Chapter Two

ISABEL

The parking lot is full when I get to Cam's shop. Technically, I guess the garage is his dad's business, or possibly the whole family's business, if Cam and Shelby have become partners since I moved away twelve years ago.

Hard to believe it's been that long. Literally half my life ago. I'd just had my twelfth birthday party the month before. I knew my parents argued a lot, that things weren't perfect between them. Being young and na?ve, I didn't realize it was serious. Typical kid lack of awareness. I found out the day my mom packed my stuff and loaded me into the car with her. I remember crying my eyes out as we drove away. I didn't understand why we had to leave my dad, my big brother, my school, my friends…and Cam.

The crush I had on my brother's best friend was ridiculous. Since my earliest memories, I had stars in my eyes and butterflies in my belly around Cam. I adored him. Idolized him. I insisted to anyone and everyone who'd listen—Cam included—that I loved him. Little-girl me was sure that one day, when I was older, he'd look at me, have one of those ah-ha moments, then whisk me away for our happily ever after. A big wedding where I'd wear a beautiful white gown. Our two kids—a boy and a girl, naturally. One dog, one cat. A house with a white picket fence.

I had a scrapbook with all of it, for crying out loud. I kept that thing for years after moving away, finally parting with it when I turned eighteen. Eighteen. If that wasn't the world's longest, most embarrassing crush ever, I dare anyone to show me the person who bested me in the pathetic department.

At least I was infatuated with a nice guy. Despite being good-looking, sporty, popular with friends, and having an endless lineup of drooling girls eager to go out with him, Cam was always, always, nice to me. Even when my big brother teased me or flat-out told me to stop bugging them, Cam would be kind. He never laughed or rolled his eyes at me.

Back then, I thought it was because he secretly loved me. Little girls think stupid things.

Shaking off the old memories, along with my irritation at Tony for making me come down here, I park in the only place available in the overcrowded lot—directly in front of the office door. The chime sounds as a man walks out, holding the door for me to scoot inside.

"Thanks," I say, taking my place at the end of a short line.

The three people ahead of me pay their invoices, either making small talk with the young woman on the other side of the counter, or engaging in car-related conversation. Nobody is a jerk to her. There's no bitching or assholery about the cost of their repairs. Not even from the guy whose bill cost as much as two weeks of my take-home pay.

There's no anger because the customers here know they can trust this shop. Under the Hood has had a great reputation since forever. Everyone in town knows the Smiths are good people. Honest, ethical, caring. Cam's dad set the bar high and from everything I've known and heard over the years, Cam had no problem matching his dad's level of expertise and integrity.

Damn it, even in my head, it sounds like I still have a thing for him. Which I absolutely do not. Respect is not the same as a crush.

"Oh my gosh, Isabel…look at you!" Cam's sister lights up when it's my turn to step up to the counter. "I mean, I've seen pictures of you on Facebook, obviously."

"Good old Facebook," I agree, returning her smile. I'm only two years younger than Shelby, but that gap was like an impassable canyon when we were kids. Being two grades apart in elementary and middle school meant we were never actual friends. But our older brothers were the best of friends, and so, our connection continued on, even after I moved away. Shelby and I have been Facebook friends since we set up our accounts—back in the days of getting our parents' permission to add someone.

"You're even more gorgeous in person," she says. "I know you're working as a paralegal, but you could totally be a model."

"Ditto for you. You look—" I catch myself before saying something that might make her sad. "Way too pretty to be working in an automotive shop."

"And just like my mom. That's what you were going to say, right?" Shelby gives me a warm smile. Either my bitten-back words were written all over my face, or she hears it a lot. Probably both.

"I was going to say that, yes. You were always a mini of your mom, but now that you're an adult, and seeing you in person, the resemblance is even stronger. Your mom was always beautiful, and such a nice person. I'm so sorry for your loss." Eighteen months ago, I sent my condolences in a card. Seems inadequate now that I'm standing in front of Shelby, but what's done is done. "I wish I could've come back for the funeral."

