Chapter 2

Two

Ethan

"Damn fine work on that car, city boy," Joe said, leaning against the workbench with a mug of coffee in hand. "The paint's completely dry. You can pull it outside and show off that beauty."

I glanced up from the vintage Mustang I'd been working on all morning. The scent of fresh paint was still strong in the air, mixing with the familiar smells of motor oil and grease that filled Cedar Cove Auto Repair. I had to admit, Joe was right—the job had gone well, even better than I'd expected.

"Sure thing," I replied, tossing the rag I'd been using to wipe my hands onto the workbench. "I'll get it out there."

Joe took a sip of his coffee, his eyes crinkling in amusement. "Didn't think a guy like you had it in him. You don't exactly look like someone who's used to sweating over an engine."

He wasn't wrong. It had been years since I'd done this kind of work—back when I was just a kid, trying to escape the expectations that came with the Sterling name. Tinkering with cars had been one of the few things that felt real back then, a way to forget about the responsibilities I couldn't outrun.

Now, it was a different kind of escape, a challenge I never saw coming. When my sister, Sophia, dared me to ditch my billionaire lifestyle for a month and live like an ordinary guy, I'd thought it would be easy. But Cedar Cove was teaching me just how much I'd taken for granted.

"Maybe not recently," I admitted, walking over to the driver's side door, "but it's like riding a bike. You don't forget."

Joe snorted, his weathered face cracking into a grin. "Well, you've done good here. This town might just rub off on you yet. Hell, you might even start to like it."

I couldn't help but smile at that. Cedar Cove was growing on me in a way I hadn't expected. The slow pace, the way everyone knew everyone else's business, the simplicity of it all—it was the polar opposite of my life in Dallas. And yet, there was something comforting about it. Here, the world was small and manageable. There were no high-stakes meetings or financial empires to manage. Just the straightforward satisfaction of a job well done and a town that didn't demand more than you could give.

"Speaking of the town," Joe continued, setting his mug down, "you thought about entering the fishing competition this weekend? It's part of the big festival we have every year. The whole damn town shows up."

Fishing competition? That was definitely not my scene. "I don't know much about fishing."

Joe grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You and half the guys who enter. It's more about the bragging rights and the beer than actually catching anything. Besides, it's a good way to meet folks and get a feel for what Cedar Cove's really about."

I pretended to consider it, though the idea of spending a day trying to catch fish I didn't know how to catch wasn't exactly appealing. "I'll think about it."

Joe slapped me on the back, his way of saying I hadn't had a choice. "You do that, Ethan. Who knows, you might actually enjoy yourself."

I nodded, opening the car door and sliding inside. The truth was, I was here to blend in, not stand out. But the more time I spent in Cedar Cove, the more I realized that this town had a way of pulling you in, making you a part of its rhythm whether you wanted it or not.

With a turn of the key, the Mustang's engine roared to life, the sound filling the shop. I eased it into gear and carefully backed it out through the wide-open garage doors, the sunlight immediately hitting the fresh paint as I pulled into the lot.

As I shut off the engine and stepped out, I took a moment to admire the car gleaming under the Texas sun. It was a beauty, no doubt about that. The kind of car that turned heads, even in a small town like this. I was so focused on the car that I almost didn't notice the group of kids walking by on the sidewalk, led by a couple of adults. Their laughter and chatter caught my attention, and I looked up just in time to see them staring at the Mustang with wide eyes.

One of the boys—a kid with a mop of unruly brown hair—suddenly broke free from the group and ran straight for the car. My heart leaped into my throat, wondering what he had in mind. Just as he was about to touch the car, one of the women called out for him to come back. He obediently spun around to return when the keychain on his backpack brushed the side of the freshly painted door of the Mustang, leaving a perfectly visible scratch in the cherry red finish.

"Well, shit," I muttered under my breath, staring at the mark. "That's just perfect."

Joe, who had been watching the whole thing from the garage, let out a low whistle. "You've got yourself a real situation there. Buffing it out won't be easy."

I was still staring at the scratch, trying to decide whether to be more annoyed at the kid or at myself for leaving the car unguarded, when she stepped up beside me. The woman in charge—definitely the one in charge—had a no-nonsense expression on her face, but there was something about the way she moved that caught my attention. Maybe it was the determined set of her shoulders or the way her sundress—simple but perfectly fitted—hugged curves I hadn't expected to find in this small town.

"I'm really sorry about that," she said, her voice calm but firm. "Kids are... well, they're quick, and sometimes they don't think before they act."

I looked up from the scratch to meet her eyes—dark, with a hint of fire behind them. She was definitely not from around here. Or if she was, she sure didn't fit the small-town mold. I tried to keep my frustration in check, but it wasn't easy. The Mustang had been perfect until…

"Yeah, well, maybe next time you could keep a closer eye on them," I replied, my tone sharper than I'd intended. "This isn't just some old beater. That paint job took hours, and now..."

