Fixing Him, Fixing Her: A Short Romance Read online

  Fixing Him, Fixing Her

  A Short Romance

  Lucy J. Johanson

  Crater of the North Publishing

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  If this novel makes you want to read more, please join my mailing list.

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  Many thanks,

  Lucy

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Also by Lucy J. Johanson

  Learning to Start Over

  If you prefer something a little steamier…

  My Doctor without Borders

  1

  Minnie McArthur shut the bonnet of the walk-in customer’s car. “I don’t think you’re ready to get your car fixed.”

  The lady with her in the garage looked at her, a little stunned. “I don’t understand. Why not?”

  “Oh, nothing much. But when you say that you only trust guys with your car it kinda offends me.”

  “Hm. Well. Not that…” the lady stuttered, trying to rescue herself.

  Minnie tossed her the car keys and proceeded to work on the truck she’d been tinkering with until a few minutes ago.

  The lady stood there for a while making several attempts to say something but just stopping short of letting the words out of her mouth.

  Minnie paid no attention to her as she busied herself with the truck’s tire, the exchange already forgotten.

  The lady heaved a sigh of defeat, got in her car and drove out of the garage, the reported “odd clanking” persisting as she went—a loose stud on her muffler if Minnie wasn’t mistaken.

  “Good riddance,” Minnie muttered.

  The flat replaced, she walked to the table at the end of the garage, unzipped her overalls, tied the arms around her, and fanned herself in the early morning heat. She re-tied her brunette hair in a bun, and reached for her iPod, then stuck her earphones in her ears.

  Metallica blasting, Minnie wondered when the remainder of her stuff was going to arrive from New York, she had been told to expect them that day. She shrugged at the thought and picked a wrench from the railing above her and began to unscrew the bolts on the pickup truck’s spare tire, another that needed replacing, which the owner discovered only when it was required yesterday.

  She bobbed her head to the music as she got on with the job, and was two minutes into the first track when she felt a presence in the shop. She turned immediately and saw someone clad in clean, brown overalls holding a notepad.

  “Minnie McArthur?” he asked.

  “Oh, delivery guy.” She loosened her grip on the wrench and popped her earbuds out. “Great timing. Was just thinking about you.”

  She left her wrench on a shelf and made towards him, picking up a rag to wipe her hands.

  “Delivery from New York. Sign here and here,” the guy said pointing to different places on his digital notepad.

  Minnie took the stylus and notepad from him and as she was about to sign she noticed him staring at her.

  “Eyes up here man,” Minnie said as she shoved signed the notepad to his chest.

  He blushed red, spoke quickly. “I’ve got some guys outside, we’ll bring your stuff in.”

  Minnie shook her head as he scurried out of the shop into the road. She knew her body was a major attraction for men but she hated when they starred. Even when draped in her oily all-in-one she was obviously a fitness devotee, but having stripped to the waist for the relatively simple spare tire change, she displayed a tight white tee-shirt, which betrayed every curve. Still, she was mucky, a little sweaty, and wore a near permanent frown these days.

  “Bloody pervert,” she said to herself as she walked back to her counter.

  She moved a compressor and a couple of jacks out of the way so the delivery guys could have somewhere to drop her stuff. The property wasn’t huge, but it was well positioned in Willowshire on a popular thoroughfare between the highway that took more hardy commuters into New York and the sparsely-populated suburbs of this small-to-medium-sized town. Small enough for people to know more than just their immediate neighbors, but big enough to lose yourself if you chose.

  She smiled as she thought of the future of her garage; now that she had all her stuff from New York she could operate at full capacity.

  She pushed the office table to the back of the garage, the sudden movement dislodging a pile of magazines, which spilled some hidden books. When she picked them up she found one was the memorial service guest book for her parents’ funeral. She couldn’t remember placing it here, but guessed she’d found it in the pocket of the coat she wore that day and was about to toss it aside to deal with later when a lump in her throat made her feel guilty. Instead, she opened it.

  Memories flooded back as she flicked through. She remembered, specifically, when she heard of their passing.

  She was having a typical day at work in the Big Apple—loud and smoky and bad-tempered—and then the call came in from a deputy sheriff based Willowshire. Her parents had died in a car crash.

  The queasy feeling returned to her now, her mouth drying up and her palms growing cold. She thought it only happened in movies—that gasp, that need to sit—but she had experienced it that day in her boss’s office above the main garage. Her boss watched her from outside, and a couple of the guys paused near their assigned vehicles, seemingly detecting her shock at the news.

  You made peace with them, she reminded herself.

  Peace? If you could call it that. She had come back to Willowshire to bury them.

  The movers shouted orders at each other, jolting her back to reality. She rushed outside to give them proper directions, not trusting the way they struggled with the heavier items.

  “Be careful with that hoist!” she called.