"Don't give that another thought." Shelby reaches across the counter to gently squeeze my hands where I'm twisting them together on the counter. She was always like this, even when we were young. Legitimately good and kind, like every other member of her family. "It's still hard to believe she's gone forever, that I'll never see her again. I know Cam and Dad feel the same way every day. But we lean on each other, keep her memory alive, and work together to go forward, you know?"

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I nod, but in truth, I don't know what she means. My family's dynamic was never like theirs. Tony and I are close, but not like Cam and Shelby. And my parents, well… they're just a totally different breed from Granger and Eline Smith. I know they love me in their own ways, detached or broken as those ways may be.

"So, Tony says your brakes are making noise," Shelby says, releasing my hands and my gaze to return to one of two computers at the service counter.

I open my mouth to answer, but don't get a single word of response out before Cam enters the office through a door behind the counter. Then my mouth goes dry. And words? I have none.

Sweet baby Jesus. My childhood crush is long gone, but my grown-up eyes—and other body parts—are on full alert. Oh sure, I've seen pictures of Cam over the years. Candid shots with friends or family posted by Tony or Shelby. I was well aware that he's gotten better with age. But, like so many things, pictures did not do him justice. Even in his mechanic's uniform, his face shiny and grimy from a hard day's labor, Cam is the hottest man I've ever laid eyes on. It shouldn't even be fair for one man to be this delectable.

"Key?" he says, extending his hand across the counter with the palm up. That's it. No greeting of any variety. No smile. Just a one-word demand.

"Oh, right." I scramble to retrieve my car key from my purse, then remember I stuck it in my back pocket when I came in. By the time I put the key in his waiting hand, my face is on fire. Damn him for throwing me off. Damn me for still reacting to him after all these years.

The nod he gives me is so slight, I would've missed it if I'd blinked at the same time. His demeanor changes when he turns his attention to his sister. Still no smile, but his expression softens. There's no bark in his tone when he says, "This test drive will only take a few minutes. You can take off as soon as I pull in. I don't want you to be late for your appointment."

"Are you sure?" Shelby darts a glance my way, as if the question is for me, rather than Cam.

Again, I don't get a chance to answer. Though, this time, it's not because I'm tongue-tied, it's because Cam jumps in first.

"Positive, Shelb. You're on your feet all day and I don't want you to miss a minute of the massage time you booked in advance. Izzy doesn't need you to sit in here and keep her company. She can wait outside while I look at her car after shop hours."

Deserving of the dig as I might be, my hackles go up anyway. I feel like a human hairbrush, I'm so bristly.

Shelby shoots me a grimace after he disappears. "Sorry. He's not usually like that. Since my dad broke his hand and can't work, Cam has been under so much pressure to do everything the two of them do, which is impossible, but he refuses to cancel appointments and disappoint people."

"No apology necessary. I get it, and I don't blame Cam for being irritated. I'm sorry for—" The rest of my apology is cut off by the ear-piercing sound my car makes as Cam drives it into the bay behind the office. The noise is audible even through the closed door separating the two spaces.

"Oh, he's bringing it inside now. He didn't even take it out of the parking lot." An unmistakable look of that's not a good sign crosses Shelby's face.

At least I know the money I'm about the hemorrhage will be legit, not a scam. "Don't be late to your massage appointment." I motion for Shelby to get going, then move toward the entrance. "I'll wait out front, like Cam said."

"I'm sure we'll talk soon, and not just about your car," Shelby says, giving me a friendly smile. "Message me if you want to grab a coffee or a drink or dinner sometime."

"I'll do that." Agreeing isn't just a courtesy thing, I think I actually will message her. The few girls I considered friends during childhood don't live in town anymore, and even if they did, I'm not sure I'd reach out to them. People and circumstances change. I know mine have.

