It took fifteen minutes of wrong turns and dead-end streets to find Maynard’s Garage. They pulled into the dirt parking lot, the motorcycle rumbling beneath them. Stacks of tires and car parts nearly hid the front of the building. Paint chipped and peeled off the bay doors.
“My car’s being brought here?” Lucinda whispered.
“Yep. Dandy place, isn’t it? Instills confidence just lookin’ at it.” Ignoring her rather unladylike snort, he helped her off the bike. “Let’s find out what’s going on.”
They stepped into the building’s dark interior and nearly ran headlong into a burly man in greasy overalls wiping his hands on a dirty rag.
“Mr. Maynard?”
“That would be me. Maynard’s the first name, though.”
Extending her hand, Lucinda introduced herself and asked about her car.
“Wrecker left not five minutes ago to pick up your baby. Should have it back here in no time. Then I can tell you what she’s gonna need.” He scratched his head. “You two got somewhere to go in the meantime? Rae Lyn down to the corner’s got real homemade peach ice cream today. And Mabs makes the best peach cobbler you’ll ever taste. Her diner’s at the end of the street.”
“We’ll manage,” Jake said. “You’ve got my cell number?”
“Yep. I’ll give you a call once I’ve had a chance to check her out.”
“Can I park my bike here?”
“You betcha. Saw you pull up. That bike is a thing of beauty. If you ain’t got enough money to cover the car repairs, we might be able to work out some deal with the bike.”
Jake paled, and Lucinda quickly stepped in. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll be able to bail it out when the time comes.”
“Just sayin’.” Maynard scratched his balding head again. “Might be pretty steep.”
“I’ll manage.”
Her chest tightened. Despite what she’d told Jake about being ready for an adventure, doubts crept in. What would she do if Maynard couldn’t fix her car? Or if it took too long? But her options were limited. Faking a confidence she didn’t feel, Lucinda left the garage with Jake.
They navigated their way along a sidewalk littered with kids and their sticky, cotton-candy-covered fingers, and adults who gawked mindlessly at the festivities. At the far side of town stood the home of the world’s best peach cobbler.
Mabs’ Place did the town proud. Cheery yellow tables and chairs, late sunlight bouncing off the chrome-rimmed counter, and the smell of coffee and fresh peaches.
Within minutes she and Jake were seated and sipping their first cup of some of the best coffee she’d drunk in ages. Far better than the gourmet stuff they served in the fancy restaurants she usually went to.
The cobbler, warm and topped with a scoop of vanilla-bean ice cream, all but melted on her tongue.
“Mabs could make a fortune off this,” she said.
Jake didn’t answer. She studied him. He seemed restless. Maybe she was keeping him from something? Maybe he was worrying about his grandmother. She tried to think of a safe topic, something to talk about with this handsome stranger.
“Tell me about your grandmother.”
Jake smiled. “Grandma Hattie. What do you want to know? She’s eighty-nine and makes a mean banana pudding. She’s as feisty as they come. A real go-getter.” His eyes clouded, and his smile slipped. “At least, she was.”
“Jake.” Lucinda reached across the table, but he pulled his hand away.
“No, it’s okay.” He started talking again, his face relaxing as he shared stories about Grandma Hattie, his police-chief father, and his third-grade-teacher mom. Whatever was bothering him, he seemed to have put it to rest. He told her about his sister Birdie and her young son Sammy, and by the time they were on their second cup of coffee, he was telling her about his Wyoming oil-rig days as a roughneck. That would explain his buff bod, she reflected. Those guys worked hard and either muscled up or fell by the wayside.
“How long were you in Bay Saint Louis?”
The sudden silence told her that had been the wrong thing to ask. He broke it with a smile and changed the subject, but not before she’d seen a flicker of anger cross his eyes.
Lucinda let it go. It was the least she could do considering he’d never once asked a single question about the day’s fiasco. For that alone, she could have kissed his feet.
She’d just finished her last bite of cobbler when an overwhelming tiredness washed over her. The last few hours had been long and stressful, and she’d hit the wall.
The sun had dipped low in the sky, and dusk was settling in outside the windows when Maynard called to say there was nothing he could do to the car tonight. It was indeed the alternator.