  “Ya ya,” one of the movers said, still carrying the hoist with one hand.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” she said. “Be careful with that goddamn hoist!”

  “Jeez! Lady, are the hormones acting up again or what?” The mover plastered on a smirk and carried on.

  Minnie felt her face flush with anger, faster than usual. Perhaps it was due to finding that funeral program. Her father always called her hormonal anytime they argued, and images of him flooded her. The dismissals of her opinion based on the fact she wasn’t a man, the subtle suggestions that she was a disappointment for being a car mechanic, and then the time he refused to act as guarantor for her own garage in New York … which was why she worked for someone else in a larger place back then. It was all coming back to her.

  She resisted the urge to punch the delivery kid in the face, took a deep breath and smiled. “Guess your mother was hormonal when she conceived a retard like you.”

  The man’s face gradually transformed from a smirk to a white ball of worry as her words sank in. Perhaps he thought he was just making a joke, and now fathomed it was far more than that to Minnie McArthur.

  She walked back into the garage, con
tent with the effect of her words on him.

  2

  Graham drove down the road looking for the auto shop his colleague told him about. He was so engrossed in looking out for a sign that he didn’t notice how beautiful the day was.

  The sky was clear and light blue painted through the horizon, not a single cloud dotted the skies and the air was calm. The sun hit the road, giving the asphalt a cerulean glow and the leaves on the trees danced around in the light wind.

  It was supposed to be close by. Becca said it was only five minutes from the college.

  “Urghhh, where’s this shop at?”

  The words barely left his mouth when he saw a sign post with Minnie Motors written on it. Appropriate name—it was definitely small. A hole-in-the-wall place not much bigger than a storage locker.

  “Wonder what’s happening there.” He leaned forward over his steering wheel to get a closer look at the scene at the front of the shop, which appeared to stretch deeper than first appeared, giving him a little confidence that this wasn’t a cowboy operation.

  He approached the shop and parked behind the movers’ truck, got out using his hands to shield his eyes from the blazing sunlight, and surveying the area. His gaze met a delivery guy who appeared upset or angry—he couldn’t tell—but didn’t care enough to ask him about it.

  Graham wandered into the garage, scanning the shop’s floor as he ran one hand through his thick, greying hair.

  “Looking for something?” a female voice asked.

  He turned, startled as his eyes met a tall, slim figure with a ball of brown hair on her head. She wore filthy trousers and a dirty white tee that—had Graham been fifteen years younger—he’d have been unable to tear himself away from. But his years as a college professor taught him how steer clear of attractive young women’s bosoms.

  Bosoms?

  Yes, he guessed late-forties was old enough to use words like “bosoms.” And this girl was in her thirties—early thirties, probably—so she was hardly student material.

  “Looking for something,” he said. “Ermm. Kinda. Yeah, I am.” He remained unsure of who he was talking to or why he stuttered his words.

  “Well, don’t just stand there, if you got a car to fix, bring it in,” the woman said visibly irritated by something.

  She walked towards him, her hips swaying within her tightly-bound outfit. She picked up a spanner from a nearby table.

  Graham still stood there, confused as ever.

  “Ermm, okay?” he said quite unsure of what was going on. “But who’s gonna fix it? Is your boss in?”

  Her barely-smiling face changed as her laughter filled the shop. She doubled down holding her stomach as she guffawed theatrically.

  “Y’know, I used to get this all the time back in New York. The guys I worked with, they knew I was as good as them, and when some asshole came in giving me lip about the fact I can rock a vagina and a wrench, they’d stand back and watch. Boss stepped in a couple times, but mostly the fact some grease monkey treated me as an equal gave our customers the confidence a mere girl can change a sparkplug or two. This morning? This morning you’re three for three. Twenty-first-century denialists.” She rolled her eyes and smiled, shaking her head. “You guys still don’t wanna get it. Even the women act all surprised. Maybe I should give up being surprised at folks’ surprise.”

  “I’m sorry,” Graham said, stumbling a little as he made his way toward her. He was thinking he’d shake her hand or something, but she pointed a spanner at him.

  “I’m in charge here, and ain’t any dudes around, so get your car in and let’s see what’s wrong.”

  Graham’s eyes widened moments ago as he realized she was the owner of the shop. Now he just stared.

  Minnie Motors, he thought giving himself a virtual face palm. Should have known that, stupid.

  He tried fixing his error with a goofy smile that more women than his mom had called charming, and said, “Oh, so sorry. I didn’t know. What a complete idiot.”

  Walking out to get his car, he rebuked himself for making such a mistake.

  He noticed that she followed him and waited outside while telling the movers to get their truck out of the way.

  Graham trundled his car into a space by a pickup, stepped out, and handed the keys to Minnie.

  She jangled them in her hand. “So, what’s the problem?”