With Shelby, it would be a new relationship built on old roots. I could use that kind of fresh start and stability.

A minute later, Shelby hurries out through the open bay, calling a goodbye to Cam. She waves at me, then she disappears down the side of the building, emerging a few seconds later in a small red pickup truck. I get a quick double honk as she drives away.

It's just me and Cam now. Me and the man I was sure I'd marry one day. The man who'd clearly rather be doing anything other than looking at my shitty old car. Or me, for that matter, since he barely acknowledged my presence and literally spoke one word to me. Good thing I wasn't holding on to my silly childhood fantasies.

There are no benches or chairs outside the shop, so I lean against the gray siding near the open bay door, close my eyes, and let the late-day sunshine warm my face. The garage is set back from the road, and it's a not a highly traveled street, even during business hours. The only noise comes from within the shop. Buzzing and clanking from whatever equipment and tools Cam is using, then the loud whine of the big air compressor that drowns out everything, including the sound of my own thoughts.

"Got a couple minutes?"

I shriek and startle at the sound of Cam's deep voice, instinctively lashing out before my eyes are fully open—and making contact. "Sorry," I say when my fist connects with his abdomen, eliciting a groan. "You snuck up on me."

"Not sure that'd hold up in court since you're a customer at my place of business, but you'd be the expert on that."

So, Tony told him I'm a paralegal now. And Cam retained that little nugget of information. Younger me would think that means something about us. Twenty-four-year-old me knows there is no us. There never was and never will be. Cam is someone who pays attention to his best friend, that's all.

"I wouldn't have a legal leg to stand on."

His gaze leaves my face to travel downward. "Your legs are a lot longer than the last time I saw you."

Unlike me—and the majority of the world—Cam doesn't have social media accounts. None that I ever found, anyway. He probably hasn't set foot in my dad's house since Tony moved out, and even if he has, there are no recent photos of me on display there. Not that he'd notice if there were.

His attention back on my face, he nods down to where my hands now hang unaggressively at my sides. "You got me pretty good with that jab. Back in the day, you always hung around in your folk's garage while Tony and I hit the heavy bags. Did you start when you got older?" It's casual conversation, probably trying to make up for that blip of being a semi-asshole inside the office a few minutes ago.

But the question pokes a tender spot he doesn't know I have. Tony knows, but I swore him to secrecy. He went against my wishes coming down here to ask Cam to look at my car, but I know my big brother wouldn't betray my confidence about something personal.

"Just some kickboxing classes for a while," I say with a shrug. "I know you're beyond swamped with work, so thanks for putting up with Tony's out-of-line pressure and for taking a look at my car. Give me the bad news, then I'll take the creaky beast and get out of your hair." And it's nice hair. Short and dark, in a style that looks good even after a long day of hot, hard work. I don't have to be infatuated with the man to appreciate his appearance.

"Yeah, about that. You can't drive your car in its current condition. I'll show you what I found so far." Cam motions for me to follow him into the shop.

"What do you mean, so far? I drove it all the way from British Columbia, and aside from the scraping noise when I use the brakes, it was fine." I trail after him through the open bay door, bumping into him when he stops in front of me while my focus is trained on my little car, hanging around eye level on a hoist.

"When did you start hearing the brake noise?" He's so close. He didn't put any space between us when I ran into his back. All he did was pivot to face me.

"Um…"

Dark eyebrows descend over his narrowed eyes. "You don't remember, or you don't want to tell me?"

Shit. I've gotten pretty damn good at skirting the truth, but I won't get away with lying about this. Maybe to a mechanic I don't know, but not to Cam. "There was some noise before I left BC, but it just got really bad a couple of days ago."

"You're lucky you made it home, Izzy." The intensity of his stare makes me shiver. Noticeably. And notably, since we're in the middle of a July heatwave, and the temperature inside the shop is even higher than outside, in the blazing sunshine. "Isabel," he says, his voice dropping even deeper with the correction.

