Drive Me Wild (Bellamy Creek #1)(19)

“What’s the rush?” she asked. “Why can’t she stay awhile longer?”

“Because she doesn’t belong here.”

“Are you sure? Because I think she might.”

“Goodbye, Mom.” I ended the call and shoved my phone into my back pocket as I headed for the lobby.

Blair Peacock Beaufort did not belong in Bellamy Creek—that much I knew for sure.

But when I opened the door and saw her sitting at the desk, charming a new customer with her welcoming smile and polite laughter, my stomach muscles balled up.

And just for a moment, I almost wished I was wrong.





Handme and McIntyre were both back from lunch and said they’d handle any walk-ins, so I asked Blair if she wanted to eat with me in the break room.

She sat across the table from me, pulling a sandwich and small bag of salt and vinegar chips from the bag and handing them over. “Here. The lady at the deli counter said these are your favorite. And here’s your iced tea. She said that’s what you drink with your lunch.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She unwrapped her sandwich, which looked like a BLT, and pulled a second bag of chips—barbecue—and a bottle of peach tea from the bag. “So everyone in Bellamy Creek knows everything about everyone else, huh? Right down to your favorite kind of chips?”

I nodded. “Yep. In fact, my mother just called me asking about you.”

She paused in the middle of chewing. “Are you serious?”

Nodding, I took a bite of my sandwich. “She’d already heard about the mysterious woman in a wedding gown who got into a car accident, had a late supper at the diner, entered my apartment after midnight, purchased coffee and donuts this morning to take back to the garage, and was seen at the deli ordering two sandwiches, including roast beef with spicy mustard, which everyone knows is my favorite.”

Blair looked outraged. “It’s not a wedding gown!”

Laughing, I took another bite. “That’s what gets to you about that story? What you were wearing?”

“Well, the rest of it is kind of true, right?” She unscrewed the bottle cap and took a drink of her tea. “Guess that explains what Mrs. Applebee said on the phone.”

I shook my head. “It drives me insane the way gossip spreads in this town. People should mind their own business.”

“Does that mean I shouldn’t ask you about the phone call with the bank?”

I didn’t answer right away. I took a drink, opened my bag of chips, took another bite of my sandwich. Then I figured, what the hell—I was pissed, but I wasn’t ashamed. “Not much to tell. They just keep denying my loan application.”

“Why?”

“Too big a risk. Not enough income. Too much competition.”

She thought for a minute, munching on her chips. “Swifty Auto?”

“That’s a big part of it. Like I said, we’ve lost some customers to them. But we’ve also gotten some back—the ones who realize that investing in your car pays off in the long run.”

“What makes them go to Swifty in the first place?” She picked up her sandwich again. “Is it just a lower price and quicker turnaround?”

I thought about it for a minute. “I don’t know. My sister claims if I had a nicer lobby, it might help.”

“Well, that’s an easy fix. Appearances are important.”

“I don’t have the time or money to redecorate the damn lobby,” I said, annoyed because I didn’t want her and Cheyenne to be right. “It shouldn’t matter whether I have fucking cookies and coffee as long as we can fix their car—and we can.”

“Okay, okay,” she said gently. “Don’t get upset. I believe you. So let’s say you got the loan. What would you do with it?”

“Invest in training and tools.”

“Is that going to attract customers?”

“It should,” I huffed, but in all honesty, I wasn’t sure. Training and tools probably didn’t sound that exciting to people.

Blair appeared deep in thought as she finished her sandwich and picked up her chips again. “I think one thing might have to happen before the other.”

“Huh?”

“Do you think if you could show income increasing and business coming back the bank might reconsider?”

“Maybe,” I said, distracted by the way she was licking barbecue flavoring off her fingers. “But at this point, I’m getting worried about having to lay off Handme, which will make us even slower. Or fuck, maybe just sell the building and walk away from the whole thing.” Angry, I balled up the empty chip bag and tossed it onto the table. “Sixty-five years of my family’s blood, sweat, and tears, gone.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“No?”

“No. Because we’re not going to let it. I have an idea.”

I picked up my iced tea and took a drink, surprised she’d used the word we. “What’s your idea?”

“What if you took a little money and renovated the lobby—nothing extravagant, just a makeover.”

“A makeover? That doesn’t really sound like my thing.”

“I’ll help you.”