Feel My Love (Second Chances Forever)

“Thank you,” she said. She giggled and smiled at me.

“I think I should be thanking you,” I said.

Ami shook her head, laughing. She turned around and asked me, “Do I look okay? You don’t think they’ll be able to tell, do you?”

I brushed off the back of her blouse, where some dust from the car had smeared the fabric. “You look beautiful. Go in there and show them what you’re made of.”

She gave me a kiss, then hurried off. I sat down on the hood of the car, letting my racing heart settle down.

I was confident that Ami was going to succeed. If not at this job, then at the next one. She was too amazing to let anything keep her down for long.

Chapter 9

Ami

I walked into the office with a spring in my step. I still couldn't believe what Cam and I had done in the parking lot. It had been amazing. One of the most thrilling experiences of my life. My legs were still tingling.

I'd never been so rebellious before. Cam just brought out the most adventurous side of me.

A woman about my age was sitting behind a desk when I walked inside. She was professionally dressed, but had a casual look about her, with her jacket slung over the back of her chair and her hair falling loosely around her shoulders. She turned away from her computer to look up at me as I entered.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“Yes, my name is Ami Cole, and I'm here for an interview.”

She checked her computer, then nodded. “Certainly, Miss Cole. Mr. Davidson will be with you in a few minutes. Have a seat.”

I sat down on a chair against the wall, tapping my feet as I waited. I couldn't keep the smile off my face. I just hoped that the interviewer just thought I was in a good mood, instead of realizing the real reason why I was so perky.

A couple of minutes later, a man with a touch of gray in his hair came out from the back office. He spoke with his assistant for a moment, then walked over to me. “Miss Cole?” he asked.

I got up, shaking his hand. “Yes. Ami. It's so nice to meet you.”

“My pleasure,” he said, giving me a professional smile. “Roger Davidson. Come on this way. I'll show you around.”

To my surprise, we didn't head into his office to talk. Instead, he led me through the museum. He pointed out a few of the classic cars on display, talking a bit about their history and what made them so unique. It felt more like being on a guided tour than an interview.

I listened intently, though in truth I knew nothing about cars. I couldn't even change my own oil. If I even had a car, that is.

We'd been through half the museum before Roger even asked me a question related to the job. “So, I've looked over your resume. Your education certainly seems impressive. Dual major in art history and German. Why German, anyway? Of all the languages to major in, it seems like an interesting choice.”

“Well, my Mom is half-German,” I said. “She's fluent, and she got a job as an accountant for an American branch of a German pharmaceutical company. And everyone says you should take one foreign language in college, so German seemed like a good choice.”

Roger nodded. “The only German I know is from Volkswagen... far-fig-newton,” he said with a chuckle.

“Fahrvergnügen,” I said, correcting his pronunciation. “It means 'driving enjoyment.'”

“There you go,” he said. “Speaking of which, what's your favorite kind of car.” He gestured out to the display floor, where an early-1900s Ford Model A stood alongside a Rolls Royce Phantom. I only recognized the latter from the scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.

“Umm, one that doesn't break down?” I suggested, hoping to evade the question with a joke.

Roger chuckled, but persisted. “No, but seriously. If you want to work in a classic car museum, you need to love cars. You don't seem like an auto buff.”

“Well, not in the traditional sense,” I said. His eyebrows raised. I continued on, hoping to find a way to spin this in my favor. “See, I don't know about engines, or carburetors. But I know art. And cars are art.”

Roger stuck his hands in his pockets. He looked me up and down appraisingly. “Go on.”

I walked over to the Rolls Royce, studying it with an artist's appraising eye. “Not only are they aesthetic masterpieces, sculpted as finely as any marble statue. But art, whether it be paintings, or tapestries, or cars, is about more than just appearance. Art is a part of our culture. It says something about where we've been, and where we're going.”

I gestured down the line at the other cars on display. The main showroom was laid out as a timeline of classic cars, displaying some of the most well-known from each decade. “Styles evolve,” I said. “You can trace the passage of time in the different body designs and colors. More modern cars, just like modern art, tend to be more bold and colorful, taking risks with designs that would have seemed wild a hundred years ago, but which we see as innovative today. And those designs need to constantly evolve, in order to make sure we aren't just repeating what we saw in the past. No one wants to drive a car that looks like your grandfather would drive it, unless there's something in that classic style that really speaks to you.”