Chapter 2 - The Mechanic

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XIMENA

Driving to Lonstino has taken me longer than I expected. I tried my best to prepare and bought road maps, only to find out that the tiny town doesn't even appear in them. I felt confident that I would arrive safe and sound following the roads, with plenty of time to explore the streets, so I didn't write any instructions. Now with luck, I will arrive at the time I agreed on with Greg.

It feels strange to drive again. Greenwood is a busy city with a huge lack of affordable parking spaces, so I walked wherever I could or took taxis. My car has been parked for so long in the basement of my building that it coughed some when I started it this morning. I found it amusing that it still had gasoline in it. Packing was a challenge and getting the three suitcases in my car plus some boxes even more. I would like to feel at home in the studio so I brought some trinkets to make it cozy. I'm sure I will buy some more during the next few months, but I have some items to get me started.

The wrong exit I took 30 minutes ago has thrown me out of my schedule. At this rate I won't even make it on time to meet with Greg. The directions I got at a gas station seemed easy to follow, but they included taking a turn at a white house and that if I saw a sign for fresh eggs, I've gone too far. I've seen way too many white houses and a few signs selling eggs so either I took a turn at the wrong house or have gone too far already. At least the landscape is beautiful and quite relaxing for someone like myself who's lived her whole life in a concrete jungle. I've been hoping to get a glimpse of the sea, but I seem to be driving in a valley with no sign of water in any direction.

In between packing, I did research on Lonstino. The town has about ten thousand inhabitants and the main income comes from elderly tourists in search of nostalgia and a quiet place to rest. The harbor is only fit for small recreational fishing boats and a crafts and food market that happens every Saturday on the pier. The fairgrounds have been owned by the same family for generations and I'm looking forward to visiting it and eating a caramel apple.

Why is it suddenly so warm in the car? I start jamming my fingers on the air conditioner buttons and twisting some knobs while I steer with one hand. Impatient, I just open the window and welcome the breeze. I hope Greg can point me to a good mechanic to get the system checked. The car lets what I can best describe as a wail, and steam comes from the left side of the hood. The whole thing starts shaking and I manage to park it on a bend where it makes a sputter and dies on me.

"Fuck! Aaargh!" I hit the steering wheel with my hands.

I get out of the car and walk a circle around it. The problem seems to be under the hood as copious amounts of steam come out of every side. I grab a rag stuffed in a corner of the trunk, press the release button under the dash and wait until the rest of the steam is released. I approach it with caution, the last thing I want is to get burned, and realize that besides knowing how to open the hood and putting gasoline, I know nothing about cars.

From my backpack, I grab my mobile phone to call Greg and let him know that I'll be late. Unfortunately, phone signal in this area is non-existent. My plan to call a taxi afterwards has also gone down the drain. I leave the hood open and sit again inside the car. Something bubbles in my chest and blinds me with fury making me punch the dashboard repeatedly.

"Are you okay?" A dark presence next to my window asks.

I turn my head and see a black leather jacket and a helmet under an arm. I expect to find a hairy biker, but instead I find a handsome man around my age. His blond hair is parted on the side and his eyes are olive, a set of tattoos peeks over the edge of his white t-shirt. The man stares at me with concern, yet I don't trust him.

"Hurt me and I'll hurt you," I quiver a bit as I warn him.

He chuckles and gazes around. "Ma'am, the only thing being hurt at this moment is this car. I don't know what you did to it, but it's no way to treat one."

My mouth hangs open in disbelief as he walks to the front of the car. I slam the driver's door after getting out of the car and he gives me a quick glance.

"When was the last time you got it serviced?"

I try to remember when was the last time I took the car for a check up, but can't.

"I'll take your silence as never," he laughs and it irritates me even more.

"Just because I can't remember the last time I did it doesn't mean I have never done it."

"No need to be feisty with the one person helping you."

He's right. In the time I've been driving around, he's the first person I've seen. I take a deep breath to control my temper. He pulls out a greasy-looking stick and looks at it, then checks under the car. He walks behind my vehicle and that's when I see a sleek black motorcycle parked behind. He gets a phone out from the compartment under the seat.

"Let's hope this last signal bar helps us." He presses a number and waits. Maybe if I continue to be nice to him he will allow me to call Greg.

"Marco, are you available to tow a car? It's a gray compact stranded in a bend at the last valley. I think the oil pump is busted. I can take a look at it when I get home later."

A mechanic! My savior is a mechanic. I feel like an idiot for my bitchy behavior. He walks to the other side of the bike and unbuckles a second helmet that he hands to me.

"Can you grab your purse and whatever small valuables you have? I will give you a lift to a place where you can take a taxi to your final destination. Where were you going?"

I look at the helmet in my hands and back at him.

"I'm heading to Lonstino. I'm renting a studio in the harbor area from a man called Greg Walker."

As the words leave my mouth, I feel embarrassed. I don't even know if I'm any close to Lonstino and now I'm casually mentioning Greg as if this guy knows who he is.

"You are renting the studio from Professor Walker? Interesting," he glances at his watch. "We should make it before he comes home. He teaches at the university in Greenwood."

So Greg is a professor. It sort of matches with the profile in my head.

"Are you friends with him?" I ask.

"Basically all my life," he gives me a warm smile. "I also live in Lonstino. Instead of the taxi rank I can bring you to the café nearby his house. You can wait there comfortably and even eat something."

"Thank you very much. I'm really sorry for my attitude earlier."

"It's okay. I understand the frustration when your car leaves you in the middle of nowhere."

After grabbing my backpack and locking the car, I put on the helmet and wonder how it makes me look. The man stands in front of me and closes the strap carefully.

"I'm Jaden Stone," he offers me a hand.

"Ximena Gaytan," I shake it and we both laugh at my muffled voice.

"Okay, let's try that again when we get to Lonstino."

He sits on the motorcycle and starts it up. The rumble makes me jump, and I clutch my chest. He pats the seat behind him, and I climb on it.

"You better hold on tight."

I try my best to lock my arms around his slim chest. In such close proximity I can smell the leather of his jacket mixed with a faint scent of cologne. As we ride, I welcome the breeze, the sun on my skin and my new found luck.

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