Single Dad's Spring Break: A Billionaire's Second Chance Romance

No matter what form it came in.

I ran my hand over the dent in my truck again and sighed. I’d worked on this truck with Kason all the time, taught him all the parts of a car and how they worked and came apart. This was our personal project, our restoration, and I hadn’t touched it since he died.

My cell phone woke me from my trance, and I pulled it out of my pocket. It was the mechanic shop calling, informing me that I’d gotten the job. I knew I should’ve been happy, but I wasn’t. They paid under the table, which meant no official paperwork, but it also meant having to interact with people. At least, my interactions would be limited to co-workers and I’d never have to speak to a customer.

My mind rushed to my neighbor and our encounter yesterday, and I remembered how damaged her car was. All I had to do was pop out a dent and smooth over the small scratches, but hers was a completely different job. And with her having to drive a child around in that thing, it wasn't nearly the safest option for them.

I wondered if she’d let me fix it, at least get it back to the condition it was in before she’d ran into me.

It wasn’t my damn problem.

But she had a daughter.

The last thing I needed was more kids dying because of me.

I got to work on the dent in the truck before I heard footsteps. I looked up from underneath the hood of the car and saw the mailman walking away. I furrowed my brow and walked out of the garage, wondering why the hell he had walked all the way up to my porch.

There was a package on my doorstep, and I froze.

I was long and rectangular, and it could’ve been anything. A bomb. Tear gas. A box rigged to blow something in my face once I opened it. I mindlessly reached for the gun on my hip as I moved toward the package slowly and steadily, in case something inside could be triggered by motion.

But when my eyes landed on the delivery sticker, I groaned with frustration.

It was a package meant for my damn neighbor.

Picking it up, I hauled it across the lawn. I walked up the porch, knocked on the door, and set the package down. I turned to walk away but the door flung open, and I bit back a groan.

Shit.

“Hello?”

I turned around at the soft voice of my neighbor and I tried to bury my shock.

I was too outraged to see clearly the day she ran into my car, but today I saw her features unmistakably. She was absolutely gorgeous.

She starred at me with her dark green eyes. Her auburn hair was piled on top of her head, and her cheeks were flushed with a healthy glow. I could hear her little girl giggling behind her, calling out breathlessly for her mother to come back and play.

I didn’t know where her husband was, but I buried the thought before it could permeate any further.

“Mailman left that on my doorstep,” I said.

“Thanks,” she said as she stooped down.

She grunted trying to pick up the package, and I thought about helping her. But I swallowed the sentiment and kept my hard demeanor.

No one liked an asshole.

That’s how it had to be.

“Sorry for the mix-up. I

’ll talk to the mailman tomorrow when he comes by,” she said.

“No need. I’ll leave a sign on my door pointing to your home. I don’t get packages.”

She bit down on the inside of her cheek. She certainly wasn’t thrilled to see me, and I was ready to end this awkward interaction. I turned to walk off her porch when my eyes hit her car, and that desire to ask her to fix it was still there.

I walked off her porch and strode back across the lawn. I resisted the urge to look back as I made my way back to my garage. I heard her door shut, muffling the laughter of her daughter as I got back to work on my truck.