The part of me that fell for him all those years ago pops her starry-eyed head up to swoon. I smack the silly little twit down while taking a step back. Doesn't matter how good-looking he is, or if he's being nice to me. Not only is he my brother's best friend, I'm not ready to let any man past the gate.

"Watch your step and your head when you're out here," he says, crooking a finger at me as he moves closer to my car's right rear wheel. "See how this rim is discolored compared to the silver ones?"

"Huh. I hadn't noticed. But I'm never on the passenger side of the car. Why is it like that?"

"Because you kept driving, forcing the wheel to turn while the brakes were locked up, and things overheated." He steps to the front tire and spins it with one hand, then returns to the rear one, puts both gloved hands on the tire and demonstrates its unwillingness to rotate.

"Oh, wow. Yikes. So that's what's causing the noise?"

"That's part of it." Withdrawing a small flashlight from his chest pocket, he beckons me to join him at the front wheel, where he shines the bright, focused beam between the thick spokes of the silver rim. "See there, where the pads sit in the caliper bracket, against the rotor? You literally have no material left. It's metal on metal. They're all like that. It's a miracle they haven't all seized up on you."

"Okay, so, I need new pads on all the wheels," I say, doing my best to sound like I have a single clue what he's talking about. Caliper bracket? Rotor? Does he think regular people know what these things mean? I should've taken auto shop in high school instead of art. But hey, my pointillism skills are kickass. On point, one might say.

The flashlight clicks off. After returning it to his pocket, Cam blows out a long breath while scratching his head, a gesture I doubt has anything to do with being itchy. "Not just pads. The rotors are scored and pitted, so they need replacing too. You're going to need at least the one caliper on the rear, though I wouldn't be surprised if the others will have to be replaced too. I'll service and reuse them if I can, but if the pistons are fucked, they're not going back on the car. And I haven't checked the rest of it over yet."

"God, please don't."

His throaty grunt shouldn't make my nipples stand up, but the girls have never been the best at reading the room. They like what they like, and they like the sound of Cam's voice, even when he's not speaking.

"Should I just drive it to an abandoned field and set it on fire? Wait, pretend you didn't hear me say that. Not that I'm planning to report it as stolen or anything," I say, giving him an exaggerated wink.

The laugh that leaves his mouth this time is the real deal, and it's exactly the way I remember it. "How about I give it a thorough check over and assessment before you commit insurance fraud and arson?"

"I know you don't have time for any of my car crap, Cam. I saw Shelby's Facebook post about your dad being off work for six weeks. I told Tony not to bug you with my problems. Just bring the little shitbox down to the ground and I'll drive it to my dad's—not to a field—and it can sit in the driveway until you're not the only man on the job here."

"You're not bugging me." Again, he scratches his head. This time, while grimacing. "But I can't let you drive this car anywhere. It's not safe. Not even for a short distance."

"So…what? You're going to hold my car hostage?" Prickly heat rises from the pit of my stomach. "Can you legally do that? And before you say yes, you'd better be sure, because I'm damn well going to check when I get to work tomorrow morning, and if you're?—"

"Goddamn, Isabel, at least give me the chance to answer before you start throwing the fucking law in my face."

It's not Cam's fault I feel like a trapped animal, but I'm sure as hell not going to explain myself. I can't even force an apology past my lips. The best I can do is cross my arms over my chest and keep quiet.

"I could take the plates off your vehicle and call the MTO to report the vehicle as not roadworthy. But I don't want to do that, and I sure as hell don't have time to jump through hoops for the ministry while they investigate. So, as an experienced, licensed mechanic, I'm strongly advising you to leave the car here for repairs, or have it towed somewhere else. And as your friend, I'm asking you to please not put yourself and others in danger by driving this car."

Friend. Not the label younger me had in mind for Cam Smith, but one I'm grateful he's willing to apply now that I'm back in town.

