Secondary Colors (8 page)

“It’s called being observant, Evie. When you shut your mouth for more than a minute, you’ll notice all kinds of things. You should try it sometime.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’ve heard things, Evie. You don’t trust men because of your father.”

“You’re wrong.” I shake my head in rejection of his opinion. “I love men.”

“I never said you didn’t love them. I said you don’t trust them. There’s a difference.”

“Who are you to analyze me like this?”

“If you don’t want others to talk about your problems, you shouldn’t pry into theirs.” A tiredness sags his body. “It’s late. If I’m going to get up early to work on your car, I should hit the sack.”

“Yeah.” Arms crossed, I sink into the couch like a pouty child. I never behave this way. And I’m mad at myself for allowing him to be the reason I am.

“Night.” He rises from the couch.

I stay in the living room until the movie finishes, my eyes shutting when the screen goes black. I wake in my bed, confused how I got there. When I turn over to check the time, a note on the pillow beside mine slides off and lands in front of my face. I pick it up and wait for my eyes to adjust on the blurring letters.

Holt inspected the damage on my car, going over everything he found with me later that day. Most of it was foreign to me, but he lamed it down so I could understand. Basically, by failing to put oil in, I messed up the engine really bad. It was dry as a bone. He told me it must’ve had a leak and the oil drained out over the past few weeks.

“How long to fix it?” I ask.

“It could take me some time since I’d have to rebuild the motor.” I release a frustrated grunt. “However, I called the guy who sold me the truck. He owns a car graveyard of sorts. It just so happens he has an engine for a Nova. He’s going to give it to me for free. All I have to do is drive there and remove it from the hunk of junk it’s currently rotting away in.”

“Holy cow,” I mumble. “This is too much, Holt.”

“It won’t cost me anything, except time maybe.”

“No, it’s—” I dig the toe of my shoe into the dirt outside the garage. “Whether it’s free or not, it isn’t right to put you through this, especially after everything.”

“I haven’t exactly been warm toward you,” he states. “I was wrong to insult you with my issues comment. I’m—I don’t talk about my past. I’ve never told anyone about my scar, and I never will. But that’s no excuse to attack your weaknesses. Whatever happened between you and your dad is your business.”

“Truce?”

I extend my hand out as a sign of good faith. He wipes some oil away on his jeans and sets his in mine.

“Truce.”

We stand there briefly, our hands linked together. I picture them on me, filthy and rough, stroking the curves of my body.

I step away.

“I need to get back to the house.” I clumsily stagger backwards and stumble on a half-buried rock, luckily, correcting my footing. I’d be mortified to take a nosedive in front of him.

“Okay.”

He chuckles.

“Okay,” I whisper and face forward.

When I’m almost out of earshot, he says, “Can’t wait for that thank you.”

My pace falters, but I continue toward the house, sensing his eyes on my back the whole way.

the quality in which two colors merge

While Holt works on my car over the next week, I pick up the slack around the house to take the load off him. I wash all thirty-two windows, scrub down the porch front to back, tend the garden, sweep, vacuum, scrub floors, polish wood, dust, finish off the laundry piling up, and everything in between the roof and the first floor.

By the time the sun sets the following Saturday, the entire house has been thoroughly cleaned inside and out, and I am equally as filthy. I treat myself to a swim in the lake before dinner, which I have simmering on the stove. I strip out of my rank clothes and jump in, floating around and relaxing my tired bones. It’s energizing and purifying for body and mind.

After I’m done, I wrap myself in a fluffy towel and go back to the house to dress and set dinner out. Once I’ve put on a cotton dress, I enter the kitchen to stir and serve up the roast I made.

“Damn that smells good,” Holt says as he appears through the door and walks over to the sink to wash his oil-stained hands.

“It’s almost finished, too.”

He sits on the counter next to the stove, drying off his clean-ish hands. “Certainly smells that way,” he says, shoveling a spoon into the pot of mashed potatoes and shoving it into his mouth. He hums his approval. “I’ve got something I want to show you.”

He jumps off the counter and tosses the spoon into the sink with a clank, walking back out of the kitchen. I follow him to the front and over to the garage.

“Now, when I pulled this sucker out,” he opens the door, the rusty joints crying in resistance, and gestures for me to take a seat. I slide into the driver’s seat, and he shuts the door for me, leaning in through the window. “I wasn’t sure if it would actually run. The decaying Nova it was rotting away in had no ignition and the wires beneath the steering wheel were torn out, so I wouldn’t know until I installed it. I did. And no luck.”

“Oh,” I whisper, disappointed. I run my fingers over the dashboard. “Poor, old girl.”

“So,” he hands me the key, “I located the problem, replaced a few wires and tubes, and—” I stick it into the ignition and turn, rewarded by the rumble of her engine.

“You fixed her?”

He nods.

Excitedly, I push open the door and jump out, locking my arms around him.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” I squeal, thrilled my baby is still alive and kicking, and all because of him. He doesn’t hug me back at first, but then he eases, and his arms slither about my back.

“You’re welcome.”

I pull away.

“You have to let me do something for you. I can’t accept this without paying you in some way.”

His focus flickers to my lips.

“Let me get back to you on that one, yeah?”

The following afternoon, once I’ve finished with work, I invite Taylor to come over and take advantage of the perfect weather. We lie out towels on the grass near the lakeshore, slather ourselves in sunblock, and soak up some UV, the serene sound of the water our soundtrack.

“We’re still on for tonight, right?” she asks, mindlessly flipping through her magazine while she browns her back.

