Chapter Six

ISABEL

When I pull into Under the Hood's parking lot at six o'clock on Friday evening, both bay doors are shut and the sign in the office window is turned to Closed. Shelby's small truck is gone and Cam's is parked down the side of the building. First one in, last one out. He says that's always been his dad's thing. Now it's his turn.

The lot is still full of customers' cars, something I've learned is a stressor for Cam, another trait he inherited from his dad. They prefer to get vehicles in and out, same day if possible. Having this many vehicles lingering overnight, day after day after day… it's why Cam is putting in all the extra time after regular business hours. And if he's here, I'll be here to make sure he's not alone, in case of an emergency. That's what I told him on Tuesday, and I've kept my word. Wednesday, though…

Wednesday could've been plucked from the pages of my Cam and Izzy Forever scrapbook. That moment in the garage at his house where he sort-of kissed the base of my hand… It was as unexpected as him loaning me one of his vehicles. His gentle, chaste yet sensual touch set off fireworks inside me. My brain was quick to snuff them out, but for those few seconds, I thought… maybe.

Then I maybe'd myself throughout our not-a-date dinner date. What woman wouldn't love being the center of Cam's attention in a cozy booth at a delicious restaurant? If he'd tried to kiss me goodnight, I might have let him. Solid maybe. But he didn't—because I friend-zoned him. That part wouldn't have been in the old scrapbook. Little girl me would never put Cam in the friend zone. Back then, I knew, without a doubt, what I wanted. I could go for some of that certainty now.

Last night, we sat together in the shop's breakroom and ate the sandwiches I brought. A chef, I am not. Cam didn't mind the simple supper. And I sure didn't mind watching him eat. The man makes chewing sexy. Who am I kidding? He makes everything sexy. After our quick meal, he went back to his bay, banging away at jobs until nearly eight o'clock, only stopping when I caught him rinsing out a deep gash in his index finger, and forced him to call it a day.

I'm torn between wanting him to hire a tech because he needs the help, and selfishly hoping I get to keep having this time with him five days a week until his dad returns to work.

But tonight—tonight, I wish I didn't have to go inside. Because I'm late, and that's going to lead to questions I don't want to answer. I want to be the person who makes Cam laugh and smile. He's the best part of moving back here, and I'd rather not tell him about the worst.

After one more check of my face in the rearview mirror, I lock the Bronco and head in through the customer door, turning the deadbolt behind me. Paper takeout bags on the breakroom table catch my eye as I pass. Two of them, both still folded and stapled across the top. He had dinner delivered. And waited for me to eat it.

"Hey," he calls when he spots me coming through the office door. "I guessed you had to work late, so I ordered some Kung Pao, General Tso, and pineapple chicken balls. I remember those used to be your favorite."

This is where I should make some sort of balls joke, or tease him with a double entendre. But nothing comes to me. "Okay, thanks. Whenever you want to take a break."

The furrows that form on his forehead are visible from across the bay. Then his tools are on the ground and he's cutting a path straight for me. "What's wrong?"

"I didn't crack up the Bronco."

"I wouldn't give a shit if you did, as long as you're okay."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not," he says, stepping closer. Close enough to make me suck in a breath when he raises a hand to scratch the top of his head. "What the fuck happened that has you flinching away from me? If your office isn't safe?—"

"Nothing happened at work."

"But something happened," he says.

If a dog wants a bone, the best way to ease its focus is to give it a bone. I'll just make it a small bone. Snack sized.

"I stopped at my dad's house after work to change my clothes, and we had a disagreement. It rattled me, that's all. I'd forgotten how he can get sometimes."

"How does he get, Isabel?" Each word comes out of Cam's mouth with careful intent. His jaw ticks and his lips form a hard line, as if he's holding back, waiting for me to fill in the blank when he already knows the answer.

Of course, he knows. Everyone in town probably knows. And if anyone would, it's Cam. Tony must have told him some of the details over the years.

"He was drunk. Not good-times Edward Burns who buys rounds for everyone in the bar, drunk. Spent the day drinking alone and feeling sorry for himself, Edward Burns. I tried to quietly go in and out, to just avoid him, but he was rooting through the kitchen cupboards in search of a bottle that wasn't empty, and had broken a bunch of dishes in the process."

"And you stopped to clean up his mess?"

"No. I stopped and told him to clean up his mess. Let's just say the suggestion didn't go over well, and leave it at that." I flinch again when Cam innocently reaches out to touch my arm.

"Yeah, I don't think I'm going to be able to leave it at that, Isabel. If he laid a finger on you, I need to know. Tony needs to know."

"He got pissed off and threw something at me. It didn't hit me. And I already called Tony. He knows everything."

Exhaling slowly, Cam pushes his fingers through his hair. One of his self-calming techniques. He's probably raging inside.

"I'm okay. Just rattled. And I'm not going back, so you don't have to worry about me. Tony's going to let me sleep on his couch until I can get an apartment."

"Have you spent more than five minutes sitting on Tony's couch? It might as well be a stone slab. It's like he went to the furniture store and asked for the model with the least cushioning."

"I could actually picture him doing that," I say with a short but much-needed laugh. "Just to dissuade people from lingering too long in his bachelor pad."

"Exactly. I have a better idea."

"If it involves you loaning me money for an apartment, the answer is no thank you."

"Not money. A room. With a bed."

"Where?" The tingling low in my belly tells me I already know what the answer will be. I just can't decide if I'm excited to hear it, or terrified.

"My house," he says. "You can move in tonight. I promise you'll be safe."

From Cam, or my dad the drunk, or things that go bump in the night? I can believe that. But living in a tiny two-bedroom house with Cam and all his endless hotness and sweetness… the real question is, will I be safe from myself?

