, I will march over to that garage and blister your hide!”

  “For Christ’s sake, Mom, I didn’t get married!”

  “Are you sure? Because Natasha saw you—”

  “Yes, I’m sure.” I held the phone away from my ear and stared at it for a second in disbelief. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Well, it’s not like you ever tell me anything. For all I knew, you’ve had a secret fiancée all this time.”

  “No secret fiancée, no sudden wife. She’s just . . .” I tried to think of what to call her. “A friend.”

  “Oh.” Her tone went sulky. “Well, I won’t say I’m not a little bit disappointed.”

  “Mom, you just said you were going to blister my hide if I got married without telling you.”

  “Well, I’m not getting any younger, you know. I’d like one of my kids to give me some grandchildren before I go.”

  “I thought you felt fine.”

  “I do. But life is short, Griffin. You can’t keep letting it pass you by.”

  “I’m not. I’m perfectly happy with my life just the way it is.”

  A dramatic, heavy sigh, which would be followed—as always—with her addressing my late father. “Where did we go wrong, Hank? Why don’t our kids want to have families? What happened to our dream of growing old with a dozen little Dempseys running around?”

  “A dozen, Ma? Really?”

  “We liked to aim high.”

  “So talk to Cheyenne. I’m pretty sure she’s good for at least two or three.”

  My mother clucked her tongue. “That girl is hopeless. She’s way too picky.”

  “It’s good to be picky. There’s a lot of jerks out there.”

  “You know why? Because the good guys like you have decided you’re not interested in family values. You’re just interested in—in—”

  “In what, Ma?” I couldn’t help smiling.

  “In shacking up!”

  I burst out laughing as Blair poked her head into the garage and held up a brown paper bag from the deli. Nodding, I held up one finger. She smiled and disappeared into the lobby. “I’m not shacking up with anyone, I promise.”

  “Well, what about the mystery bride? The friend? Is she new in town?”

  “She’s just passing through.”

  “So I won’t even get to meet her?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Oh.” Another sigh. “That’s too bad. Guess I got my hopes up for nothing. Again.”

  My left eyelid twitched. “I have to go, Mom. I’m supposed to be fixing her car so she can get back on the road.”

  “What’s the rush?” she asked. “Why can’t she stay awhile longer?”

  “Because she doesn’t belong here.”

  “Are you sure? Because I think she might.”

  “Goodbye, Mom.” I ended the call and shoved my phone into my back pocket as I headed for the lobby.

  Blair Peacock Beaufort did not belong in Bellamy Creek—that much I knew for sure.

  But when I opened the door and saw her sitting at the desk, charming a new customer with her welcoming smile and polite laughter, my stomach muscles balled up.

  And just for a moment, I almost wished I was wrong.

  Handme and McIntyre were both back from lunch and said they’d handle any walk-ins, so I asked Blair if she wanted to eat with me in the break room.

  She sat across the table from me, pulling a sandwich and small bag of salt and vinegar chips from the bag and handing them over. “Here. The lady at the deli counter said these are your favorite. And here’s your iced tea. She said that’s what you drink with your lunch.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” She unwrapped her sandwich, which looked like a BLT, and pulled a second bag of chips—barbecue—and a bottle of peach tea from the bag. “So everyone in Bellamy Creek knows everything about everyone else, huh? Right down to your favorite kind of chips?”

  I nodded. “Yep. In fact, my mother just called me asking about you.”

  She paused in the middle of chewing. “Are you serious?”

  Nodding, I took a bite of my sandwich. “She’d already heard about the mysterious woman in a wedding gown who got into a car accident, had a late supper at the diner, entered my apartment after midnight, purchased coffee and donuts this morning to take back to the garage, and was seen at the deli ordering two sandwiches, including roast be
ef with spicy mustard, which everyone knows is my favorite.”

  Blair looked outraged. “It’s not a wedding gown!”

  Laughing, I took another bite. “That’s what gets to you about that story? What you were wearing?”

  “Well, the rest of it is kind of true, right?” She unscrewed the bottle cap and took a drink of her tea. “Guess that explains what Mrs. Applebee said on the phone.”

