Driving through town, I smiled at all the people who had stopped in the middle of running errands or shopping just to say high, but the truth was they were most likely exchanging the latest gossip. It could also be recipes, changes to the Sweet Treats menu, Megan and Casey’s impromptu softball game and wedding, or taking bets on when Gus and Antonio would tie the knot. Like I said, gossip.
By the time I reached the edge of town, my thoughts were back on Persephone and those beautiful violet eyes. They saw everything, except the truth of what I felt for her. Or maybe she did see it, and she didn’t want it.
That was a hard pill to swallow, but if that was the truth, I would find a way to accept it.
But not before I made a genuine and concerted effort to make her mine.
“What in the hell?”
I found the antique, a 1957 Chevy Bel Air—metallic red paint, white convertible top, and I’d bet anything the interior was white with red threading. The damn thing had smoke coming out of both ends and I drove another quarter-mile up the road to turn around and pull in front of the fire hazard.
The car was a thing of beauty, and well maintained, too. Except for all the smoke. So much damn smoke.
“What seems to be the problem?” I bent down near the driver’s seat and found the car empty.
A dark head of hair appeared first on the other side of the car, and then a face appeared. Familiar, with surprised green eyes and messy blond hair—and instantly I knew who it was.
“Holy shit, man, am I glad to see you. Anyone, really, but it’s been a minute since anyone zoomed past here. I was startin’ to wonder if this town really existed. The name is Gavin. Think you can give me a ride into town? I can pay.”
I laughed and shook my head at his word vomit. “Yeah, man, I know who you are. Gavin Ross, lead singer of Tragic Havoc. What I don’t know is what the hell you’ve done to this Bel Air.”
He flashed a smile that I’d heard Persephone gasp at on more than one occasion, and I wanted to hate the guy. But his music was good and he seemed like an all right guy. “No fucking clue, man. It just jerked, bubbled and hissed, and then went to shit. Know a good mechanic?”
I thumbed at the flatbed parked about twenty feet in front of us. “Mechanic and damn good restorer.”
His eyes widened. “No shit?”
“No shit.” I popped the hood and shook my head. The car was in excellent condition, on the outside. The inside had been sorely neglected. “Don’t you have people who make sure you get regular maintenance on your cars?”
“Uh, yeah. Normally. I won this beauty on my way, in a card game in Vegas.”
Vegas? “You got here from Los Angeles through Vegas?”
Gavin shrugged and put a finger to his lips. “As long as you promise not to tell my agent, then yeah.”
“You won it in a card game? You got proof of that?”
“Deed’s in the glove compartment. The guy said it was a good, solid car, and look,” he knocked on the hood, “how sturdy she is. I guess maybe I should have done a tune up or something before driving from Vegas to Oregon?”
“You think?”
“Now I do.”
I laughed and shook my head before getting the car hitched up on the flatbed. “Where do you need to go?”
“Just to town. I can make my way to my appointment from there.”
A man’s secrets were his own so I gave him a nod and then motioned for him to hop in the passenger seat. “Hop in.”
We drove mostly in silence. Gavin seemed deep in thought, so I left him to it, but I was curious as hell what brought him to Jackson’s Ridge.
Gavin played finger drums on his knees, hummed along to an old country rock ballad, and did everything to avoid talking about his reason for coming to town. “This place is so real, man. So fucking real.”
“Guess you don’t get a lot of that in your life?”
“Not enough,” he grumbled.
“That’s why you get the money and the willing women, to make up for your lack of reality.”
Gavin Ross laughed and shook his head, shoulders heavy with the weight of the world on them. “Maybe.”
You want to come into the shop? It’s empty now so you can have a few more minutes of reality.”
“Yeah, I should probably check on Sue Ellen, make sure she’s all right.”
“Sue Ellen?”
“That’s what the guy I won the car from called her. It wouldn’t be right to change her name.”
“Obviously,” I shot back, sarcasm heavy in my voice.
After a quick exam, I shrugged and turned to the rock star walking around my shop. “She’s not damaged beyond repair, but it might be a few weeks before she’s ready to go back on the road.”