I swallowed my hurt. “I get it. I just want to do my job. Give me a chance.”
“Fine. You have the rest of your month trial.”
“I haven’t finished my two-week one yet,” I teased.
“You’ve proven yourself enough,” he muttered and turned back to his workbench. “Don’t you have things you can do now?” he asked pointedly.
“Yowsers. Bossy much?” I quipped and stalked away, trying to get him to smile.
“You know it,” he called over his shoulder.
I headed back to the office, sitting down heavily in the chair. I felt relief over the fact that I could stay. We had set some ground rules, which we both had to adhere to. I peeked up through the glass. Maxx was leaning on the workbench, holding his coffee but not moving. He looked oddly despondent, and I wondered how much had to do with his decision and how much had to do with the memories seeing that emblem had evoked.
Whatever situation that emblem was attached to was a minefield. He told me he had restored an Indian Chief motorcycle, and I wondered if that had anything to do with it. Add in the Tramp and the ex-friend Mary spoke about, and I had a feeling the story was complex and deep.
I pulled my laptop close and decided to run a few reports then finish in the storeroom. I needed to stay busy and productive. If I didn’t, I would give in and try to comfort Maxx. I knew if I did that, I’d be back on a bus, no matter what I wanted.
And I really didn’t want to leave.
I stuck to my word the rest of the week. I did my job, stayed clear of Maxx, and finished up the storeroom to stay busy. By the weekend, it was organized, and I had found a treasure trove of pictures and small items that would look great in the garage and the office. I even had plans for the small room in the front that sat unused and vacant. Maxx admitted it used to be a waiting room, but he had done away with it. I planned on showing him why it was needed. In the evenings, I worked on designing a new logo and website. Maxx had told me that picture I had seen was his father, although he wasn’t sure how it got on the web. I found the fact that the man who could disassemble any engine, manifold, or carburetor and piece it back together so it worked perfectly yet couldn’t grasp the workings of the internet, strangely endearing.
Not that I would ever tell him that.
Saturday morning, I used the car Maxx had fixed and drove to Lomand for groceries. They had a large grocery store with a bigger selection than the small general store in Littleburn. The car drove like a dream—smooth and quiet. Hardly a surprise given what I had seen of Maxx and his work. He was meticulous and cared about the work he did. Even a simple oil change was done carefully. He reminded me of my dad with his old-fashioned attitude toward customer service. No job was too small, no question stupid. I had noticed there were only a few women customers, which surprised me. If I lived here and had a car, I’ll be yanking on wires weekly just to come and see him.
In the store, I picked up all the items on my list—and the ones Maxx had added when I told him I was going. He left the list and cash on the office desk last night before he walked out of the garage. I had watched him, feeling sad. It was hard to believe it had only been a week since I had first seen his intense gaze and felt his mouth on mine. So much had happened, it felt like a lifetime. I wanted to ask him to come to the store with me, just to spend more time with him, but I knew that was crossing the line he had set.
As I shopped, I added a few items. I had noticed that while he ate well and took care of himself, Maxx had a bit of a sweet tooth, and his favorite was pie. He had finished the entire pie I had made, and I noticed he casually checked the cupboard I had kept it in every day, looking for more. He never said a word, though. I planned on making a few pies to put in the freezer this weekend. I was so intent on my task I never noticed the people around me until a voice spoke close to my ear.
“Well, who have we here?”
I looked up with a frown, meeting the frosty gaze of a familiar-looking man. He was average height, dirty-blond hair, and a permanent scowl on his face. Not the attractive, broody expression Maxx wore, but a discontented, malicious type of glare. I didn’t like the way he stared at me, and my fists tightened on the cart handle.