I had tossed and turned the rest of the night, trying to avoid the tiny bit of heartache I had felt because of it. Of how real it felt. Maybe because what I did recall was so similar to things that had really happened. The stupid-ass. Being called the wrong name. The drunkenness… That fear.

What the dream didn’t continue reminding me of was how I had grown up. Of how I’d gotten the hell out of there and gotten my sisters out too, the only way I’d known how.

Since that moment, that decision, I had clung onto every moment of happiness that I could.

So just like I had for the last going-on ten years, when I had felt more helpless than ever, I went to the one place that always took my mind off things I didn’t want to think about. I went to the shop.

I told myself that it worked in my favor because I hadn’t exactly had the most productive afternoon the day before thanks to the hours I’d spent fixing “my mistake.” Miguel had come over and helped me for about an hour, telling me all about how Rip had chewed him out for standing in his way.

But even with his help, I still hadn’t gotten enough done. It didn’t help that I had left work right at five o’clock. Rip hadn’t looked at me when I had walked by him with all of my things, but I had been ready.

Ready to pretend like I hadn’t heard a single word he might have said since he was going to pretend like I hadn’t called him to ask about the one thing he’d blown up at me over.

Ugh.

I couldn’t say my day had gotten better once I made it home.

My sister had been home, and that had been great, but the second I told her about the phone call I had gotten days ago—not that I admitted that part—it had gone downhill real quick. Specifically the part that involved me going to San Antonio had been like pouring gasoline on a small fire.

“Why are you doing this?” Lily had wailed. She had stood up the second I had mentioned the name of the city I’d be visiting for the first time in six years. “You know what they’re like!”

Of course I knew what they were like. How could I forget?

That conversation had spread wide and far to include a three-way call on speakerphone with our other two sisters, who had gotten tense and quiet as Lily ranted for fifteen minutes about how dumb it was for me to go.

I had a feeling they were all going to give me the cold shoulder for a while, even during the weekend when everyone came down for Lily’s graduation, but they weren’t going to change my mind. I knew the best thing I could do for my sanity was not to think about going in the first place so that I wouldn’t get more nervous or start second-guessing myself more than I already had. I needed to go. It was the right thing to do.

So, I knew going in that morning that I needed to zone out everything else and spend the day preparing the car for the Tropical Turquoise that was going to cover the pale grayish-blue it had been the day before. Then, eventually, I’d be spraying more color before topping it off with two coats of clear.

Hooray.

I hated making mistakes, even if what had happened hadn’t technically been one. I remembered Mack, the man who had taught me everything I knew, telling me once that I was too hard on myself when I didn’t do something right. Everyone makes mistakes, he had said, giving me a slap on the back. It isn’t the end of the world, Luna-girl.

And part of me was well aware of that. But the majority of me couldn’t let go of that mentality, no matter how old I got. Probably because I thought the whole thing was mostly Rip’s fault. I had called him. He hadn’t been paying attention, but it was still my fault.

Like it was always.

If I stopped at the drive-thru and bought a cup of coffee instead of making my own, it was only because I was in the mood for a white chocolate mocha instead of the same old thing I had every other morning. If my hands weren’t going to be as steady as they usually were… Oh well.

I was in the middle of working on the freaking Mustang in the big room right beside mine when I happened to look up and see a familiar face on the other side of the window of the door.

Rip.

Not wanting to mess up my flow so I could get to priming sooner than later, I turned my attention back and moved my arm along. I kept moving, finishing up the last section before I stopped.

If he needed something and didn’t want to wait, he could leave a note.

He knew better than to try and get me to stop in the middle of what I was doing. I didn’t want to screw up again, especially not in front of him.

When I was finally done, I left the sanding pad on the floor and pulled my hood down, my fingers snagging for a second on my headband as I made my way toward the door to open it.

“Morning,” I said, trying not to make it sound like a mutter as I peeled my goggles off and then tugged my respirator over my head. Most of the guys just wore masks, but I didn’t mess around with inhaling things that would come back and kill me later.

He blinked, and it was right then that I noticed he didn’t have his coveralls on. He had his gray compression shirt on, except this time it was underneath a tight black T-shirt that said COOPER’S COLLISION AND CUSTOMS in marigold yellow lettering. I’d forgotten today was an auction day. And even though I didn’t want or mean to, I flicked my gaze down to see he had on a pair of faded jeans that didn’t have any stains on them and boots that weren’t the same boots he wore to the shop all the time.

A small white paper bag hung from where it was being pinched at his side by his index finger and thumb.

I bit the inside of my cheek, remembering just how unfair he’d been yesterday.

Then I reminded myself he was my boss and even if he was wrong—and he was—I would have to be the one to eat shit unless I wanted to trade jobs.

And I didn’t want to do that.

“Luna,” he said in that deep voice that normally felt like a cold finger up my spine but today did nothing.

Okay, mostly nothing.

“Morning, boss,” I greeted him, my face straight.

Rip thrust the small white bag at me. “I’m not mad at you,” he said first thing, his voice calm, those teal-colored eyes locked on my face.

He wasn’t mad at me?

Like I had done something in the first place to get him angry?

I pressed my lips together and eyed the bag he was still holding between us.

Those eyes moved over my face, and something small moved across Ripley’s, almost… softening? Nicer? …Guilt? “It’s not the end of the fucking world, Luna.”

Of all the words….

“I can’t let you get away with things that I wouldn’t let the rest of the guys get away with,” he kept going, watching me closely with that face I wasn’t sure how to take from how serious it was. “Making me a birthday cake doesn’t get you a Get Out of Jail Free card.”

All I could do was stare at him and swallow his Monopoly reference.

He gave the white bag a light shake, inching it even closer to me. “I brought you that donut shit you like. Take it. It’s the twist one,” he went on, like I had no idea what my favorite donut was.

But the only person who didn’t have an idea of what was going on was him.

He’d brought me a donut?

Was this his way of apologizing for blaming me for something that wasn’t my fault?

Yeah. It was. It had to be.

It really was his way of apologizing.

A tiny little part of me wanted to hold a grudge….

But most grudges were a waste of time. They were a vortex where you lost time, energy, and happiness. Time, energy, and happiness you could apply toward something that was good, something that your whole life benefited from. Something that could actually make you happy.

And I wanted to be happy more than I wanted to be right.

Which was why I only really held onto big grudges, and I rarely let myself think of them. Usually.

I eyed Rip one more time then glanced down at the bag… and then I sighed.

I was going to choose, maybe not necessarily being happy, but not being mad. Ripley wouldn’t be the first person to blame me for things they had caused. If anything, he might be one of many, but he was one of the few to ever apologize… in his own way.

That was worth something. More than something really. And if I really thought about it, I might have appreciated the effort it took to even do as much as he just had. Hadn’t I just avoided telling my sisters that I’d known something for days because I didn’t want them to get madder at me than they already were?