A Father's Name(39)
“I don’t think I’d be that impressed with being called Uck,” Laura said.
“Hey, there could have been other variations of Tucker that would’ve been worse. A lot worse.”
Laura and Eli both laughed, and the rest of tension that Tucker had felt evaporated. “Okay, what else is on our evening’s agenda?”
They finished their dinner then went to a movie. Tucker lobbied for a new action/adventure, but found herself sandwiched between Laura and Eli as they both grew teary-eyed at the romance they saw.
Normally Tucker could laugh off a good romance as unrealistic, but tonight’s movie left her feeling strange. She and Tyler were spending so much time together because of work and Jace. She’d told her friends how much she enjoyed Jace, and that was true. She loved watching him toddle around the house, and seeing him change each day. Whether it was saying her improvised name, or adding a new block to his tower. She couldn’t get enough of him. She’d been working a lot of evenings to make up for her days with Jace, but she didn’t mind that. Bart was busy with work, his new, as yet unnamed, girlfriend and his friends. He was gone most evenings and the house got quiet.
Too quiet.
Going back over to the shop gave her something to do. It filled up her evenings. She’d flip her iPod onto shuffle and enjoy singing out loud with her favorite tunes as she designed and painted one project or another.
She liked the new rhythm to her life.
No, it wasn’t Tyler taking advantage.
She wanted to help with Jace. She’d fallen for the toddler.
As for Tyler? Images of the movie’s hot love scene flashed through her mind as she drove home that night, only it wasn’t the actor and the actress she envisioned. It was her and Tyler doing those things to and with each other. Things that left her with a physical longing she hadn’t felt toward a man in a long time. She shouldn’t be thinking like that.
She liked Tyler. Liked him a lot. He’d opened up a little to her about his father. She sensed that other than Jason, Tyler had never really shared that with anyone. But there was still a lot she didn’t know about him.
But she was certain of one thing, there was more to his embezzlement story. She wasn’t sure what, but the idea of skimming money from his employer and clients didn’t fit the man she was beginning to know.
The man she really wanted to know more of.
LATE MONDAY MORNING, Tucker admitted a long-since-cooled-off cup of coffee in her hand wasn’t enough to stop her from glaring at the stack of receipts and bank statements in front of her. Heck, even the fact it was the Fourth of July and she was going to the fireworks later didn’t help ease her dislike of the paperwork.
Honestly, she didn’t understand people who chose careers that involved doing spreadsheets and math all day, every day…on purpose.
“Payrolls, warranties, inspection forms,” she muttered under her breath, like a mantra. No, more like a curse. There was no end to it. “Ordering invoices, preparing estimates, finalizing bills…figures, forms and fun, oh, my…” she continued, with a cadence from the Wizard of Oz’s lions, tigers and bears, oh my.
“Ah, what’re you up to, Angel?”
She spotted her father in her doorway watching her and smiling. She growled a greeting, which only made him laugh.
“Ah, paperwork. It does put you in a lovely mood, daughter.”
“I can handle it, Pops.”
“So, have you given any more thought to a partner? Someone else who had a stake in the business who wouldn’t mind the paperwork.”
“Like I said, I can handle it, Pops. I can handle everything.”
He came into her office with far less nervousness than the guys would have shown. They all tended to disappear quickly when they caught her doing paperwork.
Her father didn’t show any such fear as he sat down opposite her. “Angel, I know you can handle everything. You’ve spent your entire adult life handling everything that was thrown at you. Not only handling, but triumphing. You are an amazing woman and I’m so very proud to be your father. But that being said, you are not meant for an office. You’re an artist. You need to play to your strengths.”
Her father frequently called her an artist, but that felt presumptuous to her. “I’m a mechanic who does a bit of painting.”
“You’re more than that, and we both know it. We have people lined up to have you customize their cars and motorcycles. You’ve put Tucker’s Garage on the map. Don’t think I don’t realize that it was you and your work that took a small local garage and turned it into a place that people drive miles out of their way to come to. We specialize in all kinds of vehicles now, as well as your customized paint jobs. That’s where you belong—in the paint room, or in your office, but designing. You don’t belong behind a desk doing,” he reached across and picked up the paper in front of her, “inspection forms.”