Sixteen

Ella Fitzgerald crooned on the old, paint-splattered radio in the corner, the winter wonderland she described in keeping with the temperatures in Nate’s garage.

The little kerosene heater was having trouble keeping up with the demands of the early morning cold, but Nate didn’t much care. He was kneeling on a tarp, which was holding the exploded parts of his ‘56 Ford’s vintage carburetor.

The disassembly had been fairly textbook, and now he was scrubbing each piece with the specialized cleaner and a small brush. His hands were grungy from handling the parts, and his clothes held similar stains.

It was cathartic to take something that had once been clogged, dirty, unusable and shine it up, clear the muck, and make it like new again.

How he wished that life were that easy. That relationships were that easy. Hell, if he’d adopted a dog at Hopeful Paws a few weeks ago, at least he wouldn’t be so damn alone.

And that ball-buster of a text from Allison. He hadn’t seen that coming at all. And he still wasn’t sure what to do about it.

He wanted to go straight to her and tell her about Deb, but her text had told him in no uncertain terms that she wouldn’t see him. He’d tried, even though it was late.

He’d called her phone. No answer.

He’d gone to her house. Nobody home.

He’d even sent her an email. No response.

So, he waited. And now it was the next morning, and he still wasn’t sure if he’d done all he could.

He couldn’t waffle for long. Deb could already be making moves on another of Allison’s clients. If Allison didn’t know, she couldn’t stop the bleeding.

But why had Allison suddenly gotten upset about their being together? That was the thing that had driven him out of his house in the early morning hours, into the cold of his fluorescent-lit garage where the big hulk of a Ford rested with a tarp covering it when Nate wasn’t working.

It just didn’t make sense. The two of them had come to an accord. And even when she’d put him off the other day, she hadn’t warned him off like that.

God, he just couldn’t unwrap what was going on. And he likely wouldn’t be able to until he talked to her.

Which she’d expressly denied.

Goddamn it.

With the pieces of the carburetor clean, he wiped down his hands and began the careful process of putting it back together. Through the small window above his workbench, sunlight had begun to stream in.

How long had he been out there? Who knew. He didn’t care. A news report was coming on the radio now, traffic and weather and general stuff that didn’t penetrate his brain.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he wiped his hands on a clean rag before pulling it free and looking at the screen. A number not in his address book showed on the screen. He answered, walking toward the house.

“Hello?”

“Is this Nate?”

Nate cleared his throat. The caller was female, and the voice was slightly familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“Yes, this is he.”

“Hi, Nate, it’s Everly Pitts, from Hopeful Paws.”

Oh, yeah. Drake’s fiancée. “Hi.”

“Sorry to call you so early, but I’ve got kind of a situation. You’re scheduled to come in for a volunteer shift this afternoon…”

He smacked his palm against his forehead. He’d completely forgotten that in the whirlwind of what had been going on with Allison, Deb, and the thing with Chaz yesterday. “Yes, I’ll be there.”

“Do you think—and I hate to ask you this, I really do, but I’m desperate—do you think you could come early? Another one of the firefighters was supposed to come in, but he’s a no-show.”

“I’ll be there in half an hour or so.”

“Thanks, Nate.” The relief was clear in Everly’s tone. “I owe you one.”

The cell clattered to the top of the bureau as Nate pulled a clean shirt from the closet.

After all, it wasn’t like Nate was doing any good sitting there and moping over Allison. If he kept his hands busy, maybe the answer to their problems would come to him.

The Hopeful Paws parking lot was filled with trees, and cars, so Nate parked in the vacant lot across the road and hoofed it to the shelter.

The closer he got, the louder the Christmas music became, along with some chatter from assembled volunteers and customers. It looked like they were doing a pretty good business here. There had obviously been many more trees when they'd started, and now the remains were spaced out to take up the space.

“Nate!”

At the sound of his name he turned. At the door of the rescue stood a woman in a fluffy gray fleece. Her toboggan had puffy pompoms hanging down from the ears, and one of them was tangled around a blonde braid.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the tree corral.

“No problem,” he said, mentally searching for her name. He’d met her before.

“I’m not sure if you remember me,” she let go as they reached the first few fluffy spruce trees that leaned drunkenly against one another. “Charlie?”

“Of course, Miss Charlie.” He nodded. “What can I do to help?”

“Well, you can keep Roger from getting crushed.”

He blinked and she was gone, tearing across the parking lot with those pompoms and braids streaming out behind her. Once he followed her line of sight he hauled ass after her.

“Thanks,” said the thin, elderly man who’d been doing his best to tie a massive Christmas tree to the roof of an SUV. He’d gotten trapped between the trunk and the vehicle, with zero leverage to free himself. Charlie and Nate lifted the trunk and he wiggled out from underneath it.

“I haven’t had a volunteer die on me yet, Roger, don’t you be the first,” Charlie admonished with a nervous laugh as Nate yanked the tree into position atop the roof.

The three of them had the spruce tied down to the SUV’s roof rack in short order, and then Charlie waved off the customers with a smile.

“Is it usually this exciting?”

She snorted at Nate's drily worded question. “Thankfully, not always, but there are days…”

Nate looked toward the corral. Everly was standing at the register, accepting a credit card from a thin woman. “Basically I’m on tree loading duty?”

