“How long will it take?” Amanda scanned the boxes of spare parts.
“I don’t know. A few hours, maybe?”
She turned her attention to the car, walking its length before facing him again. “Okay,” she said. “Do you need help?”
Dawson gave a wry smile. “Did you learn how to fix engines since I saw you last?”
“No.”
“I can take care of it after you leave,” he said. “No big deal.” Turning around, he gestured toward the house. “We can go back inside if you’d rather. It’s pretty hot out here.”
“I don’t want you to have to work late,” she said, and like an old habit rediscovered, she moved to the spot that had once been hers. She pushed a rusty tire iron out of the way and lifted herself onto the workbench before making herself comfortable. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow. And besides, I always liked watching you work.”
He thought he heard something akin to a promise in that, and it struck him that the years seemed to be looping back on themselves, allowing him to revisit the time and place where he’d been happiest. Turning away, he reminded himself that Amanda was married. The last thing she needed was the kind of complication that comes from trying to rewrite the past. He drew a slow, deliberate breath and reached for a box on the other end of the workbench.
“You’re going to get bored. This will take a while,” he said, trying to mask his thoughts.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m used to it.”
“Being bored?”
She tucked her legs up. “I used to sit here for hours waiting for you to finish so we could finally go and do something fun.”
“You should have said something.”
“When I couldn’t take it anymore, I would. But I knew that if I pulled you away too often, Tuck wouldn’t have let me come around anymore. That’s also why I didn’t keep you talking the whole time.”
Her face was partly in shadow, her voice a seductive call. Too many memories, with her sitting there the way she used to, talking like this. He lifted the carburetor from the box, inspecting it. It was refurbished but obviously done well, and he set it aside before skimming the work order.
He moved to the front of the car, popped the hood, and peered in. When he heard her clear her throat, he peeked at her.
“Well, considering Tuck’s not around,” she said, “I suppose we can talk all we want now, even if you are working.”
“Okay.” He stood straighter and stepped toward the workbench. “What do you want to talk about?”
She thought about it. “Okay, how about this? What do you remember most about the first summer we were together?”
He reached for a set of wrenches, considering the question. “I remember wondering why on earth you wanted to spend time with me.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. I had nothing and you had everything. You could have dated anyone. And though we tried to lie low, I knew even then that it would only cause you problems. It didn’t make sense to me.”
She rested her chin on her knees, hugging them tightly to her body. “You know what I remember? I remember the time you and I drove to Atlantic Beach. When we saw all the starfish? It was like they’d all washed up at once, and we walked the entire length of the beach, tossing them back into the water. And later, we split a burger and fries and watched the sun go down. We must have talked for twelve straight hours.”
She smiled before going on, knowing that he was remembering as well. “That’s why I loved being with you. We could do the simplest things, like toss starfish into the ocean and share a burger and talk and even then I knew that I was fortunate. Because you were the first guy who wasn’t constantly trying to impress me. You accepted who you were, but more than that, you accepted me for me. And nothing else mattered—not my family or your family or anyone else in the world. It was just us.” She paused. “I don’t know that I’ve ever felt as happy as I did that day, but then again, it was always like that when we were together. I never wanted it to end.”
He met her eyes. “Maybe it hasn’t.”
She understood then, with the distance that age and maturity brings, how much he’d loved her back then. And still did, something whispered inside her, and all at once she had the strange impression that everything they’d shared in the past had been the opening chapters in a book with a conclusion that had yet to be written.
The idea should have scared her, but it didn’t, and she ran her palm over the outline of their worn initials, carved into the workbench so many years ago. “I came here when my father died, you know.”