“Sorry, but it’s the truth.” Austin holds his arms up in surrender.

“Fine. Then, why don’t you give him my number?”

“How do you know I haven’t?”

My heart flutters. “Did he ask you for my number?”

“No. He didn’t.” Austin gives Elizabeth a pointed look. “But he has it. If he hasn’t called you, it’s because he doesn’t want to talk.”

“Talking isn’t Devin’s favorite pastime,” Elizabeth adds. “That doesn’t mean he isn’t interested.”

I give her a quick nod. Austin gives her a WTF look.

“You have a car, right?” Elizabeth asks, pointing off into the parking lot.

“Yeah, why?”

The mischievous glint in her eyes looks unnatural on Elizabeth’s sweet face. “Think it’s about time for a service?”

“Elizabeth…” Austin grumbles.

“What? I’m concerned about our friend’s safety. Car maintenance is serious.” Elizabeth reaches up on her tiptoes and kisses Austin on the cheek before turning to me. “And I happen to know the perfect place.”

* * * *

A quick lap of the auto shop parking lot confirms Devin’s old muscle car is here. Butterflies dance in my stomach when I open the door to the soft jingle of Christmas bells hanging from the inside handle. Christmas was a few weeks ago, but those bells look like they’ve been in place for the past dozen Christmases. The faint smell of gas, grime and sweat swirls around me.

The quaint reception area is glassed-in, allowing me to peek out across the garage where guys in overalls are busy on a handful of cars. I examine each one, looking for Devin, but can’t see him. There’s a young guy, an old guy and a very angry looking woman. I bite my lip as disappointment trickles into my mind.

“Can I help you, Miss?” an older man asks from behind the counter. He has kind blue eyes and a soft smile topped by a thick salt-and-pepper Ron Burgundy-esque mustache. I can’t help but smile back.

“Hi, I’m Jessie.” I cross the small space and hold out my hand.

“Rob. What can I do for you, Jessie?” he asks, giving my hand a firm shake.

“Well, Rob, I’m looking for a friend of mine who works here. Devin?”

A sly smile curls up the ends of Rob’s bushy mustache. He crosses his arms with a light chuckle, nods a few times then calls out, “Devin!”

“What?” a gruff voice hollers from a back room I hadn’t noticed before.

“You’ve got a visitor,” Rob adds in a singsong voice. A lesser woman would blush, but I have no shame.

The sound of annoyed grumbling is accompanied by a chair scraping against the floor and paper rustling. I have a meager few seconds to prepare for the sight of Devin’s hulking body taking up most of the door frame. He’s even sexier than I remember. His tattoos peek out from under a gray shirt whose sleeves are pushed up to his elbows. Over that, he’s wearing a dark-blue collared shirt bearing the shop’s name on the breast pocket. It’s unbuttoned and frames his firm chest. His faded jeans have black stains across the thighs and his feet are clad in scuffed black boots. Combined with the five-o’clock shadow on his strong jaw, his messy black hair and the menacing look in those dark eyes, he belongs on the cover of a sexy workmen’s calendar, the kind that has burly half-naked guys in random themes for each month.