  “Betty’s been making some funny sounds lately, especially when I apply the brakes,” he said. “Squeaking. Well, more of a squeal, but—”

  “Betty?” Minnie asked, her brows raised.

  “Yup, that’s her name.” Graham tried not to study Minnie’s blue eyes—although her eyes were a better choice than her chest, now hiked up under her folded arms.

  “Do you really have to name it?”

  “Her, not it.”

  “It. That car definitely cannot eat the burger I’m currently craving.” She popped the car’s hood.

  Graham smiled, wondering if he should ask her to grab that burger with him. Was his apology moments earlier good enough? He could up the apology stakes with dinner. And maybe she’d be good company.

  She certainly had spirit.

  No, don’t be a fool. She’s over a decade younger and would eat you alive.

  She reached in under the hood, up to her shoulder, fiddled with something near the bottom, then withdrew her hand. “I think something’s wrong with the brake pedals, but I’ll check the pads and fluid. Gimme a few hours with it.”

  “Her,” he corrected.

  She stood upright, dropped the hood, and rolled her eyes at him.

  “Whatever,” she said.

  He watched her open the driver’s door to check the brake pedals, her behind round and shapely even through the overalls pants. He quickly turned away not wanting to get caught.

  “Law professor eh?” she asked holding out a card she found car.

  “Yup, at your service,” he said, instantly regretting the smug tone.

  “Cool.” She shut the door, then took a flashlight, lay on the ground, and slipped under the car near the front wheel. She hmmm’d a couple of times, then emerged and hooked his key on a railing along with about a thousand others.

  To Graham’s surprise, the moving guys still scurried around the shop, dropping equipment in neat piles. He could’ve sworn they were alone.

  “New here?” he asked.

  “If three months is new.” She wiped her hands with a rag.

  “Oh, okay. I’m—”

  “Graham Kowalski. I saw your card. Remember?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “What exactly brings you to Willowshire?”

  She was already walking into the tiny office in one corner, leaving his question unanswered, and him alone in the garage. He was unsure if she heard or was just being rude.

  Or have I been rude again and upset her?

  His eyes wandered around trying to make sense of the floor hoist in bubble wrap lying in a corner. Different tools hung from railings like meat at a butcher’s. He jumped out of his observations when he heard a massive crash behind him.

  A large metal box lay behind him open with spanners, bolts and other metal parts spewed on the floor. Two men stood behind the box, their faces filled with shock.

  “Be careful”, he said as he walked to the entrance where they were.

  Minnie rushed out of the office, her hair bopping along, lips pursed in anger. “What the hell is happening here?!”

  She proceeded to rebuke them with a series of curses so torrid, Graham imagined the fraternities on campus banning her. He immediately remembered his ex-wife’s swearing and how much he hated it.

  He and the delivery guys helped her get the things back into the box, as memories of Sophia angered him for some reason. Perhaps he was annoyed at her intruding on an old man’s fantasy of what a thirty-something woman like Minnie might do for him after almost a year of celibacy.

  When they were done, Minnie gave the movers a check she had written in the office
. Visibly wound up, she yelled at the movers to vacate the space in front of her shop pretty damn quick, and threatened to report them to their boss if they messed anything else up.

  Graham watched her from the shop waiting for them to leave so he could settle with her.

  “Minnie, right?” he asked.

  She turned around and gave him sharp, “Yes.”

  “You shouldn’t swear,” he said with so much confidence. “It makes you sound like they got to you. And just annoys folk who don’t like those words. You can lose a friend before you even made one.”

  He looked at Minnie, expecting an apology the way the students did whenever he caught them uttering a four-letter-word, but she just clenched her fists.

  “Well eff you mister!” she said. “Better?”

  3

  Entering her office moments earlier, Minnie smiled to herself, having heard his question perfectly well, but didn’t want to seem like she’d forgiven his sexist assumptions earlier. It wasn’t as if she was attracted to him … except if she was honest with herself, she did think him cute. Kinda.

  Foppish.

  That was the word that sprang to mind. Like Hugh Grant playing a college professor.

  His hair was gray but thick, and the way he kept shifting it around indicated it either needed cutting or he was nervous about something, his beard the same color but close-cropped and smart. He was tall, with a strong jaw, and although fifteen or twenty years her senior he appeared fit if not muscular. Plus, given that when most people fall afoul of her response to their caveman assumptions they made excuses and tried to worm out of it, Graham just apologized and looked like he meant it.

  The whole “is your male boss around” crap was something she’d gotten used to but never forgiven. If she let it fly once or twice, she was condoning it every time, so she felt a duty to call them on it.

  Was Graham Kowolski different?

  She caught him glancing furtively at her chest the way guys do when they think a woman can’t see them ogling her, and his nervous—foppish—way of responding to her was nothing short of adorable. Maybe she’d give him a chance if he asked for one.