Roots and Wings (City Limits #1)(14)

I couldn’t help myself that time. I laughed. And then I laughed a little more. There sat a red and orange, nineteen eighty-something piece of suburban history.

“The Astro Van?” I asked.

He answered, “The Astro Vaughn.”

Perfect. It was too funny, too ugly, and too awesome to say no to. What choice did I have anyway?

“You’ll rent me that?”

“Well, Astro, you’re going to have a big bill from me. I don’t need you out blowing your money on rentals. You know what I mean? I’m practical.”

“And generous, too. And did you just call me Astro?” As much as this guy liked giving me a hard time, I kind of liked him. I saw easily where O’Fallon got her spunk.

“I like Astro better than Van. It suits you. Mutt, go get the keys and show him the Vaughn. Would you?” he said and then took the steps up the side of the loading dock back into the garage.

Clearly, the van hadn’t been driven in a while, but it was well taken care of, as far as thirty-year-old Astro vans went.

I walked over to it and tried the handle, but it was locked. Cupping my hands around my face, I pressed my head against the glass to look inside.

It was clean and the back seats were pulled out. It would actually work out pretty good for hauling things from the hardware store, which was the next place on my list.

“It’s not that bad. I drove it,” O’Fallon said, walking up beside me.

“It’ll work. I can’t really be too picky, can I?”

“Nope,” she answered as she dropped the keys in my hand. “Sometimes you have to pump it a few times for it to start, but be careful or you’ll flood it. The air conditioner doesn’t work, but it’s not that hot yet, and…”

“I think I can manage,” I said, focused on trying to get the door open. The key wouldn’t turn. The handle stayed stuck up when I lifted it.

“I wasn’t done yet,” she rattled off then pushed me out of the way. She shoved her shoulder against the door and the handle fell back into the normal position. “Sometimes you have to give the door a shove. It gets stuck.”

So I noticed, and I noticed the other guy who worked there watching the whole thing play out as well.

I gave him a little wave, but he turned and walked in.

“There you go,” she said with an eyebrow cocked. “Drive safely.”

She was feisty.

As many shitty things as the universe had thrown into my life over the past month, that hot, smartass look on her face made everything okay with me.

I was so glad I was there.





I couldn’t believe he drove off in that thing. I hated the van. I only drove it for a summer in high school before I couldn’t do it anymore and dipped into my savings for my truck.

It didn’t seem to faze him at all.

Vaughn had shitty luck. I was almost scared to spend any more time with him, but, still, I couldn’t stay away.

I went to the house that night and helped him after work, and the next night, and the one after that.

I didn’t finish a single lure that I’d promised Mr. Walton, and I knew he’d be up my ass if I didn’t get them done, but I liked going to Vaughn’s place.

It was really coming together, too.

The flooring people came. Appliances were delivered. The new countertop arrived, and even though he hated it, I kind of liked it. I thought it was different.

Soon, we were moving furniture around, and I helped him unpack some of the kitchen things, putting silverware and pots and pans where they needed to go.

He asked about local sports and what it was like growing up in a small town, and I tried to only hit the highlights.

I didn’t need him running off, or looking for somewhere else to go. Not after all of the hard work we’d—he’d—put into his house.

So I was surprised when I showed up and he wasn’t in his normal go-getter mode. He was unpacking some stuff in the living room. When I came in the front door, he roughly shoved something back in a box and shut it. It looked like a picture.

I wondered if it was a picture of them before they broke up. Or before whatever happened, happened.

“Sorry, was I interrupting?” I said. It was Saturday morning, and the night before we’d finished painting the two extra bedrooms upstairs. We’d been up late, and I don’t even think I made it home until about midnight.

He sighed. “Why do you keep showing up here?” His voice wasn’t angry or rude, mostly solemn. Maybe a little curious.

It made me think, who wouldn’t want to be there with him?

“Why don’t you tell me to go away?”

We stood there, me in his doorway, him on the other side of the room, and stared at each other.

Neither of us answered, and after a while, I didn’t know what I should do. I considered going home or going fishing, since it was nice, or just leaving.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I went into his laundry room, like I had every right to, picked up the basket of clean towels I’d folded and left there the night before. Then, I marched past him, up the stairs and put them in the closet in the hall.

After that, I went into one of the extra bedrooms, unpacked the new bedding he’d brought with him and made the bed. When I was threading the curtain rod through one of the sheer linen panels for the windows in that room, he came in and helped me.