I rubbed my face with both hands. “Shitty. I’m sorry, I haven’t had a chance to look at your car yet. It’s been fucking chaos in here for the last two hours. This is the first time the lobby has been quiet.”

“That’s okay. I can wait. I went down to the diner for some coffee and realized you hadn’t eaten anything before you left this morning. Thought you might like some breakfast.” She opened the box to reveal a dozen donuts. “I know it’s not the best apple pie since 1957 or anything, but these looked okay.”

“Thanks. Coffee up for grabs too?”

“Of course. I wasn’t sure how you took it, but when I mentioned to Louise at the diner where I was bringing everything, she said you just took it black. That one’s yours.” She pointed to the cup with a G on it before pulling one labeled with a B from the carrier.

“Perfect.” I grabbed the cup she’d indicated was mine and took a gulp. “I needed this.”

“Can I help?”

“Nah, that’s okay.” I reached into the box, pulled out a glazed donut, and took a bite. It was oddly tasteless.

“I really don’t mind. Is your receptionist late or something?”

“We don’t have one full-time right now. My mother has worked the desk here for years, but she’s out because she had a hip replacement recently. My cousin Lanette has been working part-time, but . . .” I frowned at the disaster area in front of me. “She doesn’t get much actual work done.”

Blair peeked over the counter. “Yikes. How do you find anything?”

I took another gulp of coffee. “Sometimes we don’t.”

“Well, listen. I don’t have anything to do while I wait for you to fix my car, and I owe you a big favor for offering me a place to stay last night. Let me take over here and get all this stuff filed, so you can get to work in there.” She gestured toward the service bays.

My first instinct was to say no, but I gave myself a minute to think as I polished off the rest of the boring donut. I did not want to spend my entire day out here listening to people gripe. I did not want to stay after hours filing paperwork. And I sure as hell didn’t want to hear the words Swifty Auto again today—my temper was already threatening to blow. “Are you sure?” I asked.

“Of course I’m sure.”

“And you’re okay answering the phone too?”

She rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”

“Sorry, but you don’t strike me as the type to have had a lot of experience being a receptionist.”

“I’m pretty sure I can handle it.”

“Okay. I’m going to get a few quick things out of the way and then I’ll look at your car. I’ll discount the labor in exchange for your work at the desk.”

“Perfect.” She smiled brightly at me, and my stomach muscles tightened up. I turned away and headed for the garage, coffee cup in hand.

“Oh, Griffin?”

I looked back at her and felt the tightness expand into my chest. “Yeah?”

“Should I answer the phone in French or in English?”

I stared at her for a full five seconds, wondering if she was serious, before she lost it and burst out laughing.

“Oh my God, you should see your face,” she said, shooing me out. “Go on, get out of here. I have work to do.”

Shaking my head, I turned around and walked out. It was the first time I’d smiled all morning.

Inside the first service bay, Handme was fixing a coolant leak on a Honda and McIntyre was hunting around the floor near the tool cabinets for something he’d dropped (probably the 10mm socket).

“You really need to think about hiring a full-time desk person,” McIntyre said. “We’re getting behind back here without you.”

I frowned. “I can’t afford one. I’m still paying my mother.”

“Is she ever coming back?”

“Why? Do you miss her nagging?”

McIntyre laughed. “She nagged you more than me.”

“Hey, Griffin?” called Blair from the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“Someone from the bank is on the phone. Do you want to talk to him or should I take a message?”

“I’ll talk to him. I’ll pick it up back here.”

“Okay. I’ll ask him to hold.”

“Who is that?” McIntyre’s eyes were wide.

The female voice had drawn Handme’s attention too, and he moved closer to hear the answer.

“For the moment, that’s our receptionist.”

“But who is she?” McIntyre was still staring after her.

“Her name is Blair Beaufort,” I said. “That’s her MG outside. She blew a tire last night, but I need to look over the entire vehicle as soon as I can. I’m just trying to make space in here.”

“Is she new in town?” he asked. “I know I’ve never seen her before. I’d remember.”

“She’s just passing through,” I told them. “I’ll explain it after I talk to the bank.”

“Is this about the loan?” McIntyre wondered.

“I hope so.”

“Think they approved it?”

“Guess we’ll find out.” But I didn’t allow my hopes to rise as I headed for the phone at the back of the garage. I knew better.

This was the third time I’d tried to get a loan in the last year. Swifty Auto was hurting us badly. Plus, my dad had struggled to pay back loans he’d gotten years ago, and I’d inherited a lot of debt along with the business. I was sure he’d planned to get it all straightened out before he retired, but he’d died before he had the chance, and now I was supporting my mother too.

Banks all said the same thing—I was too big a risk.

I knew we could improve with some investment in training and tools, and my sister was always on me about renovating the lobby. “People want to see a nice, welcoming room when they come in,” she’d say. “You don’t need a fancy chandelier, but would it kill you to get some nicer chairs? Some better coffee? A new rug?”

I always argued back that it shouldn’t matter what the damn lobby looked like. The important thing was the work, and I knew we did good work—excellent work, in fact. And we could be even better. But without the loan, it wouldn’t happen.

This was exactly why I didn’t get my heart set on anything that mattered.

You wound up feeling like a failure every fucking time.

Four

Blair

The first thing I did was water that poor plant in the lobby.

Grabbing my empty coffee cup, I found the tiny bathroom down the hall and turned on the faucet. As the cup began to fill, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. I’d done the best I could with my hair, which definitely could’ve benefited from some shampoo and conditioner, but I hadn’t felt right using Griffin’s shower without permission. I wasn’t a homeless person. I was just . . . temporarily sans maison.

That wasn’t the same thing at all, was it?

I’d wanted to do something nice for Griffin this morning, since he’d seemed a bit moody and distracted when he left for work. He’d barely looked at me and only mumbled something undecipherable when I’d thanked him again. I thought maybe he was annoyed with my being there, but then again, he might simply have been tired. He couldn’t have been too comfortable all night, trying to sleep sitting up like that. I hoped the coffee and donuts would perk him up. He really was a nice guy.