CAM

"You don't have to go through with this," Isabel says as I unlock the door. "I won't hold your spontaneous goodwill offer against you. I appreciate how you've always looked out for me, but this is going to be a huge crimp in your lifestyle."

I resist putting my hand on her lower back as she enters the house. Anything that might upset her is a hard no. I gave her the thirty-second, three-sixty spin-around tour when she was here a couple of nights ago, but having her in my house now has a different feel.

"My lifestyle consists of eat, work, sleep, with some occasional TV watching. I don't party or have buddies over. I'm not dating or hooking up. The only thing that's going to change with you living here is that I'll have to throw on underwear before leaving my bedroom. That rule doesn't apply to you, though. You're welcome to walk around naked anytime."

The suggestion earns me a cute laugh and a playful swat. The sound is like music, and any physical contact is a good sign after her jumpiness in the shop earlier.

"That one's yours." I point at the closed door of the second bedroom. "It only has a single bed, but it's basically new, and only Shelby has slept on it. She stayed here for a while after our mom died. She's back in her own apartment now."

"I love how close your family is," Isabel says, moving around the small living room, gently touching things, smiling at the framed photos on the wall. Her attention lingers on the one of my parents. "I haven't seen your dad since I got back to town. How's he doing—aside from the broken hand, obviously. Is he still in the same house you grew up in?"

"He still owns the house, but hasn't lived in it since my mom passed. He was sleeping in the loft above the shop. Shelby and I let him think he was keeping it secret from us, because it was obviously something he needed for his grieving process."

"But he's not staying up there now, or I would have seen him. I guess you had to call him out after the hand injury? Evict him from the loft so he doesn't try to work before the doctor clears him?"

"Different timeline and reasons, but yeah, he's not bunking up there anymore."

"But he didn't go back to the house? I can see why it'd be hard for him to live in the place he shared with your mom. I remember how in love they were; those times Tony would bring me along when he was hanging out at your house, your parents were always hugging and kissing—like, really kissing—and laughing. Stuff my parents never did." The sigh she makes is part dreamy, but also a little sad. Then she blinks and clears her throat. "I'm surprised your dad isn't using your spare room, though I guess that's because you don't want him to know how many hours you're putting in at the shop while he's off, hmm?" she say, raising an eyebrow. "Is he staying with Shelby?"

A grunt pushes through my lips, and Isabel tilts her head in question. Might as well tell her, since she's bound to find out, regardless of the outcome. "He's staying with his brand-new girlfriend, who happens to be twenty years younger than him."

Isabel's pretty eyes nearly pop out of her head. "Holy shit. Did not see that plot twist coming."

"None of us did. Including my dad. Things between them happened fast. Really fucking fast."

"You don't sound on board with it," she says, circling back to stand in front of me. "You don't like the woman?"

"I don't know her. Hell, my dad barely knows her. But he swears he's in love with her." I drop onto one end of the couch, rubbing my hands over my five-o'clock shadow. I usually shower as soon as I get home, and I'm definitely in need of one. "Maybe he is in love with her. That's the part that worries me. I don't want to see him have his heart broken again. I don't know why he'd want to take that risk. Why anyone takes the risk."

"Your dad is the perfect example of why people risk their heart for a chance at love." Isabel settles on the cushion beside me, close enough that our legs touch, and just like that, she's the only thing in the room. "He knows how amazing loving somebody can be. Look at the life he had with your mom. I can't even imagine the pain of losing someone who means so much," she says, placing her hand on my leg while holding my gaze. "But I'm positive your dad would say the heartbreak of losing his wife was a worthy price to pay for all the happiness they shared. And I bet that's why he's willing to risk having his heart broken again."

"Is all that wisdom based on observation, or have you been in love?"

"Observation." A soft laugh spills from her smiling lips. "And many years of futile pining."

I want to tell her the pining wasn't futile, that it just took a long time for me to get on the same page. That if anyone is worth risking my heart for, it's her. But that's not what she wants now. At least, not from me.

"What about the shitty ex-boyfriend? You didn't love him before things ended?"

This time when she laughs, it's bitter. Humorless. "Not even for a minute. The guys I dated out west were cut from the same cloth as my dad. I think some part of me sought them out, hoping I could fix them, since I used to feel like we abandoned my dad. I know, I know, I should probably get therapy. I'm taking a total man break instead. A reset to clear out all the toxic-choices damage, because I still hope to have the big love someday."

"You'll have it."

"You sound pretty sure about that for a guy who'll only commit to things with four wheels and a Ford badge."

"Brat." I give her a wink while pushing up from the couch.

"You love it," she says, twisting around so she's propped up on the backrest, a big smile on her face as she watches me cross to the bathroom door.

So fucking pretty. Lighting the place up just by being here. Lighting my whole damn world up just by existing. Making me want all the things I've been too chickenshit to reach for.

"No more settling for fixer-uppers for you, Iz. You deserve a man who'll put in the work to make every page of your scrapbook a reality."

"Thank you," she says softly.

One hand on the bathroom doorknob, I nod, then tip my head toward my bedroom. "It's been a long day; I'm going to grab a shower and hit the sack. Help yourself to my stuff until we pick yours up tomorrow. T-shirts, shorts, sweats, whatever you're comfortable sleeping in. I'll leave a toothbrush on the counter in here for you, and you're welcome to anything and everything in the house. No need to ask, just take whatever you want."

"I'll do that."

I nod again, then put the closed bathroom door between us, so more stuff I never expected to say—especially to Isabel Burns—doesn't flow out of my mouth. Best thing I can do right now is wait for her to be ready, and hope I'm the man she wants when she is.