Pit Stop by Joanne Ganci
1
Mia
Of course, my check engine light would come on right now. As if I needed one more thing to go wrong. I already had to tuck tail and move back to Florida, despite trying my damnedest to stay in North Carolina. But I just couldn’t make it work.
Thankfully, I know Old Man Jenkins always works on Sundays. I’ll just pop in and see if he can peek under the hood before I go back to my brother’s house. If it were just me I had to worry about, I would probably let it slide for a while, but with Alexander, I need to have a safe vehicle.
Pulling up to the old building, it looks exactly the same as it always has. Pretty much everything looks the same in Midland Springs. There’s a new skate shop and coffee shop, and it looks like Jack’s Diner was remodeled, but everything else looks like a blast from the past.
My past, at least.
I haven’t been back in Midland for… holy shit. It’s been five years now. I had just graduated college, broken up with my boyfriend, and found out I was pregnant. In that order.
When I came down, I had every intention of staying. The haunting memories of my parents lurking around every corner made my decision for me. Everywhere I went, I could see them and it was just too much for me to handle. I had no choice but to sit my brother down and break the news. James was beyond upset, but my decision was made. I was going back to North Carolina to live with Aunt Ruth and have my baby.
Eventually he accepted my decision—or at least stopped arguing with me.
I’m not sure we’ll ever see eye to eye on Midland. Our parents loved this town. I suppose I did too at some point. The drunk driver that ripped their lives away stole my love for this town in the same instant. Without my parents, Midland Springs doesn’t feel like home.
Parking my blue Honda Civic right in front of the open garage bay door, I grab my purse and slide out of the car. It’s probably unnecessary in a town like Midland Springs, but out of habit, I lock the doors as I walk into Jenkins Auto Repair Shop. I can hardly hear the beep of the lock over the blaring Twenty One Pilots song coming from inside of the garage. “I guess the old man has kept up with music trends,” I mutter to myself, chuckling.
Walking past an SUV, I look around for Mr. Jenkins. There are two other vehicles in the garage—one of them up on the lift with the last drops of oil dripping into a black pan. The other is on the ground, and as I round the front of it, I see a pair of black boots attached to long legs sticking out from underneath. I try to call out his name, but there’s no way he’s going to hear me. I don’t want to startle him, so tapping him is out of the question. I glance around the shop for the source of the music, my eyes landing on a sound system in the corner of the garage.
I head over to the stereo and luckily find the volume knob quickly. Slowly, I turn the dial, watching as the numbers descend from 80 to 10. I don’t know how a man his age can still listen to music that loud. The music is still playing loud enough to hear, but now you can actually hear yourself think. “Mr. Jenkins? Sorry to bother you,” I say, before turning back around.
“Lydia, would you stop fucking with my goddamn music?!” a man says, rolling out from under the car. He is definitely not Old Man Jenkins. Not even freakin’ close. He stands up, and I see that he’s tall, probably around six feet or so. He has on a tight white t-shirt that shows off both of his tattoo sleeves. I thank my lucky stars that he’s facing away from me because it gives me the opportunity to see how his work pants hug his ass. And damn what an ass it is. “Seriously, I don’t mind you coming here on Sundays, but when I said quit kicking me to let me know you were here, it wasn’t an invitation to turn off my fucking music.”
He grabs the red rag that’s hanging out of his pocket, then turns around, wiping his hands off. He freezes when he sees I’m not whoever he thought he was talking to. His head tilts to the side a bit, as if he’s trying to see if he recognizes me. I let my gaze trail up his equally impressive front—a new view of his tattoos, grease staining his white t-shirt, a full beard, and the most piercing blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Holy shit. This is probably the sexiest man I’ve ever seen. I try to form words and introduce myself, maybe ask where Mr. Jenkins is. Literally anything would have been better than what comes out of my mouth. “You’re really hot.”
His mouth ticks up at the side, and I notice a simple silver ring in place just above his sexy smirk. Nose piercings aren’t usually my thing, but it looks good on him. “Thanks, you’re not so bad yourself. But… who the fuck are you?”
His crass question snaps me out of my lust-induced haze. I stutter for a moment, torn between calling him out or not. In the end, I give him a pass. I was the one who interrupted his Sunday morning.
Walking up to him, my heels clicking on the cement floor, I hold out a hand. “Mia MacTavish.”
He just lifts an eyebrow, looking down at my outstretched hand, then back up at my face. “Pretty sure shaking hands is a bad idea, Prim.” He shoves the red rag back into the pocket of his navy work pants and walks past me.
