The Chance (Thunder Point #4)(40)

She tilted her head, wondering what this had to do with her. With them.

“I need you,” he said. “The way I see it, we have months ahead to find out if what we have is really special or if it’s just temporary. Nobody ever won a race by standing at the starting line. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

She smiled at him. “Let’s see.”

Nine

Eric didn’t pack all his things and move in with Laine. He kept his motel room but slowly, so slowly, transferred personal items to her house. His laundered work clothes, hanging so politely in the dry cleaning bags, went directly to Laine’s closet rather than back to the motel and he carried a small duffel back and forth, dropping off clothes. He caught her moving some of his things around between drawers and refolding them. She held up an article of clothing—plaid flannel pants. “What are these?” she asked.

“Pajamas,” he said.

“Hmm. What an absurd idea.”

He laughed at her and thought to himself, if a man is going to move in with a woman as sexy and tempting as Laine Carrington, it’s damn lucky she likes sex. More than that, she fell into cohabitation seamlessly. His days were long and he was up early, yet she would slip into the shower with him and shave his face. “You’d think a mechanic would be more scruffy and less meticulous,” she said.

“Would you like me scruffier?” he asked.

“I’d like you to sleep a little later, but I understand you can’t.”

And yet he’d never felt more rested.

Domesticity appealed to him. He realized that maybe he had moved in with Cara searching for something along these lines. Living with Laine was entirely different—there was a routine, for one thing. Intimacy, for another; intimacy that wasn’t limited to sex. Sometimes they cooked together; sometimes it was his turn or she’d cooked earlier in the day. Sometimes they went out or if they’d each had long days, he brought something home. On those evenings when he didn’t have to be at the garage, when they read or watched TV, she slowly moved into his space until she was cuddled up to him, soft in his arms, her hair tickling his chin. She brought home another chaise for the deck and on rare sunny days, they walked across the beach to Cooper’s. She rubbed his feet and he massaged her shoulders after a karate session at the dojo she’d joined. They found a division of chores that came naturally. He usually did the dishes, they shared the laundry and he pushed the vacuum around because her arm was still weak and sometimes sore. They were always cleaning the bathroom or kitchen—they were equally fussy about those rooms. The one place she wanted autonomy was when she got a rainy-day cooking urge. If he got in her way, she shooed him out of the kitchen. She could be so focused. She allowed him to sit on a bar stool across from her work area. And though he watched her closely, she didn’t seem to even notice he was there. All these simple acts brought him amazing comfort.

While he was slow to make that transition from his motel to her house, one day he overheard her say something that stroked his male pride very nicely. At the diner Gina asked Laine, “And when your leave is over and you have to go back to work?”

“I can’t even think about it.”

Things were good, so good.

Eric didn’t necessarily want to put less energy into the service station, but he had been in touch with a couple of his best employees from Eugene to see if there was any interest in relocating to Thunder Point. So far he’d had no success. And then, in the middle of March when the buds were just forming on the plants and trees, when the sun came out more often than it hid, when he’d been a kept man for just a month, a truck pulled up to the station and parked outside the garage doors.

Eric wiped his hands on a rag and went outside to see what the customer needed, but as the man stepped out of the cab, Eric’s face split in a huge grin when he recognized Al Michel. He walked toward him and grabbed his hand in a firm grip. “Al,” he said. They pulled together, shoulder to shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

Al shrugged. “Just thought I’d check out your new setup,” he said. Then he looked around, sizing up the front of the station. “Lucky’s, is it?”

“You have no idea.” Eric laughed. “Looking for work?”

“I could do some, yeah. Unless you’re full up.”

“I’m not. In fact, I’m looking for help but the last time I called Eugene, no one knew where you’d gone.”

Al shook his head. “The new owner, he has some policies that didn’t sit well with me. He brought in some of his own people, lowered some wages— And he’s not interested in hiring any gypsies.”

“Lowered pay? He wasn’t supposed to do that,” Eric said, frowning.

“Seems like he forgot what he promised you. You might wanna give Rafael a call, ask him how he’s getting along. That man’s got a flock of kids and you know kids,” he said, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. “They’re so damn stubborn about eating. And they grow out of their shoes all the damn time.”

“Last time I talked to him, he was worried about the cost of a move. And his wife’s family is in Eugene. I’ll check in again and see if anything has changed for him. When can you start here?”

“I travel real light. I’ll go find myself a room somewhere and get right to it.” He nodded at Eric. “Guess you’re gonna make me wear one of those fancy uniforms.”