An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong #1)(47)

“Nash? He’s…” I shake my head, completely thrown. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“No?”

“No.”

Cal studies me hard for a few seconds, as if he’s trying to unveil the lie that doesn’t exist. “I figured he was.”

“Well, he’s not. I’m not into him like that. How do you even know it’s him?”

Blowing out a breath, he looks away, stuffing both hands into his pockets. “He called to make an appointment yesterday while you were on break. Asked if you were working. I don’t know many guys named Nash, so I put two and two together.”

“Oh,” I mutter, swiping the hair out of my eyes. “Okay. Maybe no other shops had availability.”

“Or maybe no other shops had you.” His eyebrow arcs.

I blush, not knowing what to say. It’s true I told Nash about my new job position at Cal’s Corner, and it’s true he said he’d stop by to see me some time, but I thought he was just making conversation. Trying to be nice. I didn’t think he’d actually show up.

Cal notices me flustering and pivots back to the t-shirts.

No, that’s worse!

“So, what’s wrong with the shirts?” he wonders, folding both arms over his navy muscle tee.

“Nothing.”

“Lucy.”

I untuck my hair, so it covers my reddening cheeks and just shake my head, clicking away at the keyboard. “Roy has an air filter problem again? How many times can that guy—”

“Lucy.”

“It’s fine, Cal. It’s not a big deal. Just don’t look at them.”

Off that dubious instruction, he immediately lets out a sigh and saunters over to the box, pulling the tabs back open. I wince with every creak of plastic, waiting for his wrath.

And then—

“What the hell, Lucy?”

“I’m sorry, okay? I don’t know what happened.” My face is burning with shame. I positively begged Cal to let me design these shirts, and I failed.

I’m failing at everything.

I’m flailing while failing.

I’m a flailure.

“It looks like I operate a brothel,” he snaps, releasing a half-sigh, half-growl. Cal tosses the shirt down before storming away, shaking his head as he makes his way to the service area. “Fix that.”

“I will! Promise!” I call back, but he’s already out of earshot, and the door slams shut.

Then I collapse onto the desk, forehead to forearms, cursing the printing company while simultaneously wondering if they did it on purpose just for laughs.

“Putting a Wench In Your Day”





I decide to put one of the t-shirts on, despite the mortifying typo. After calling the printing company, they offered to send out a batch of brand new shirts at no cost, and said to donate the faulty ones. I’m not sure what strangers out there would want to wear a shirt with the word “wench” on it, but maybe somebody. There’s got to be somebody. Either way, I’m taking one as a souvenir, because after thinking on it for a few hours, it’s actually fine. It’s funny, even.

Plus, Roy Allanson legitimately guffawed when he read it aloud, and that was after he was made aware of his eight-hundred dollar bill.

He ended up buying three of them.

The guys laughed, too, all of them changing into the t-shirts and calling the error “brilliant” and “hilarious.”

All of them except for Cal.

The curmudgeon.

I’ve hardly seen him since this morning, only brushing past him once in the break room when I went to retrieve my cheddar and honey sandwich and snack cup of lime Jell-O. He mumbled something about ordering new brake pads, and that was it. Radio silence ever since.

It’s now ten-past-three, which is when Nash walks in to pick up his Chevy Blazer. I didn’t get a chance to say hi this morning because Cal cornered him in the parking lot before he could even attempt to veer toward the entrance.

“Lucy,” Nash greets, triggering the jingle bells as he steps inside the lobby. He wanders up to the front desk, mussing his hair, looking shy and cute.

I grin brightly. “Hey, you. Car trouble?”

“Oil change,” he shrugs.

“Oh, wow. You made quite the trek. Don’t you live out by the wine bar?” I pull up his invoice on the computer, and sure enough, all he got was an oil change.

“I do, but I told you I’d stop by. How are you liking it here?”

“I like it a lot, actually. The guys are great.”

Swiping at his honeyed hair again, he peeks over at the garage area before stepping closer. “That was the guy from the show a few weeks ago, right?”

I blink through a nod, fiddling with the ends of my sweater sleeves.

“Are you guys…together?”

Clearly, there is something in the water today. Nash thinks I’m with Cal; Cal thinks I’m with Nash. Alyssa thinks I should bang them both. But, in reality, the only long-term relationship I’m in is with my dogs.

And carbs.

I shake my head, forcing a laugh as I break eye contact. “No, no. We’re just friends. We grew up together.” He gives me an odd look, a little ambiguous, so I keep going. “We’re not even really friends, I don’t think. He’s not overly friendly. I mean, he is when he wants to be, but he doesn’t usually want to be, so—”