“Hi,” she repeated stupidly. She’d been wrong again.
He was clearly a very big deal.
* * *
He sprung up from the creeper and set down the wrench on a trolley filled with tools.
“She’s all ready for you,” he said, walking toward her. Emma unfastened her gaze from the vision of him removing the work gloves from large, well-shaped, very . . . capable-looking hands.
“How bad was it?” she asked.
“Not bad at all. Just needed someone to give it a little attention.”
She grimaced. “That hasn’t been me, unfortunately. So many things have been breaking down recently. I haven’t had the energy to deal with something that wasn’t broken. Yet,” she added sheepishly.
“What else is broken?” he asked, studying her with a lowered brow.
“What isn’t?” she asked with a laugh. “I’ve put in about a hundred requests with my apartment owner for maintenance to come fix my backed-up kitchen sink, the hot-water heater, the icemaker . . . the list goes on, but there doesn’t appear to be a lot of consequences for a landlord who just ignores a tenant’s requests.” She noticed his slanted brows and slight scowl and realized how whiny she probably sounded. “It’s not a big deal. I have a friend who has a dad that’s a cop in Cedar Bluff. He used to work for the Chicago Police Department. He said he’ll walk me through how to file a formal complaint with the housing commission against our apartment owner. Apparently, the owner isn’t the most upstanding citizen. Anyway, I can’t thank you enough for fixing the one thing I really couldn’t afford to have broken,” she said, waving at her car. “A hospice nurse spends a lot of time driving.”
“It’s a nice little car.”
Emma laughed. “Seriously? You were working way below your normal standards,” she said, nodding toward the other superexpensive, rare, and luxurious vehicles lined up in the garage. “Like having to eat cornflakes when you’re used to caviar.”
“I hate caviar.”
“Me, too.” She realized she was grinning at him idiotically and looked away. “Even though I only had it once.”
“You’re not missing much,” he said, flicking his gloves against the palm of his hand. Was he impatient to be gone?
“Well I can’t thank you enough, both for this and last night.” There didn’t seem to be a good place anywhere to rest her gaze.
“Do you want to see some of my cars?”
“Okay,” she said. Had he realized she was uncomfortable and tried to distract her from her embarrassment? That was nice, but somehow even more embarrassing. She fell into step beside him as he began to walk between the two rows of cars.
“You look pale,” he said bluntly. “Is everything okay?” He sounded stiff asking. With a flash of insight, she realized he wasn’t cold. Not really. He just wasn’t used to being solicitous.
He’d slowed down next to a gorgeous, shining ivory-colored vintage car.
“I . . . kind of had a rough night, that’s all,” she said shrugging, stopping because he’d stopped.
His blue-green eyes raked over her face. “Fight with your boyfriend?”
She exhaled in disgusted disbelief. She was either the most transparent person in the world, or those eyes of his really were X rays. “As it turns out, I don’t have a boyfriend anymore.”
“What?”
To her horror, she felt emotion tighten her throat. Had it lain in wait this whole time, ready to spring up on her at the moment she least wanted to feel it? She laughed to hide her sudden discomposure and looked away from his intent expression.
“I walked in on my boyfriend with . . . someone else last night.” She hadn’t breathed a word of the truth to anyone, why Michael Montand, of all people? “We’ve been together for two years,” she added lamely.
He muttered a muted, yet blistering curse.
“It’s okay,” she said, avoiding his stare. She feared she’d see pity on his bold features—or worse, impatience or bemusement at her personal admission to a near stranger. “I probably should have called things off between us a long time ago.”
“Why didn’t you?” Montand asked.
“Because he was a safety net? Because I’m a coward?” she asked, a bark of hysterical laughter popping out of her throat.