Her eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms, accentuating the fact that she was clearly irritated with me, and she wasn't backing down. "I get that it's frustrating, but he's just a kid. It was an accident."

I could hear the tension in her voice, a sultry mix of apology and challenge. It sparked something raw and electric inside me—a cocktail of admiration and annoyance that was as intoxicating as it was infuriating. The way she stood there, unflinching, refusing to back down in the face of my frustration, felt like a challenge wrapped in temptation. It was as if we were locked in a silent power struggle, and damn if I didn't find that incredibly alluring.

This woman wasn't just standing her ground; she was daring me to push back, to match her fire with my own. The air between us was charged, a live wire of tension that hummed with the kind of energy that made it hard to breathe. No way was I ready to let this moment go—the heat, the challenge, the unspoken promise of something more. It was magnetic, pulling me in, daring me to see just how far we could push this.

I stepped closer, just enough to invade her space but not enough to break the tension. "You always this stubborn?" I asked, my voice low, challenging.

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, a spark of defiance lighting them up. "Only when I'm right."

A slow smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. "We'll see about that."

She glanced at Joe, who had been watching the exchange quietly from the sidelines, before turning back to me. "Look, I'll pay for the repair. Whatever it costs to fix the paint, I'll cover it. Just send me the bill."

Joe stepped forward, shaking his head with a grin. "No need for that, my friend. Accidents happen. We'll get it sorted out."

But this chick wasn't having it. She reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet, holding out a few bills toward Joe. "I insist. I should have been watching more closely. Please, take this."

Joe looked at the money, then back at her, clearly torn. "Really, it's not necessary?—"

"Joe," she interrupted, her tone leaving no room for argument. "I appreciate your kindness, but this is on me."

Joe finally sighed and took the money, tucking it into his shirt pocket with a nod. "Alright, if you insist. But don't you worry about it too much, okay? It's easy to fix."

I watched the exchange, a little surprised at how easily she'd taken control of the situation. She was clearly used to handling things on her own, and there was something about that—about her—that made me pause. I wasn't sure whether to be impressed or irritated that she'd managed to diffuse the situation so quickly.

"Well, I guess that settles it," I said, trying to sound more agreeable. "Thanks for taking care of that."

She gave me a brief nod, her expression softening slightly. "It's the least I can do. I know how much work goes into something like this."

Before I could respond, another woman approached us, a smile on her face. She was taller, with bright eyes and a warm, welcoming demeanor that contrasted with the tension in the air. "Everything okay here?" she asked, glancing between us.

"Just a little mishap," the gal replied, her voice steady. "We're working it out."

The newcomer looked at me, her smile widening as if she could sense the tension and was determined to break it. "This is Natalie," she said, nodding toward the woman beside me. "She's great with kids, but sometimes they're a little too quick for their own good."

"Natalie," I repeated, turning the name over in my mind. It suited her, somehow—strong, no-nonsense, but with a softness that wasn't immediately obvious. "I'm Ethan."

Her gaze flicked to mine, and for a second, something passed between us—something that felt like a spark, even in the middle of our disagreement. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the same determined look she'd had when she first walked up.

"Well, Ethan," Natalie said, her tone still carrying that edge of defiance, "I'll leave you to it. Sorry again about the car."

I nodded, realizing there wasn't much else to say. I could keep arguing, but it was clear she wasn't going to back down, and honestly, what was the point? The damage was done, literally and figuratively.

As Natalie gathered the kids to continue their outing, I found myself watching her, the way her sundress swayed gently with each step, the curve of her waist, and the confident way she carried herself.

"You know," Joe said, his voice breaking into my thoughts, "maybe next time you'll put up a ‘no kids allowed' sign."

I shot him a look, half-amused, half-annoyed. "Yeah, maybe I will."

Joe chuckled, shaking his head as he took a sip of his coffee. "You might want to ease up a bit, Ethan. Natalie's a local favorite around here."

"She seems... nice," I muttered, though ‘nice' wasn't exactly the word I'd use. Challenging, stubborn, intriguing, hot as hell—those were closer to the mark.

"She's more than nice," Joe said, his tone serious now. "Natalie's good people. Runs the preschool in town—loves those kids like they're her own. And trust me, you don't want to get on her bad side."

I nodded, still watching as Natalie and the kids continued down the sidewalk. "Noted."

As I turned back to the car, I couldn't shake the feeling that today had just taken an unexpected turn. Cedar Cove was supposed to be my quiet escape, a place where I could blend in and forget about the complexities of my real life. But now, with a gash on the door of the Mustang and the memory of Natalie's fiery gaze still fresh in my mind, I realized that things might be more complicated than I'd planned.