“Still on for what?”

“The fair,” she reminds me.

I completely forgot. The Summer Solstice Festival is tonight. We drink beer (second year legally), eat fried food, ride rides until we puke, and dance until our feet throb. It’s a yearly ritual and huge deal in our town.

I was going to see if Holt wanted to hang tonight. It would mean a lot to my mom since she asked me to befriend him. After he was nice enough to fix my car, the least I could do is extend a friendly hand. But these plans are unbreakable. Maybe I’ll kill two birds with one stone and invite him along.

“Can’t wait.”

“Aidan seems excited about it.”

“He’s going, too?”

She closes her magazine, giving me her full attention. “You want him to come, don’t you?”

“Yeah, of course. I wasn’t sure is all.”

“Is everything okay between you two?”

“Sure. We’re only spending time together as friends, but it’s been fun.” I lift my glasses off my face, pushing them back into my hair. “I was considering asking Holt to join us tonight.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Eh, he’s not exactly sociable when you first meet him. And I’m not positive I should invite him to tag along if Aidan will be there. I wouldn’t want Holt to feel like a third wheel.”

“He won’t. We’re going as a big group. It’ll be fun.”

“Nah, he probably wouldn’t want to go anyway.” I shrug.

“Maybe,” she says, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

“Come on.” I rise to my feet. “Let’s go inside.”

We collect our stuff and go into the house. As we make a beeline for my room, the clanking of metal on metal in the kitchen demands my attention. I catch a glimpse of torn jeans and worn boots sticking out from underneath the sink before entering my room.

“The festival should be cool,” she comments, unfastening her bikini top on the way into the bathroom. “Aidan can’t wait to see you.”

The clanging ceases.

“Um, me also—” It’s weird talking about Aidan within earshot of Holt.

“Do you think he’ll kiss you tonight?”

Even though she can’t see me, I shrug. “Maybe.”

A loud clank from under the sink disrupts the silence and my spine tightens.

“We’ll get you lookin’ so damn fine, he won’t be able to keep his lips off you,” Tay says, her voice bouncing off the tile of the bathroom. “I know the perfect outfit. It’ll leave little to the imagination.”

Five more aggressive clangs on a pipe ring out, reverberating up my back, followed by a jolting metallic clash of a heavy tool being thrown into a toolbox. Holt strides out of the kitchen, his posture rigid.

Shit.

I’m tossing female provisions into my brown fringe bag, Taylor painting on her face in the bathroom mirror, when a knock on my door causes us pause. She aims a smirk at me through the reflection.

“What the heck are you smiling about?”

She shrugs her shoulders, an expression on her face that says,
“You’ll see.”

I straighten out my dress, comb my fingers through my blow-dried strands, and run my tongue over my front teeth to clean away any lipstick residue. Opening up, I’m not surprised Holt’s on the other side or by how effortlessly cool he looks dressed in jeans and a gray t-shirt, his hair sleeked into a wavy pompadour.

“Yes?”

“When do we leave?” He leans his shoulder into the doorframe.

Trying not to let the excited flutter in my stomach show, I remark, “Oh, I hadn’t realized you were coming with us.”

He tilts into my ear, his winter fresh breath blowing into my hair and down my neck, contrasted against the warmth of the evening air.

“You’re a terrible liar.” His lips bend into a smirk, the microscopic hairs on my ear tingle and stand on end. “Don’t play games, Evie. It isn’t attractive. Quit the shit, and ask what you want to ask.”

Tay’s intent of Holt overhearing our conversation about tonight paid off. She knew I wouldn’t invite him myself. Though, why he’d want to go after he found out Aidan’s coming is beyond me. He can’t stand the guy.

“Would you like to come to the fair with us?”

“Okay,” he says, playing up his couldn’t-care-less vibe. “But let’s get one thing straight, I’m with you, no one else.”

He walks away while I stew in his words.

I glimpse back over my shoulder at Taylor watching me from the mirror, with a pleased twitch of her pink gloss-covered lips. It annoys me instantly.

“Told you so.”

“This
isn’t
going to go well,” I note.

“Aren’t you the little optimist.”

“I’m in an optimistic mood,” I say wryly, shrugging.

“Can’t you pretend for me?”

“This isn’t going to go well,” I repeat with a sugar-coated, overtly sarcastic tone, giving her a double thumbs up and a big dumb smile.

“That’s the spirit!” She pumps her fist into the air, chuckling to herself.

Holt insisted on driving his own truck despite the room in Aidan’s SUV. I was relieved to not have to spend the fifteen minutes in close quarters with the two of them.

By the time we arrive, the sun’s gone to bed and the enchanting carnival lights up the dark field. After a short deliberation about where we start, we decide on beer and eats, the fattiest fried fair fare we can find. We’re standing in line for deep-fried Twinkies, when an unwelcomed voice comes from the moving crowd. Makayla flounces toward our group, her jeans tight, her top even tighter, emphasizing her buxom breasts (there’s no other word to describe them) and her sights blatantly on Holt. It makes the other guys standing with us none too happy. I glimpse back at his face. Strangely, he doesn’t appear pleased with her attention on him either.

Curiouser and curiouser.

“Look who decided to show,” she says with an overly pleased tone.

“Yup,” Taylor responds, “you got me.”

We giggle.

Kayla narrows her eyes at us then places her focus on Holt again. “Haven’t seen you in the store in a while,” she comments, stepping into him and resting her hoof on the lapel of his jacket.