Silly, but true.
Chapter 14
CHARLY
I loaded the wide basket on the bike with the fruit and my knapsack and rode to Mary’s, enjoying the scenic route. I was grateful when I got there, my legs unused to the workout. She had lemonade waiting, and we sat on the porch, relaxing.
“How are things with you and Maxx?”
I pursed my lips. “Tense most of the time.” I met her gaze. “And strictly employee and employer.”
She nodded in understanding.
“May I ask a question?”
“You can ask it. Can’t guarantee I’ll answer.”
That was fair. I knew she protected Maxx.
“Does an Indian motorcycle figure into the equation of the Tramp and the bad friend?” I asked.
Her expression became dark. “Very much so, but—”
I interrupted her. “I know, it’s Maxx’s story to tell.”
“Why would you ask?”
I told her about the emblem. Maxx’s reaction to it. The way he’d shouted. I did leave off the part that we were naked when it happened, but I was honest and said Maxx informed me we would never be anything but coworkers.
She took a sip of her lemonade, her voice pained when she spoke. “They really did a number on him, Charly. Have patience.”
I smiled sadly even as I shook my head. “I’m not pushing anything, Mary. I want this job—I need this job too much to risk it.”
“But you have feelings for him.”
I stared at the open fields across from her house, the breeze kicking up dust over the pasture. “I am drawn to him. I was the night we met, and it hasn’t changed. I like him.” I chuckled. “Even when he’s all growly and gruff.”
“Or maybe especially when he’s all growly and gruff?” she teased.
“Maybe.”
“He’s always been that way. He was a broody teenager, and he became a taciturn young man. Serious and stern. But he was always kind and helpful. And to the people who knew him best, he was loving and caring. Funny.” She shook her head. “The anger and dismissiveness started after…well, after everything happened last year.”
I understood. Whatever happened hurt him deeply. Add in the fact that he was still reeling from losing his parents not long before that, and it wasn’t a shock he had changed. I had seen glimpses of the funny, caring man she described. I only hoped he would slowly rediscover that side of himself.
Mary stood. “Enough about the boy who is no doubt brooding at his house or tinkering in the garage to pass the time. At least I know he isn’t writing any more ads.”
I grunted as I stood as well. “I hope not.”
She linked her arm with mine. “Let’s attack that garden.”
We spent the rest of the weekend in the garden, sitting on the porch sipping wine after dinner, and playing cards. Baking an endless number of pies.
I took the bike apart, spray-painted it a bright yellow, and scrubbed and polished the chrome. I let it dry overnight, and then I put it back together. Mary had laughed over my color choice, but agreed it was better than the faded white—and much preferable to the shocking pink I had almost chosen.
Later Sunday afternoon, I loaded my basket with pies to go into the freezer at Maxx’s. Mary had a larger chest freezer where we put the other dozen we had made, so I could come by and take them as needed. Using small pie plates, I had made her a bunch of individual ones to enjoy whenever she wanted one. She was thrilled, having admitted pies were something she couldn’t really make. She had held up her hands. “Too strong. My pastry is like cement every time.”
I waved goodbye and cycled myself back to the garage. The breeze was cooler today, blowing in my face, which made the ride back a little harder. By the time I arrived, I was winded and thinking I needed to avail myself of Maxx’s treadmill to strengthen my legs.
Maxx was out front with Rufus, throwing the ball as I came up the driveway. His motorcycle was parked next to his truck, both of them gleaming in the sun, obviously freshly washed and waxed. The Camry was parked off to the side, also having benefited from some detailing work. The creamy white glowed in the sun. I stopped beside the truck, noticing something looked different. I had to bite back my smile when I realized there were now running boards on the truck. He would never admit it, but Maxx added those so I could get in the truck easier.
He came around the truck, eyeing the bike. “What the hell did you do to it?” he asked. “Yellow?”
I shrugged. “It was this or pink.”
“I would have painted it in the shop. And a better color.”
“I didn’t need you to paint it, Maxx. I like the color—it’s pretty. I’m perfectly capable of handling a can of spray paint,” I stated dryly. “I polished the chrome too.”