"Okay. I'll leave the car here until you have time for it. And I don't expect you to do it right away—I know there's a long line of customers ahead of me. Plus, I need to get a couple of paychecks in the bank before I can pay for everything the car needs. And if you think it's not worth fixing and I should just scrap it, I will."

"In a field with a gas can and a match?"

"No criminal acts will be committed, I promise," I say, making a cross-my-heart gesture. "And I'm not just saying that to free you from being an accomplice."

He raises his dark eyebrows, a smile pulling his lips into a naturally sensual upward curve.

Just like the old days, my world gets lighter and brighter with his personal sun shining on me.

I jump when the hoist mechanism engages with a loud clunk, followed by a constant hum as the huge apparatus lowers my car to the concrete floor.

"You startle a lot easier now. Nothing spooked you when you were a kid," he says, dark eyes twinkling with amusement. He wouldn't make casual comments like that if he knew why I've become a jumpy adult.

Pushing my nerves and prickly defenses down, I take a silent, calming breath. "I forgot how noisy the equipment is. It's been almost twelve years since the last time—the only time—I was allowed in here."

"I remember that day. Tony came down to tell me he registered for the OMVIC course to get his salesman's license, and you tagged along."

"As always, right?" I say, managing a smile. If my brother never explained why I was clinging to his side that day, I'm not about to. Easier for Cam to assume I insisted on being Tony's sidekick because of my well-known crush. "Thanks for looking at my car. I'll take off so you can close up and go home."

"Yeah, no. I won't be going home for a couple of hours, at least. Too much work to do and not enough hours in the day."

"But…Shelby left. You shouldn't be working on cars with nobody else in the building. What if something happens to you, like it did with your dad?" The thought makes my stomach clench.

"I'll be fine. I'm always careful, and that tool breaking for my dad was a freak accident."

"That's exactly my point. Accidents happen even when you're being careful. Does your dad know you're working on cars while nobody else is here? He wouldn't want you doing that."

"You lived on the opposite side of the country the last dozen years, and you've been back in town for a week. I think I know what my dad wants for his business better than you." Cam grunts and shakes his head. "Need anything out of your car before you leave?"

"No."

Without another word, he picks up a tool from the ground, steps to his giant toolbox, grabs something from a drawer, then moves to a pickup truck hanging on another hoist. With an arm raised and the tool in hand, he pauses, looking over at me. "There's going to be noise." Putting me on notice so I'm not startled again. Still a nice guy, even when overworked, stressed to the limit, and annoyed with his best friend's little sister.

I nod and head for the open bay door, but only make it halfway before turning back and walking right up to him. "Your parents always put you and Shelby first," I say when he stops the buzzing and meets my gaze. "And from everything I've heard from Tony over the years, that never changed. So, no, I don't know your dad's business model. But I'd bet that piece of crap," I point to my no-brakes, pitiful little car, "which happens to be the most valuable thing I own, sadly, that your dad cares more about your safety and well-being than this business."

For a long beat, Cam silently drills me with a narrowed stare. But when I walk over to a squatty wheeled stool and plunk myself down, his eyes go wide. "What are you doing?"

"Being your safety crew," I say, pulling out my phone.

"Like hell you are."

"Okay, then I'm keeping you company." My fingers scroll through an endless stream of social media posts, but I don't see any of them. I don't see Cam's face, either, but I can feel him glaring at me.

"You're not hanging around for two or three hours tonight while I work on cars."

Now, I look up and meet his hard-ass gaze. "Right. I'll be here every night while you work on cars."

Those cartoons where smoke is shooting from the character's ears? That's Cam. His one free hand clenches and flexes at his side, and his jaw is clenched so hard, the animated version of him in my mind would be spitting teeth about now.

I shouldn't find it entertaining. After the shit I've experienced, my flight instincts ought to be in overdrive, but I don't have the urge to get away from him, nor do I feel frozen with fear. Totally irrational, since I haven't seen him for over a decade. He might have a dark side I don't know about. I should be putting my safety first, not worrying about his.

