An arranged marriage. An illicit affair. An unforgettable passion. A forbidden love...
A spoiled socialite clashes with a streetwise mechanic who challenges the order of her privileged life while an arranged marriage threatens even more.
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I had the garage to myself Saturday night after closing early. I'd taken a custom paint job and had been spending my evenings seeing it through. After spending three nights sanding down the 2012 Honda Civic, it was almost time to paint.
The owner wanted a deep purple color, and I was all for it, just to see the finish for myself. It had previously been black, but the paint had faded and peeled, and this new paint job would really make her shine. If there was one thing I lived for, it was working on cars.
I hadn't been in the best of moods since leaving things done with Kennedy, more than ever I was extra grateful for Uncle Rod for allowing me to use his space to do these side jobs. They kept me busy and my mind focused and distracted.
In my pocket, I felt my phone vibrate against my thigh.
Unlike before with Leila, I wasn't about to go ghost again. I stopped what I was doing and dug my phone from my pocket to see my mother calling.
"It's late," I pretended to chastise her as I picked up.
"I know, but I forgot to ask if you wanted to stop by for dinner tomorrow night," my mother said. She sounded tired, a warning not to stay on the line too long.
"Definitely," I agreed. "What we havin'?"
"Momma wanted to fry some pork chops, and I was craving some homemade scalloped potatoes," my mother explained.
My mouth watered at the two dishes and I realized I hadn't eaten a proper meal for the night. Nothing in the vending machine back in the shop was nearly as appealing as what my mother had painted.
"I'm there," I quickly agreed.
"Are you coming alone, or are you bringing a friend?" She'd done a good job of tiptoeing around Kennedy for weeks, and now here she was checking in on that situation.
I'd walked away, but there were no hard feelings. I still had love for Kennedy, would help her if she ever got in a jam and needed me. I just needed to step back and let my feelings drop.
No such luck yet.
I didn't miss the sex. I missed her. I'd made a grilled cheese sandwich the other day and found myself adding a thin layer of mayonnaise to each side before placing the cheese in the middle. I'd stopped reading Night Changes because it wasn't the same knowing her place in my book wouldn't ever change.
For lunch that day, I'd brought a sandwich bag of cotton candy grapes. I'd always preferred, and still did, red seedless grapes, but the cotton candy flavor was a new taste I was beginning to like as well.
It was the little things that made me think of Kennedy. The little things that stuck.
"Hell no," I decided to joke with my mother instead. "More food for me."