Who the hell is this guy?“That was rude. And what did you call me?” I ask, trailing behind him.
He turns around abruptly, causing me to nearly run into him. “I called you Prim. Seeing as you’re all prim and proper, in your heels and fancy dress. I don’t think you want to get grease all over you, now would you, Prim?” he asks, holding up his grease-stained hands.
“Well, no,” I huff. “But, you didn’t have to be rude.”
There goes that eyebrow lift again. I really hate how freakin’ sexy it looks. “I’m rude? You’re the one that came in here, even though we’re closed—that is what the sign says, in case you couldn’t read it—and turned off my music.”
“Wh—Are you serious right now? Where is Mr. Jenkins? There is no way he would be okay with some… some punk treating his customers like this!”
He laughs, and it’s this deep booming sound that fills the space around us. The eyebrow lift has nothing on how perfect he looks with a bright smile on his face. Dammit, I clearly need to get laid if this asshole is getting me all hot and bothered. “Darlin’, you’re way off on that one. That curmudgeonly old fucker wouldn’t have given a shit. Plus, it doesn’t matter much what he thinks now, anyway.”
I gasp, my hands flying to my mouth. “Oh no, Mr. Jenkins died?”
“No, he didn’t die! Jesus, I might be an asshole, but I would never speak ill of the dead like that.” He rolls his eyes and turns away, walking over toward the sound system.
“Oh, thank God. Well, then where is he? I want to speak to him right now,” I demand.
“That’s gonna be hard.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Ah, so she swears. Good to know. That’s gonna be hard because he’s on a cruise with his grandkids. Ain’t comin’ back for a few days now. But like I said, it doesn’t matter much what he thinks about how I treat customers.”
“Why wouldn’t that matter? This is Jenkins Auto Repair Shop. Pretty sure it matters what Mr. Jenkins thinks,” I scoff.
“Yeah, except he doesn’t own Jenkins anymore.”
“Wh—You don’t make any sense…”
“Jesus, lady. I’m the owner. Parker Lancaster, at your service. I’ve owned the shop for the last couple of years now. Obviously, you’re from around here since you know the old man, but my guess is you’ve been away or something. What did you say your name was again?”
“Mia.” He leans in, lifting that eyebrow again, apparently wanting more than my first name. “Mia MacTavish.”
“Shit, you’re James’s sister, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. And you must be Julian’s brother. Wait…” There’s no way. When I was here five years ago, James insisted I get my car checked out by Mr. Jenkins before I drove it to North Carolina. There’s no way this is that same scrawny kid that was working here back then. Looking him up and down again, I realize that yeah, it most definitely is. He’s filled out and added a whole lot of ink and an edgy haircut, but it’s definitely the same kid. I didn’t realize back then he was the youngest Lancaster. I should have because he looked just like Julian, but my mind was so focused on getting the hell out of here I barely paid him any attention. “You’ve been working here for years, haven’t you?”
“Yup,” he says, crossing his muscular tattooed arms over his vast chest and leaning up against a toolbox. “Pretty sure James said you haven’t been back to Midland in five years, not surprising you wouldn’t have recognized me. I look a bit different now.”
“That’s an understatement,” I mutter under my breath. I’m guessing not low enough because he lets out another booming laugh.
“So, what did you need, Mia MacTavish? You’ve got about a minute to tell me before I put my music back on and get back to work.”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I tell him, “I came here to see if Mr. Jenkins could take a look at my car. And before you say something about the shop being closed on Sundays, we all knew that he still worked on Sunday. My check engine light went on, and I can’t let it go, I need a safe vehicle.”
“I’ll tell you what, after I finish the oil change on Dax’s Chevy, I’ll take a look at it.”
“Really?” I didn’t see that coming at all.
“Yeah, on one condition.”
“Okay, that makes more sense. What do you want?”
His lips lift into a smirk again, but this time it’s almost cocky and has me pressing my thighs together. “Go out with me.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “You can’t be serious?! You’ve been a total dick to me for over half of our conversation.”
“Eh, that’s up for debate. But, honestly, I’m really not a dick, I just come off that way.”
All this mention of dick, I can’t help the fact that my gaze slips down to check his out. With the way he’s leaning, his legs crossed at the ankle, it pulls his pants tight over a very obvious bulge, an impressive one too. Shit. I force my eyes back up to his face, to find another cocky smirk waiting for me. He waits until our eyes lock to let his gaze fall down my body, caressing me all the way down to my curled toes. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched or even looked at by a man, that I swear I can feel his gaze as if it were his big inked hands making their way down my body.
And fuck does it feel good.