My pulse kicks up when he sets the air tool on the ground and closes the distance between us. But I still don't feel unsafe, even when he's hovering over me and I have to tilt my head all the way back to maintain eye contact.

"Isabel." The deep, authoritative way he says my name sends a tingly ripple through me.

"Cam," I say, matching his vibe with a smug smile and an eyebrow wiggle. Can't help it. I always felt safe around Cam, and I still do.

Closing his eyes, he exhales—a long, agonized sound. When he meets my gaze again, his features have relaxed. "You always were an insistent little thing."

"Nice way of saying ‘brat.'"

"Nah, you weren't a brat." He winks. "Not as a kid."

Dramatically, I gasp and clutch at my heart, patting around for a couple of seconds before shrugging and dropping my hands. "Nope, not wounded."

"My point proven," he says, shaking his head. "Even though you're not a kid anymore, I could still pick you up and carry you out of here, you know."

The thrill that streaks through me at that prospect is as unwanted as my upcoming car repair bill. I'm not falling for my brother's best friend a second time. "Do what you have to do, Cam. But don't expect that to stop me from doing what I have to do."

He shakes his head, a husky chuckle that makes my nipples hard leaving his smiling mouth. "I'm sure you have better things to do with your free time."

"Not a one." Even now, I can't think of anywhere I'd rather be than in Cam's orbit. What does that say about me?

Before things get weird, I add some awkwardness-decreasing context. "Like you said, I've only been back in town a week. My social calendar hasn't had a chance to fill up yet. Without my car, I'm kind of limited to where I can go, and to be brutally honest, I'm not eager to spend tons of time with my dad. I appreciate that he's letting me stay at his house until I find an apartment, but our relationship has been minimal and strained since my mom left him. I hope things get better between us, but I hate feeling forced into acting like something that we're not. So, if you let me do this for you, you'd be doing me a favor, too. Another favor."

Cam doesn't say a word. He just walks to his toolbox, picks up his phone, and initiates a call.

"Are you calling Tony to come get me?" I say, leaping off the stool and storming toward him. "Forget I said anything, Cam. Forget I cared what might happen to you."

Does he listen? No. He dekes sideways when I lunge forward, attempting to grab his phone. The jerk even smiles about it.

"Just hang up." God, I sound pathetic. Which is probably how I've always sounded to him. If he's going to keep treating me like a kid, I might as well act like one, so I stomp my feet, stick out my tongue, and give him the finger before turning on my heel to make a dramatic exit.

"Hey, it's Cam at Under the Hood. Can I get a couple of pizzas delivered? Yeah, we're closed, but I'm still here working. Hang on a sec," he says, then, much louder, "Isabel—you still like pineapple and pepperoni on your pizza?"

It's my turn to be the cartoon character, because I can hear the screeching-to-a-halt sound in my head—that's how abruptly I stop and turn. "What?"

"Pizza. You still eat it?"

"Of course, I do. I'm a brat, not a psycho."

He chuckles, maybe at my retort, maybe at something said on the other end of the call. Either way, amusement is still a good look on him. "How do you like it?"

If he had any idea how many times I imagined him asking me what I like, and not about pizza toppings. "I'm not picky."

"Don't start being accommodating now," he says, driving my core temperature up several degrees with his sinful smile. "Just tell me what you want."

"Pineapple and spicy sausage. I've upgraded my meat preference." Oh, sure, it could be a casual comment. Innocent. Entirely about processed meat products. And that's what I'd claim in court, even under oath.

But I'd be lying. No matter how much I tell myself I no longer have a crush on Cam, I do. Again, or still, I'm not sure which, not that it matters. Because, to him, I'm never going to be more than his best friend's kid sister.

Knowing nothing's ever going to happen with Cam won't stop me from thinking about his spicy sausage. Good thing my vibrator is in better condition than my car, because it's in for a long ride later.