  I shook my head. “It drives me insane the way gossip spreads in this town. People should mind their own business.”

  “Does that mean I shouldn’t ask you about the phone call with the bank?”

  I didn’t answer right away. I took a drink, opened my bag of chips, took another bite of my sandwich. Then I figured, what the hell—I was pissed, but I wasn’t ashamed. “Not much to tell. They just keep denying my loan application.”

  “Why?”

  “Too big a risk. Not enough income. Too much competition.”

  She thought for a minute, munching on her chips. “Swifty Auto?”

  “That’s a big part of it. Like I said, we’ve lost some customers to them. But we’ve also gotten some back—the ones who realize that investing in your car pays off in the long run.”

  “What makes them go to Swifty in the first place?” She picked up her sandwich again. “Is it just a lower price and quicker turnaround?”

  I thought about it for a minute. “I don’t know. My sister claims if I had a nicer lobby, it might help.”

  “Well, that’s an easy fix. Appearances are important.”

  “I don’t have the time or money to redecorate the damn lobby,” I said, annoyed because I didn’t want her and Cheyenne to be right. “It shouldn’t matter whether I have fucking cookies and coffee as long as we can fix their car—and we can.”

  “Okay, okay,” she said gently. “Don’t get upset. I believe you. So let’s say you got the loan. What would you do with it?”

  “Invest in training and tools.”

  “Is that going to attract customers?”

  “It should,” I huffed, but in all honesty, I wasn’t sure. Training and tools probably didn’t sound that exciting to people.

  Blair appeared deep in thought as she finished her sandwich and picked up her chips again. “I think one thing might have to happen before the other.”

  “Huh?”

  “Do you think if you could show income increasing and business coming back the bank might reconsider?”

  “Maybe,” I said, distracted by the way she was licking barbecue flavoring off her fingers. “But at this point, I’m getting worried about having to lay off Handme, which will make us even slower. Or fuck, maybe just sell the building and walk away from the whole thing.” Angry, I balled up the empty chip bag and tossed it onto the table. “Sixty-five years of my family’s blood, sweat, and tears, gone.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “No?”

  “No. Because we’re not going to let it. I have an idea.”

  I picked up my iced tea and took a drink, surprised she’d used the word we. “What’s your idea?”

  “What if you took a little money and renovated the lobby—nothing extravagant, just a makeover.”

  “A makeover? That doesn’t really sound like my thing.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  “You’re leaving,” I pointed out.

  “Not right away. And it won’t take long, I promise.” She smiled with satisfaction. “Then once the renovation is complete, you throw an event.”

  “An event?”

  “Yes.” She ate another chip, her eyes narrowing in thought. “Some kind of celebration. Like a reopening. Do you have an anniversary coming up, perhaps?”

  I tried to focus on the discussion at hand instead of the way she kept licking her lips and fingers. I liked her appetite. “Sixty-five years in business? Something like that?”

  Her face lit up. “That’s perfect! It’ll be a great reminder of how long you’ve served this town, how small businesses like yours are really the fabric of the community. We’ll create a feeling—a sense of happy nostalgia, remind them why they still live in a place like Bellamy Creek. Swifty Auto does not represent their values—you do. You’ve always been here for them. You’re part of their history. You’re home. You’re family. That’s the message we send.”

  I studied her across the table. “You’re good at this idea stuff.”

  Another smile, this one shyer, sweeter. “Thanks.”

  “And then what? How does it help?”

  “It helps because you’re going to get people back. Or maybe get new business. Income will go up. And then you can apply again for the loan.”

  I wasn’t positive she was right, but if the cost wasn’t too much, I supposed it was worth a try. “So you’ll help me with the lobby? And the event?”

  “Of course.” She sat up taller in her chair. “I happen to have excellent taste, and I’m newly familiar with . . . a budget, I think you call it?”

  I grinned. “Yeah. That’s what we call it.”

  “And the food—let me take care of catering this event. I’ll give them a taste of something that’ll put those Swifty Auto cookies to shame.”

  “Oh yeah?” I asked, thinking I’d like a taste of the baker herself.

  “Any ideas when this could happen?” She picked up her tea. “Ideally, it would be great to have it coincide with a time when the town is busy—say a street festival or something?”

