Left (Left 1)

“Whatever you want I’ll make it happen,” I promise as I hang up. There are wounds we need to heal. I walk back into the garage to the car that usually rests beneath a cover. I remove the gray cloth and reveal the maroon car that’s always been a painful reminder of the wedding that wasn’t. I repaired the damage I caused with my hands and left the car sitting. Selling it was out of the question, and so was using it. It only saw the light of day for regular maintenance and bi-weekly drives to keep it from going to pot.

Liv isn’t the only one holding on to painful memories and reliving the past. I can’t expect her to move forward when I haven’t, either, not entirely. I run my finger over the smooth curve of the roof

.

“Ollie.”

He jogs over. “yeah?”

“I want to use this car for Liv’s shoot.”

“Whoa. I mean yeah. I’ll have it pulled around. Just her?”

I nod my head. Understanding crosses his face. He pats my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, man.”

“Thanks, bro,” I smile. Words are wrapping paper. It’s what inside that matters. I’m going to show her with actions how ready we both are. I’m not usually hands-on when it comes to marketing. I give Ollie the budget, and he does the leg work. He’s more of a people person than me, so it’s always worked out well. Today, that’s going to change. I walk back to the clothing gathered in my office.

The stylist had been in and out all day with clothing and accessories. I move to clothing with the Lane tag and riffle through the outfits. I fist a black dress with a cut-out waist. I want to see her in this with her skirt up around her waist, and her body splayed across the Maroon 1938 Cadillac Sixty Special. My pants feel two sizes too small. I adjust my stiff cock. I had a permanent stiffy since this Liv, and I crossed the line. I could take the matter into my hands, but I know waiting will make the victory that much sweeter.

I see the owner of the restored Ford truck walk in and turn to greet him. He’s the only job we had on the books. The photo shoots shut down the shop, but they’re great publicity. These days it takes more than a good reputation to keep the lights on. You have to put your face out there, and be seen as hip. I don’t get it. A shop

can have all the bells and whistles it wants to draw my attention if they can’t fix my car, I ain’t going.

“Hey, Reggie. I think you’ll be happy with the job we did on her,” I say shaking the older man’s hand.

“I hope so. This is for my boy’s graduation present. He made it through senior year and got a 4.0 average, so I have to keep my end of the deal?”

“Damn, is Brandon that old?”

“I know. He’s headed off to college in L.A. in a few months, if you can believe that,” Reggie says.

“Doesn’t take long. My kids just started kindergarten.”

“You’re just getting started,” Reggie says as we walk over to the cream colored 1965 Ford truck. He lets out a low whistle. “She looks good.”

“Runs even better. Keys are in there, why don’t you start her up and take her for a test drive?” I say.

Reggie climbs inside and turns the key.

“Listen to her purr. You put some serious TLC into her, Houston.”

“Couldn’t do it without my crew. Hector, lift the door up and let him take her for a spin.”

“On it,” Hector says.

I get a deep sense of satisfaction as Reggie pulls out into the parking lot. Another car saved from the junkyard and restored to its original beauty. They didn’t make cars like they used to, and getting to breathe new life into a piece others considered a lost cause amped me up.

I settle Reggie’s bill, send him on his way, and close down the garage for business. I want to check in with Shannon, our stylist to make sure she got the memo about the changes. She’s set up shop in my office, so I head that way.

“Houston, is there something wrong?” Shannon asks. She bats her lashes and moves closer, invading my personal space. The petite brunette with big blue eyes and a plastic rack, Barbie would envy is sweet, but not my type. We’ve worked with her for the past year, and she’s spent a large chunk of that time trying to catch my eye. I’m not oblivious to women flirting. I just don’t care.

“I’m sure Ollie told you, Lane’s sick today.”

“He did. I figured we could double up with photos of the other girls. Maybe some group shots?”

“I’ve found a replacement with the same look. I believe she’ll be bringing her own make-up artists, and doing her hair.”

“Oh, will she fit the outfits? They’re the only ones I have in those large sizes.” She wrinkles her nose and frowns. Her disdain for the curvy body type is clear.