but automatics.”
“You need to learn.” His tone was no-nonsense, as he plucked the keys out of a basket by the door. There were so few on the ring that I knew this was his spare set.
“Right now?”
“I’m feeling cooped up,” he admitted.
“Then by all means, let’s uncoop you, chicken-man.”
Rob laughed and slung an arm around my shoulders. When I leaned against him, my eyes closed. This was the first time he’d hugged me since I was seventeen. Interesting that making him laugh had the same effect as my tears. I didn’t know what I’d do with that information, but it fascinated me. I expected him to shove me away or to hear the impatient jingle of keys, but his other arm came around me, closing the circuit.
Surprised, I tipped my head up, waiting for the punch line. “Are we having a moment?”
His eyes were warm and soft, roiling deep like a thunderhead, and he wore a half smile that melted me down to the bone. “I’m glad you came back.”
Then he ruined it by messing up my hair and shoving me out the door ahead of him. I could absolutely envision him treating Nadia this way, and I ground my teeth against the certainty that he didn’t see a pretty face or nice rack, cute butt, none of my feminine attributes. I could honestly say that Rob loved me like a sister, and that was a deep hole to climb out of. I mean, he’d been looking after me and keeping me out of trouble for, like, fourteen years.
Glumly, I followed him to the garage, shivering while he hauled the doors open. The green truck looked a bit better than I remembered, which meant Rob had been working on restoring it, too. That fit with what I knew of his personality; he didn’t discard things or give up on them. It was in his nature to tinker and repair, even if it took forever and other people would’ve given up long ago. Not for the first time, I thought, Lucky Avery.
“You should be wearing hat, scarf and gloves,” he said as we climbed in.
In the dim garage, I could only make out the strongest angles of his face: slope of nose and curve of jaw. My breath misted before me, and I rubbed my palms together, afraid to touch the steering wheel. “How old are you again? Forty-six? Besides, I thought I’d be working in your nice, warm house all day, no need for winter bundling. So you should really apologize for springing surprise stick lessons on me. I’m coping like a champ, right?”
He grinned and reached over to stick the key in the ignition. Ridiculous as it was, when his arm brushed close to me and the metal clicked in, my stomach fluttered. I was too flustered to listen when he explained how to start the car, so he had to repeat himself, and then I felt like such a dipshit that my cheeks burned like twin emergency flares. So much for learning to relax around him. Somehow I managed to pump the gas while doing whatever with the clutch well enough to start the motor. The truck sounded like it was in good shape.
“Let it run for a few minutes, get the engine good and hot.” Seriously, did he have to say stuff like that? In anyone else, I’d be sure it was a double entendre, but that wasn’t how he operated, and certainly not with me. He proved it by continuing, “It’ll take a while for the heater to kick in, too.”
Nodding, I rubbed my hands together, trying and failing to warm them. Rob took over, pressing my fingers between his palms. My toes curled. “You know, the ancient Norse had a long tradition of warming their hands on each other’s bellies.”
I didn’t expect that to work, but Rob rewarded me with another smile. I’d say all kinds of crazy shit to keep him looking at me like that...while holding my hands. The next moment proved definitively that I didn’t have mind-control powers, though, because the frantic refrain of kiss me kiss me kiss me running through my head didn’t stop him from letting go.
“Good thing I’m not Norse,” he said, checking the vents for hot-air flow.
You’re better, like Thor’s hotter, sweeter cousin. But I didn’t say it out loud. He didn’t enjoy being praised for his looks; in fact, it made him feel bad, probably because nobody but me could find any other good points to mention. I could’ve written a dissertation on The Ways Robert Clayton Conrad Is Completely Awesome, but for some reason, no graduate program was offering credit for this expertise.
“Explain the gears to me one more time?” The imprint of what gears were located where had faded somewhat over the years. Rob doubtless knew it by touch, but I was a manual novice. Any other guy would be making all the penis jokes in the world, but he only repeated the information with imperturbable calm.
“Got it?” he asked.
I huffed out a breath. “I’m freaking out. I’ll ruin your truck. You shouldn’t trust me to do this—there’s snow on the ground.”
“But not on the roads,” he said patiently. “Put it in Reverse, give it some gas. You can do it, Lauren. You’re smart and it’s not that hard. If I can learn, anyone can.”
Only the fact that I was doing things with both feet and backing out of his garage while trying not to hyperventilate kept me from yelling at him. Even though I grew up multitasking, I could only do so many things at once. Swear to God, I was seeing stars by the time I cleared the doors, and my hands were shaking on the wheel.
“You weren’t kidding,” he said, brows furrowing. Then his hands were on my shoulders and he brought my face really close, to the point I could feel the warmth of his breath and see the dark stubble on his chin. I’d never been this close to Rob’s mouth, his amazing, perfectly shaped mouth. But he maintained eye contact, intent on calming me down. “It’s okay. You’ve got this. You can do it. Breathe for me. Okay? In. Out.”
He probably didn’t mean for me to think about sex when he said that, but I couldn’t help where my mind went. Ironically, it took care of my nerves and made me squirmy, suddenly aware of the powerful engine rumbling the seat of the old truck. I’d much rather climb on top of Rob than learn how to drive stick, but he registered that I was no longer a vibrating anxiety ball and let go of me.
“Better? I don’t want to force you.”
This wasn’t even a full-on panic attack. Imagine how he’d react if he ever saw one. Because I couldn’t stand for him to think of me as broken, I nodded. “Let’s do it.”
Then the lesson commenced for real. I stalled out the first time I switched out of Reverse and it took me forever to turn the truck around. But I did not launch the vehicle through the wall of his house and I eventually made it down his driveway. I had another mini-panic attack about getting out on the open road, but once I made the turn, upshifting wasn’t such a problem. He explained how I’d likely have the most trouble at stop signs and traffic lights—that downshifting was trickier, unless I was going up a mountain.
At that point, I laughed and shook my head. “I have no plans to take your truck any farther than work and home. I’m afraid I’ll ruin it.”
“Don’t be nervous,” he said. “You’re already better than I was my first time. My granddad predicted I’d strip the gears, the way I was going, and the transmission would fall out.” He paused. “That didn’t happen, either. In time, you’ll be so good at this, you’ll wonder why you were ever scared. Turn here.”
Here was the Walmart parking lot. I managed to stop the truck and shut it off without anything catastrophic happening. “Thanks.” At the inquiring tilt of his head, I added, “That wisdom applies to
