Doing It Over (Most Likely To #1)(8)

“And who is this?” He smiled at Hope.

Hope held her hand tight.

“This is my daughter, Hope. Say hello, honey.”

“Hello, Mr. Miller.”

“So polite, too.” He winked and Hope attempted to wink back.

“How is Mrs. Miller?”

“Fine, just fine. I’m sure she’d love to see you. You’ll have to drop by the house and bring this cutie with you.”

It was hard not to smile. Mrs. Miller loved to bake, hence Mr. Miller’s slightly large girth. Dropping by was a favorite pastime when she was a kid and always resulted in a take-home package of something sweet.

“We’ll do that.”

Mr. Miller rounded in front of the car. “This yours?”

“Sorry to say.”

He made a few tsk-tsk sounds and his smile started to fade.

“That bad?”

“It’s not good. Luke is digging deeper to make sure, but . . .”

She had to wade through the bad news before the name Mr. Miller had used sank in. “Luke is still here?”

“Of course.”

Despite her dead car, she smiled again. She couldn’t wait to catch up with her old friend.

Mr. Miller started talking about oil levels and starters . . . something about a block. Everything he said was all over her head.

The sound of a motorcycle drew their attention to the front of the garage.

Luke still wore black and leather . . . his frame had filled out in ten years, but he still had that swagger that drove Zoe crazy in high school. Melanie always thought the two of them would ride off into the sunset on his bike.

Life happens, and that wasn’t their path.

“Mel?”

She dropped her daughter’s hand and accepted his hug. “Luke!”

He picked her up and swung her around. “Jesus, look at you.”

She knew she didn’t look bad. Ten years had filled her curves out as well. Staying in shape was easy when your car broke down all the time and walking was a better option than taking the city bus.

She punched his arm when he set her back down. “Look at me? Look at you. There should be a law for looking better than you did in high school.”

Luke winked, just like his dad, and swung an arm over her shoulders. “Good to see you, too.” His eyes traveled to Hope. “This must be your girl.”

After introductions and another attempt at winking out of Hope, they started back into the garage. “Jo dropped in earlier, said this was your car. I took the liberty of taking it apart.”

If there was one person she could trust under the hood more than Mr. Miller, it was Mr. Miller’s son.

“Your dad says it’s bad.”

“Our car died,” Hope said from the side.

“It sure did,” Luke agreed.

“What are we going to drive if our car is dead, Mommy?”

Melanie glanced at Hope. “I’m sure Luke and Mr. Miller can fix it.”

Only one look at Luke and that assurance blew away. “Or not.”

Hope drew her brows together with worry. “But we need a car.”

“It will be okay, baby.”

“Hey, Hope?” Mr. Miller distracted her. “Do you know what the best part about having a broken car is?”

She shook her head.

“Auto shops always have fresh donuts. Do you like donuts?”

She bobbed her head and took his hand, before Mr. Miller led her down the hall and into the office.

“Is it that bad?” Melanie asked once Hope was gone.

“Nothing that a little C-4 and the back of Grayson’s farm won’t take care of.”

“C’mon . . .”

“How long was the oil light on, Mel?” Luke ran a hand over his slightly long hair and stared at her.

“It’s always on. I topped off the oil in Redding.”

“Topping off means some of it ran out . . . did it take the entire quart?”

“Yeah.”

“Did the oil light go off?”

“No. It went on in Modesto, flickered on more than off ever since.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “You can’t ignore the oil light, Mel.”

“I didn’t ignore it. I gave it oil.”

Luke stepped over to a workstation and waved a part in front of her. “Your oil pan had a hole in it. The slow leak gave you a nice trail to follow back to Bakersfield. Do you know what happens when your engine doesn’t get oil?”

“It’s like gas, right? The car stops running . . . but you put oil in and it’s all good.”

Luke squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Oh, Mel.”

“I’m not right?”

“Nowhere close. A car without oil can only run dry for so long, then after miles of sputtering and bitching at you, she flips you the bird and cracks. You cracked the block, Mel.”

“That’s bad?” She really didn’t know.

Luke lifted one brow in the air. “Do you have any idea how bad I want to tell a blonde joke right now?”

“How do you fix a cracked block?”

“You don’t,” Luke told her. “You put in a whole new engine. With the condition of this car, our advice is to cut your losses and start over.”