All They Need(43)

She was very aware that she was using humor to diffuse the sudden tension between them and she suspected he was, too.

“If you insist.”

He started down the stairs. Mel shut the door so she wouldn’t stand there like an idiot watching him walk away. Then she went to the kitchen to make herself peanut butter toast. The way she would if this was a normal day and she’d had a normal conversation with any old person.

“Fake it till you make it” had always been one of her favorite sayings.



FLYNN THOUGHT ABOUT his conversation with Mel as he drove into Mount Eliza village to locate her father. She was smart and she was funny and she always surprised him. He liked that about her.

He also liked how she looked in silk.

Fine, sleek silk in variegated shades of blue that clung to every line of her body. He’d taken one glance at her and known she didn’t have a stitch on underneath. The realization had played havoc with his self-control the whole time he’d been talking to her.

He went over the reasons why it would be bad to start anything with her as he pulled into a parking spot at Village Motors, but the old arguments felt as though they were wearing a little thin now. What he felt for her was far more than simple sexual curiosity or interest. He was drawn to her on every level. Which meant that whatever happened between them wouldn’t be a repeat of Hayley.

And it might be the best thing that had ever happened to him. Granted, the argument that the timing was bad still held a lot of water, but like Summerlea, Mel was unique. A one-off, never to be repeated. And he’d already decided that even if the timing couldn’t be worse, he wasn’t walking away from Summerlea.

He was starting to feel the same way about Mel. He glanced up at the building and pushed thoughts of Mel to the back of his mind as he got out of his car. Perhaps he was getting conservative in his old age, but he didn’t think it was appropriate to be thinking about ways to get Mel into his arms, his bed and his life while he was introducing himself to her father.

Village Motors occupied a double block, with a wide roller door leading into a workshop occupying the left side of the property and a small office area filling the right. A plastic sign above a glass-fronted door identified it as Reception. He entered and breathed in the smell of engine grease and metal. A counter bisected the room. On this side were a couple of beaten-up chairs and a table with some much-thumbed car magazines, while the other side boasted a desk with a young girl tapping at a computer.



“Hi. Can I help you?” she asked as he approached the counter.

“I hope so. I need someone to take a look at my car. It’ll probably need to be towed over, but it’s local. Mel Porter is a friend and she recommended you guys.”

“Oh, Mel. Cool,” the girl said. “I’ll get Mike so you can tell him what the problem is.” She stood and disappeared through the door to the workshop. She was back in thirty seconds with a tall, muscular, dark-haired man hard on her heels.

Flynn would have recognized Mike Porter as Mel’s father in a crowd of thousands. Clear gray eyes sitting above a nose similar to Mel’s regarded him neutrally. The shape of his face, the way he held himself—the family resemblance was startling, despite the thick horseshoe mustache that bracketed his mouth.

“Mike Porter. How can I help you?” He offered Flynn his hand.

“Flynn Randall. I’m having some trouble with my ’65 Aston Martin. Your daughter, Mel, said you might be able to help me out.”

Mike frowned slightly. “Randall. You’re not the bloke who bought Summerlea, are you?”

“That’s right.”

“Mel mentioned you the other day. So, what’s going on with your Aston?”

Mel had been talking about him, had she?

Interesting.

“I think it’s probably the brushes in the starter motor. I’ve had trouble with them before. The engine is turning over but not starting.”

“Starter motor trouble for sure,” Mike confirmed. “Where is it? Stacy mentioned something about you needing a tow?”



“It’s over at Summerlea. Is there a local tow-truck service I can use?”

Mike made a dismissive gesture. “Since it’s local and it’s only the starter motor, there’s no need to tow. Leave the keys with me and I’ll swing by and take a look at it this afternoon. If it’s the starter motor, I can unbolt it and bring it here to work on it. If it isn’t… Well, we’ll cross that bridge.”