Strip him down and hand him a wrench and he could be my Mr. January.

Devin stops dead in his tracks when he sees me. I give him a wave. Rob looks back and forth between the two of us, that mustache twitching with excitement.

“Hey, Devin.” I wait for him to respond. To show any sign of recognition. “I’m Austin’s friend. Jessie?”

He grunts. Was that a response? Ugh, this guy’s impossible.

“I brought in the classic I was telling you about.” Rob’s ears perk up and he leans across the counter, scouring the parking lot.

“2010 Civic,” Devin tells Rob flatly. So he does remember me.

Rob cracks up laughing. I give a light chuckle. Devin doesn’t flinch.

“She’s my baby,” I deadpan. I level Devin with the sexiest eyes I can muster. “Think you can handle her?”

“What do you need?”

“The full service. Just pop that hood and have at her.”

“Keys,” he demands.

I toss them at him, underhand but with gusto, aiming for his head. He catches them in his right hand, but moves them to his other and rubs the sting out. He’s shaking his head, so I can’t be sure, but I’d put money on him fighting back a smile. He brushes past me towards the parking lot. The telltale jingle of those Christmas bells tells me he’s through the door. I walk up to Rob, shaking my head.

“I’ll tell you what, Rob.” I drop onto my elbows on the high counter in front of him. “That is one tough nut to crack.”

Rob lets out a jovial chuckle. “He certainly is.” Rob leans forward too, matching me.

I narrow my eyes and watch Devin working. He pops the hood and starts poking around at things I don’t care to understand.

“Something tells me he’s worth it though.” I’m talking more to myself than anything.

“For the right woman, I’m sure it is,” Rob muses.

I nod a few times, making an impulsive decision that is going to make my busy life just a little bit crazier.

“Okay, Rob. How about you help a girl out?”

Chapter Five

Devin

After five minutes of trying to decipher the chicken scratch on the invoice in front of me, I call out, “Mikey, your handwriting is shit. What did you do on that Ford?”

“The Focus or the Ranger?” he calls.

“Focus.”

“Replaced the rear shocks.”

That makes more sense than my previous guess of relays hack.

The shop is quiet. Instead of managing the counter, I have time for the mind-numbing task of inputting the handwritten invoices from our mechanics into the ancient computer to track our sales and inventory. I hate this shit. I’d much rather be elbow-deep in an engine block, but I’ve been trapped behind the desk in this cramped back office since Rob had his heart attack two years ago. He’s back to working a few days a week now, but I’m still managing pretty much everything. When Rob was in the hospital, I promised his wife, Mandy, I wouldn’t let him work himself to death. After everything they’ve done for me and my sister, it’s the least I could do.