An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong #1)(11)
Chapter 5
I realized I was never told a start time, so I’m waiting in front of the shop at seven a.m. the next morning in a summery lemon skater dress with a basket of homemade apple cinnamon muffins, and a smile that swells when I spot Cal careening into the parking lot forty minutes later.
Alyssa was right. He has a motorcycle.
The guttural rumbling of the engine and the aroma of faint gasoline fumes have me flinching back while I watch him zip into a space and draw to a halt. As he pulls off his helmet, traces of early morning sunlight bathe him in a delicate glow, contrasting his hardened exterior and sour expression.
Cal ruffles his mop of hair and hops off the motorcycle, reaching for a stainless steel thermos mounted onto the bike’s seat tube. When he spots me standing by the door waving at him, my messy top-bun almost as big as my grin, he does a double-take, then stops in his tracks. The look on his face tells me he either forgot that he hired me, or he’s regretting that he hired me.
“Good morning!” I greet brightly, still waving. I’m not sure why I’m still waving, but my arm probably thinks that if it waves long enough, he’ll feel compelled to wave back.
He doesn’t, but he does give me a terse nod, which I convince my arm is almost the same thing. It lowers to my side.
“Morning,” he says in a gruff, pre-coffee voice—which is possibly his all-the-time voice. “You’re early again.” Digging into his pockets with his free hand, he pulls out a key as he strides toward me, averting his eyes.
Our arms touch when he brushes past. He smells freshly showered, like spice and earthy musk, and a funny feeling skates down my back as I squeeze the handle of the muffin basket. “I forgot to ask for my start time, so I showed up at seven,” I admit through a laugh.
Cal falters, sending me a frown over his wide shoulder. “You’ve been sitting out here for almost an hour?”
“Yep. I was practicing my customer service voice and stress-eating through two muffins.”
Glancing at the muffins, he pushes through the main door. “Half expected to see a trail of woodland animals following you around, waiting for a sing-along.”
Okay, so he does know how to make jokes.
I bite my lip, trying to hide the smile as I follow him into the main lobby, the chime of the jingle bells welcoming me. “Is that a compliment?”
“Don’t know yet.” He flips on a light. “You can throw your purse and girly stuff in the break room.”
I try to follow the direction his finger is pointing, but it’s non-specific, so I figure I’ll find my way there eventually.
Taking a sip from his thermos, Cal eyes the muffins again. “You bake a lot?”
“I do,” I nod. “And I wanted to make a good first impression. You know…with the guys.”
He falters mid-sip, his eyes sweeping over me in a slow pull before settling on my face. “You don’t need muffins for that, but doesn’t hurt.”
My skin heats, my insides filling with warmth. I’m fairly positive that was a compliment.
And, shock of the century, I have no idea what to say.
Frowning a little, he swipes a hand up and down the back of his head and musses his hair. Then he makes a sound that resembles a grumble, or maybe a sigh, and marches past me to his office. I stand there awkwardly, not knowing if I should follow him or not, trying to think of something to say that’s relevant and normal. Panicking, I blurt, “So, you work with cars, huh?”
I say it as if maybe he doesn’t.
A stretch of silence passes before Cal storms back out of the office with a baseball cap on his head. “Yeah, Lucy, I work with cars.” Moving behind the reception desk, he powers up the computer. “The guys will be in soon, and I can introduce you. We have three other mechanics here. Ike, Dante, and Kenny. Good guys, but let me know if they give you any trouble.”
“Trouble?” I gulp.
He lifts his eyes for a moment before typing something on the keyboard. “If they make a pass at you, or make you uncomfortable. The last receptionist we had here was Kenny’s grandmother.”
“Oh.” My smile strains. “I can hold my own.”
“All right.” Cal starts typing again. “Are you going to come watch what I’m doing?”
“Oh!” I nearly drop the muffin basket as I shuffle across the room and pop it on a chair along with my purse, then sprint over to where Cal is nearly taking up the entire desk with his bulky frame. “Right. I’m all eyes. And ears. And any other parts you need from me.” I wiggle my fingers, but then my cheeks flame when a less-innocent implication settles in. “For work,” I add, gesturing toward the computer.
One dark eyebrow arches to his hairline. “Are you always this hyper in the mornings?”
“Sorry, I’m nervous.”
“Why?”
“New job jitters. But it’s fine. I’m listening.” Wishing my hair was down to hide the pink stain on my cheeks, I move in closer and lean over the desk to watch the cursor dance across the screen. A software program shines back at me with a monkey logo, detailing different categories such as workflow, inventory, customer invoices, and technician reports.
Cal goes over everything quickly.
He’s one of those.
I’ve hardly grasped one thing before he’s showing me how to use the credit card reader, then talking about the petty cash box and listing off client appointments for the day. Luckily, I’ve been jotting down notes on a pad of paper, hoping I’ll have time to reread everything and fully absorb the tasks and system before the shop opens in an hour.