Two Bar Mitzvahs (No Weddings #3)(53)

“Wait, we’re in a garage, and we entered through the doorway from the connecting greenhouse. But where do the vehicles come in from?”

“A secret.”

Her brows arched. “A secret, huh?”

“Yep.” I pointed along the same wall that had the doorway to the greenhouse. “See that floor-to-ceiling panel with the high windows in it?” We walked back down the centerline of the garage to take a closer look.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“That’s the vehicle entrance. Notice the metal track hidden along the wall, both in the edge of the floor and in the edge of the ceiling?”

Craning her neck back as we walked, she gave an imperceptible nod. “Sure, I see it now.”

“That whole section of wall seals when closed but moves into the interior of the garage a couple of inches before sliding sideways when opened.”

She blinked, examining the tracks as we approached closer. “Wow.”

“What’s on the other side of the door is even better.”

“Really, what could be better than all this?” Her dark eyes held a curious glint.

I pointed to a red circle on the wall. “Push that button and see.”

She pushed it, then walked over to the opening wall panel as it slid sideways. She cocked her head. “That’s really quiet. I expected to hear a loud motor and gears grinding, like a garage door opener.”

“One of Dad’s inventions. Long story. He knows a guy…”

Her gaze returned to the open space, and she grinned. “You’re kidding. I thought this opened to the outside.”

“Nope. How else do you think the garage stays in neat-freak shape?”

She shook her head, then blinked. “They have their own indoor car wash area?”

“More like a big mud room for your car. Fully automated. They pull in, close the exterior door before opening this interior panel, and push that green button if they need their car washed before entering the garage. That big blower system dries the car and the undercarriage. The whole thing is ingenious.”

She chuckled as she stepped into the enclosed car wash room. “Then safe to assume that door on the other side of the car wash leads to the motor court where your Jeep is?”

“Motor court?” I asked, surprised.

She spun around and stared at me, dropping her hands on her hips, “Yes, Mr. Tour Guide, motor court. I know the name of a big-ass, paver-covered parking area when I see it.”

“Okay, okay, impressive car knowledge.”

When she stepped further into the space, I followed close behind. My patience had run out. There was nothing else to see—tour over. Time for the private tour to begin. “You know, one could say this tunnel is kinda like a closet.”

She spun around, eyes lighting up with challenge as those tempting petticoats beneath the skirt of her sundress rustled. “Oh? Could one?”

I stalked her as she sidestepped out of my reach and veered back toward the car wash entrance. “Oh, definitely. Plus there are several surfaces here sturdy enough to take even the most thorough pounding.”

Her eyes narrowed, her head shaking slowly from one side to the other. “Oh, no. We are heading back to the party with my dress, hair, and makeup intact.”

I cocked my head to the side. “I could work with that.”

Her eyes widened, and she backed up another step, almost into the garage space.

“No.”

I grinned, guttered thoughts flying through my mind of positions and surfaces to christen. All the innocent bonding had been something I needed for my soul after the couple of weeks of craziness. Now my body had other needs after an entire day of being a very good boy.

“Yes.” I arched a brow, stalking another step forward for every one of hers back.

“Cade Joseph Michaelson, if you take one more step toward me, I will turn on the car wash.” Her hand hovered over the green button.

It was no threat at all, because only two yards remained between us. I could easily clear that door and tackle her into the garage without a droplet of water hitting either of us. And minimal dress crumpling.

“Go ahead.” I took another step. “As we’ve established, I do love you soaking wet.”





22


About Time


The following afternoon, with windows down and radio blaring eighties rock, we sped down the highway nearing home. Hannah held Ava in her lap with a thumb looped into her collar to prevent the pup from leaning too far out of the car.

And Hannah couldn’t stop smiling. Which made me a grinning, happy-as-f*ck idiot. I helped put that bright smile on her face. Yeah, being away from external stressors had taken a weight off of me too.

My hand rested on the gearshift, and she slipped her free hand under it, sliding her fingers loosely into mine. I rubbed my thumb over the soft skin on the back of her hand. Neither of us glanced at each other. We didn’t need to.

We fit perfectly. Without needing to say a word, a calm had settled between us. We’d also worked out plenty of sexual tension over the weekend, giving us enough endorphins to buzz through our bodies for days.

When we passed the outskirts of town, Hannah let out a long sigh.

“You okay?” I squeezed her hand.

“Yes. No. Just…I’m not ready for the weekend to end.”