Bullet ✔️

Chapter 15

People need vacations, and I absolutely understood why as I sat beside my dad on the garage floor. His hands were black from oil and dirt, as he tried to figure out how to get the blue sedan working again. He'd said something about a fuel line being broken, but I didn't pay enough attention. I was too busy looking at how tired he seemed, even before lunch.

He'd let me help through the few hours we'd been there as well, and by help I really mean he'd asked me for tools and I'd get the wrong one three or four times, every time. He just laughed at it, and said I'd get it right one day. I wasn't so sure.

Cars and motors intrigued me. I'd always had a tiny interest in them, and as a kid I wanted to become a mechanic like him—but then I discovered photography, and nothing ever was the same after that. I think dad was a little relieved I didn't end up working in such a male dominated profession, but he always told me I could do anything I put my mind to.

I never liked that, though he meant well. It just put so much pressure on me. I could do anything I wanted, so why did I choose freelance photography, and not a neurosurgeon or a movie star? It was simply because I loved taking photographs from the first time I used a camera. And, well, it made me feel a little bad for a while that he dreamed I could do anything, but I settled for photography..

But, now, he loved my job.

"Can I get the spray that says seal on it, little one?" My dad's hand shot out from under the car, and I jumped up to see if I could find the spray he wanted. I thought it couldn't be that hard, since he said what it was called, but, alas..

"There's like four here, dad, which one is it?" I probably sounded way more exasperated than I was.

He hesitated. Then he said, "It's silver, with a black lid."

There were two with those colors, but upon further investigation, they looked to be exactly the same. So I grabbed one and crouched next to his hand and put it in. He thanked me before his hand disappeared again, and I heard some spraying sounds.

I stood up, looking around the dirty, messy garage with a small smile, just as he rolled out from under the car and clapped his hands together. "That should do the trick until I've ordered a new part."

He usually always made it work. No matter whose it was, what was wrong, or what time. He was great at his job. I was about to open my mouth to tell him as much, when someone said, "Oh, hi, I hope this isn't a bad time?"

"Billy!" Dad exclaimed, getting up from the rolling thing on the ground with a few huffs and puffs, wiping his hands on his work pants. "Not at all, I just patched up the gas line on this beauty, with the help of my little girl, here."

He put his arm around my shoulder and kissed my head, like I was a kid again. I didn't mind it, not really, but this stranger was making me feel a little embarrassed about it.

The stranger's hair was curly and light brown, he had a dimple on one side, matching his crooked smile, and he was definitely cute. He was handsome, with his squared, shaved jaw and straight nose, and eyes as brown as hazelnuts. He looked nice, and I could already deduct who he was, from my dad's description of Mrs. Johnsen's son.

"That's great," Billy, apparently, said. "I just came by to drop off these. From mom. She, uh, really appreciated that you fixed her car."

He held up a bouquet of colorful flowers, pink, yellow and orange the most prominent ones. I bit my lip, thinking that it was about time dad had a new suitor, but the slightly uncomfortable look on his face told me he didn't agree. He accepted the flowers, though, and smiled politely.

I pushed him playfully in the side, trying to make him not sound so ungrateful. It backfired, though, because he said, "Isabelle, this is Billy Johnsen, and Billy, meet my Isabelle. She's single, has a great job, and her own place in the city."