At the Stars(23)

Whatever you’re looking for, I can’t give it to you.

Well, screw that and screw him. I got something fantastic out of that night, and that was exactly what I needed. It was all I needed. He can take his damage and his “I don’t date” and whatever else and peddle it down the street. I wasn’t looking to marry him for crying out loud.

“Cassie. Hey.” I hear my name as that silly little bell over the door jingles to let us know someone’s come in.

I know it’s him, but I still look around to make sure of who’s asking for me. Jake’s approaching with a roll of paper in his hand and a frustrated-looking frown on his face. I wonder if he’s still upset with me for what happened the other night. If he is, I guess he doesn’t have to offer me a ride ever again.

I straighten up and try to look like him walking in with that intense line down the middle of his forehead doesn’t make my fingertips tingle. “Are you here for coffee? We’ve already shut down the cappuccino machine, but I can still get you a cup of dark roast. Or some tea.”

“Actually, I came to talk to you about your car.” He holds up the roll of papers and moves to flatten them on a newly cleaned table. “Got a few minutes?”

I glance over my shoulder at Delia, who’s clearing out the last few muffins and scones from the bakery case. “I should finish closing.” She seemed tired so I offered to stay later today. I don’t want to bail on her now.

Delia flips a hand. “You’re not even supposed to still be here. Go on.”

My heart thumps hard while we sit across from each other. It’s nerves about the car, right? I hope he’s brought me a solution, but I’m worried he hasn’t. I’ve resolved to put the rest of the never-was between us in the “happy memory” section of my brain, so it certainly couldn’t have anything to do with that.

Still, I use the fact that he’s looking down at the table as an excuse to watch his face. The flutter of his lashes when he blinks. The way his throat works when he swallows. Not his lips. Not those. I look everywhere except there, like his strong nose and the dark stubble that has hints of auburn in the afternoon sunlight. Like the dimple in his chin that manages to make that strong, solid jawline look only slightly less intimidating.

“So. I have a few different suggestions for you.” He points at a page with a price tag that almost makes my head explode.

“Are you nuts? That’s like triple what a used engine would cost.” I scoot my chair back, ready to stand and walk away. Clearly, we’re not speaking the same language if he thinks I can afford that much for a car.

His hand lands on top of mine. “Hang on. Hear me out.”

I go still and mute, listening mostly because he’s shocked me by putting his hand on me. Sure, it’s a pretty platonic gesture. It’s still that same big, warm, callused hand that caressed the back of my neck for a few amazing seconds before he forgot our tongues shouldn’t touch. The hand that wrapped itself around my arm and pulled me out of the path of my own stupidity and an oncoming truck.

“I’m listening,” I say. “But—”

“It’s a certified pre-owned. You could put down however much you can afford, and as long as you have decent credit they would work with you to make the payments reasonable. It’s safer, it’s less out of pocket all at once. As soon you get to where you’re going and find a job, hopefully you’ll have enough to manage paying it off.” His feet bounce so fast the little bistro table rattles under his knees. He has a good idea, and I hate to tell him it won’t work.

“I appreciate the suggestion, but it’s a big if.” I bite my lip knowing I shouldn’t, but I can’t seem to stop myself. I hate to smack down his suggestion, but this idea makes me too nervous. “I don’t even know where I’m going to land, or what I’ll get a job doing once I get there. Making enough to cover rent is one thing. Rent plus a car payment is even harder. It’s too big a risk.”

He nods and pulls out a few ads for other used cars, but they’re all either out of my price range, or they need repairs even he seems unsure about. “This one,” he says, tapping the picture of an older sedan. “All I could find wrong is a cracked manifold. I can solder it easy enough, but the troubling thing is the mileage is high. These are good cars, but if you spend time and money to fix one thing, you never know what else might break. Especially when the car hasn’t been in your possession.”

I can’t stop myself from smiling. “So not to sound stupid, but why’d you suggest this one if you think it has too many miles?”