  I thought about it as I polished off the rest of my sandwich. “Maybe Labor Day weekend? There’s always a lot going on—it’s sort of the last really busy weekend of tourist season. There’s a parade, the baseball championships, sidewalk sales, a street fair.”

  “That’s perfect!” She began shoving our trash back into the paper bag. “Although it doesn’t give us much time—not even a month. We need to get to work right away.”

  “Just tell me what to do.”

  She stood up and pushed her chair in. “Okay, let me think some more this afternoon. I’ll write up a list. And as long as I can find somewhere to stay until then and keep the job at the desk, I’ll stick around until then.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. It’s not like anyone is expecting me someplace else. And I think it’ll be good for me, seeing how you run your business. I already know how to bake—what I need to learn is all the other stuff.”

  “There’s a whole lot of other stuff to running a business,” I said. “Way more than I can show you in three weeks.”

  She sighed. “I’m beginning to realize how impulsive this whole leap-of-faith move was. I’m not sorry I did it, but I really should have planned better. I just . . . got impatient. I didn’t want to wait any longer for my real life to start.”

  “That’s understandable,” I said. I’d felt the same way once.

  “But it’s not as easy as it looks in the movies.”

  I shook my head. “It never is.”

  “Well . . . I guess I’ll get back up to the desk. Thanks for lunch.”

  I watched her drop the paper bag in the trash and head for the door. “Hey, Blair?”

  She looked back at me. “Yes?”

  “You did the right thing. Leaving your old life behind.”

  Her smile made my heart beat quicker.

  A month, I thought with sudden alarm. An entire month during which she’d be right here, and it would not be okay to put my hands on her.

  I wasn’t sure I’d make it.

  I worked a little later than usual, long after Handme left to pick up his girlfriend and McIntyre had gone home to his dog and whatever tonight’s fight with Emily would be. Earlier I’d heard him grumbling about a couples shower, which he’d apparently agreed to one night but did not turn out to be the sexy private occasion he’d imagined.

  “Guys do not belong at wedding showers,” he griped into his cell. “Even my mother agrees with me.”

  My guess was that Emily had gone off on him for that comment,
because he’d had to hold the phone away from his ear for a solid thirty seconds. After they hung up, he looked over at me. “Just shut up,” he said, frowning.

  “I didn’t even say anything.”

  “But you were thinking it.”

  I’d shaken my head and gone back to work putting a new tire on Blair’s MG. Luckily, the tires were not original stock so that was an easier fix than the other issues would be. But she seemed okay with the idea of sticking around while waiting for parts. And God knew I could use her help around here.

  Earlier I’d shown her how to use the online scheduling tool on the desktop computer in the lobby, and she’d picked it up with no problem at all—which was a good thing, because standing over her shoulder so closely made it difficult to breathe. Every time I caught her scent, I broke out in a sweat.

  Around six o’clock, I was thinking about calling it a day when I decided to stop ignoring my phone. I’d turned it off after lunch to avoid my mother, but when I checked the missed calls and texts, I discovered that my sister had been desperately trying to get ahold of me. At first, her two phone calls and four frantic texts didn’t make sense, but then I remembered—the kitten.

  Grimacing, I called her back.

  “Nice to hear from you,” she said coolly.

  “Sorry. It’s been a weird day.”

  “I bet. I heard you got married last night.”

  “Oh, Jesus.”

  She laughed. “I have a wedding present for you. Her name is Bisou.”

  “For Christ’s sake, I did not get married, Cheyenne.”

  “I know, and Mom’s heartbroken about it. But you can still have your kitten. Isn’t that nice of me?”

  “Do I have a choice in the matter?”

  “No. But you better hurry and come pick her up, because I already stayed late at the shelter for you. Technically we closed at six, but Bisou has been waiting for you all day, and I know you wouldn’t want to disappoint her.”

  “Okay, okay. I just have to close up the shop and grab a shower. Give me half an hour.”

  “Works for me. Thanks, big brother.”

  We hung up, and I quickly tidied up the benches and tool cabinets before scrubbing my hands and heading into the lobby.