“You got it, Tex.”

He was glad to put his muscles to work for the cause. Hopeful Paws was a nice place, and Everly and Charlie were good people. From time to time, he’d look back through the windows, wondering about that little black and white shepherd pup he’d met a few weeks ago.

Buffy had been her name, and the little girl was sweet. The idea of letting her sleep at the foot of his bed had popped into his head several times since he’d seen her, but here, right outside the building where he’d met her, the pull was curiously strong.

“Don’t need a shepherd,” he grunted to himself as he shoved a fir tree over into an empty space. They’d cleared out so many that the lot was looking thin, so he’d taken it upon himself to rearrange the merchandise. “Too high energy.”

“Only when they’re young, and they’re super trainable. As long as they get in some good exercise they won’t be destructive.”

He looked up in surprise. Charlie was there, holding a steaming Styrofoam cup out to him with a smile. “It’s cocoa.”

“Thanks,” he said, pulling off one work glove and accepting the drink. A slow, smooth sip made him realize how cold his lips had gotten. The work had kept his muscles warm, but there was no escaping the chill of the day.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“It’s okay, I’m the dumbass that was talking out loud.”

Charlie laughed at that, and leaned against the fence beside him. “I get it. Once you’ve seen a less-than-model citizen of any breed, it can be hard to adjust your expectations of what they’re like. And it’s super important to find the right dog for your lifestyle.”

“Hhm.” Nate wasn’t sure what to say, so he’d just grunted.

“Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Nate looked down at the cup in his hands, and then back to Charlie. Ah. This wasn’t a “thank you for volunteering” cup of cocoa. This was a cup of cocoa that came with a price.

Well, hell.

“What is?”

She cleared her throat and looked away. “I had dinner with Allison last night.”

His heart flipped over in his chest and his adrenalines started pumping, as if she was nearby and all he had to do was run to her and things would be right again. But of course, there was no one there but him, and Charlie, and Roger who'd gone inside to warm up.

“Oh?” Was all he said.

“Yeah. She told me some pretty interesting stuff.”

“I don’t think she’d be very happy about you spilling those particular beans to me.” He took a deep swig of his cocoa. Damn him for a fool. Of course, he wanted to know every word that had fallen from her lips. Every syllable was important, because it might help him bridge the divide between them.

But breaking her trust was a no-go for him.

“She thinks you’re about to propose.”

The concrete fell away from beneath his feet. “What?”

“Her assistant told her that she saw you in the jewelry store, picking out engagement rings.” Charlie looked down at the toes of her scuffed black leather combat boots. “She said you’d know how she felt about marriage, and that thought was making her pants-pissing terrified, because she knows there’s a good chance she’ll lose you.”

“But I’m not going to propose.”

Charlie’s gaze flew to his. “What?”

Nate shook his head, and the fragile Styrofoam in his palm threatened to collapse under his too-tight grip. “That’s—it’s wrong. I wasn’t—it’s a misunderstanding. Her business rival is trying to screw up her personal life too.” He shoved to standing. “I’ve got to go see her.”

Charlie frowned. “She told me she was going out of town, to her parents’ place in Austin, and she won’t be back until Christmas Eve.”

Cocoa sloshed over his palm, thankfully cool enough that it didn’t burn him. But the worry within him had no release, and he wanted to howl with frustration.

Deb. She’d fucked over Allison’s business, and now she wanted to fuck over their relationship too?

No. It couldn’t happen.

“I need to think,” Nate said, and Charlie took the cup from him. Her brown eyes were sad.

“Take all the time you need.”

He rounded the building and spied a pile of pallets by the back door. The jumbled pieces of wood gave him something to do, a physical task that would help tone down the adrenaline and clear the cobwebs from his skull.

His work gloves made rasping noises against the wood as he pulled apart the pile and re-stacked it.

Allison. He had to find a way to make her listen to him. To show her that above anything else, he knew her. That her feelings had always been of the utmost importance to him, even when it meant denying himself what he wanted. That he’d been moving things along at a snail’s pace simply because he’d known it was what she wanted.

She should know him better than that. The two of them had been so close for so long. Did she really think he’d up and ask her to get hitched just like that?

His muscles burned as he lifted the heavy, weathered pallets, stacking them one on top of the other, the physical labor giving his anger an outlet.

Yeah, he was pissed. He loved her. Fucking loved the hell out of that woman, and she took the word of a person she’d known for less than a year rather than talk it out with him?

“Fuck,” he spat, shoving the last pallet atop the pile in a crooked, drunken way.

Heaving, with his hands on his hips, he stared down at the gravel beneath his feet.

She’d always been decisive. Bullheaded, he thought once in a while. And usually that worked out to her benefit.

Not this time. She’d made her mind up about him too damn quick this time. But his life was hers for the taking.

Hell, it had been for years. For so long, in fact, that he didn’t remember what life was like before his planet started revolving around her sun.

It had to have been back in high school, maybe, when he’d gotten that letter from her. The one he’d answered but never could send her, and when he'd gotten up the courage…

He yanked off his work gloves as he looked skyward.

That was it. He could show her that she had always been—and to this day, was—his highest concern.

Waiting until Christmas Eve just might kill him, though. He’d have to find another way.