Work Me Up

Selena’s mother glances over her shoulder, and her face almost immediately splits into a welcoming smile. “Oh, Antonio! How nice to see you. Mark isn’t in right now; he’s working late at the office. I was just about to run some things over to him.” Her gaze drifts past me and lands on the car parked in the drive behind me. “Oh! Is that the Rolls that Selena was helping you fix?”

I glance back at Betty, looking good as new. Better, in fact. I’d been meaning to update her paint job and roll out a few dings she’d gotten in the course of normal wear and tear for a while now. Working on her with Selena gave me the chance to finally get to that. “Yeah,” I say. I turn back to Mrs. Brown, my smile widening. “She’s a hard worker, your daughter. She really picked things up quickly.”

“Oh good. I’m so glad to hear that.” Mrs. Brown shifts her bags from one shoulder to the other and strides up the walkway toward me. “You know, I think this might have been a really good step for Selena, actually. Not the smashing up your car in the first place part — I do apologize again for that.”

I laugh and shake my head. “It’s over and forgotten, trust me.” And honestly, part of me is grateful that she did smash up the car, anyway. If she hadn’t, we never would have met. Never gotten the chance to connect… And I never would have started to fall for her.

The thought startles me. But I realize it’s true. I’m developing feelings for Selena, beyond just craving her touch, her body beside mine, my hands all over her curves. I want to know her, to talk to her, to take her on more dates like the one we went on at the beach.

I want this to be real, I think, and the thought sends a pleasant hum through my veins. Immediately followed by an icy chill, when I remember our last argument. The way she stormed out of my garage.

Fuck.

“Actually, Mrs. Brown, I wanted to ask you…” Then I pause. Stop myself, frowning. “Sorry, you were saying something?” I add.

Mrs. Brown’s eyes crinkle when she smiles, just like her daughter’s. “Just that I think working in a garage will help Selena in more ways than just when it comes to work ethic. She hasn’t been comfortable around cars in a long time… This might help her overcome that, if she can see how they work, get used to being around them again.” Her smile widens. “Maybe this is a sign that she’s finally moving on with her life.”

I frown, tilting my head. “Moving on… from what?”

Mrs. Brown’s smile shifts. Turns sad around the edges, before it slips away. She sighs, and in just that one motion, a million more lines appear around her mouth and eyes. “Five years ago, my older son was killed by a drunk driver,” she says softly.

I blink. Whatever I’d expected, it wasn’t this. Selena never even mentioned having a brother. Hell, Mark never mentioned losing a son, and I’ve been working with him for three years.

After a beat, I realize I’m staring like a moron instead of talking. “Mrs. Brown, I… I’m so sorry for your loss,” I tell her. It feels inadequate. A hugely pointless statement.

But she nods her head anyway. “It was…” She presses her lips together, squeezes her eyes shut for a moment to recover. “It was hard on all of us, of course,” she says. “But for Selena… She was in the car with him, you see. The driver hit his side directly; she only got a few cuts and bruises. But to witness that in person…” Mrs. Brown shakes her head.

I run a hand through my hair, my head spinning. Of course. It all makes so much sense now. Her terror whenever I asked her to steer Betty for our test run. The way she acts jumpy around cars, and nervous anytime she has to drive in one, even just as a passenger.

The way she talked about how she used to love driving, but not anymore.

My mouth feels dry. I can’t imagine what she went through.

Mrs. Brown is still talking, though, so I try to refocus on her words. “Selena and her brother were very close. After the accident… she was never the same. She dropped out of college, spent years just… staying in the basement here, not even going out. Lately, since she got that apartment on her own actually, she’s been doing a little bit better. She can take Ubers now, though I know they still make her nervous. But…” Mrs. Brown’s expression brightens just a little. “This garage thing is a whole new step. If it went as well as you say, then, maybe she’s starting to come back to her normal self.”