Page 20 of Truck Me
It feels weird baking this early. If I were still in Chicago, I’d already be at the salon, prepping for a busy day. I haven’t had a busy day since I lost my job and I’m feeling adrift.
I still can’t believe I was fired because of Brad’s actions. Apparently the rich and famous can get caught in scandal after scandal and still keep their jobs, but not their hairstylist. That’s grounds for immediate dismissal.
So instead of doing the one thing I love more than anything else, I’m stuck in the backwoods of southern Ohio, baking cookies, and babysitting my dad.
“Your mom said your car’s not in the driveway,” Dad says over the newspaper he’s reading.
“Yeah, I had some trouble last night while driving home from Chillicothe. Thankfully, Garret Mutter was passing by. He stopped to help me.”
“That was some luck.”
“It was.” I nod, trying not to remember how handsome Garret looked last night. Or the way his dislike for me seems to intensify every time we run into each other. “I wasn’t sure what I was going to do since it was so late and dark out.”
“What seems to be the problem?”
“Not sure. When I described what it did to Garret, he said it might be the transmission. Apparently, that’s a common problem with older Volvos. After he dropped me off, he went back for it and towed it to his shop.”
Dad’s silent for a moment, so I glance over my shoulder at him. When our eyes meet, he gives me a sharp nod. “Garret’s a good, honest mechanic. All the Mutter men are. He’ll do you right.”
“Good to know,” I whisper. Not for the first time wishing I’d see that side of him.
Garret doesn’t treat me like he’d do me right. He treats me like he’d tear me to shreds. That sends a shiver through me as my mind drops into the gutter. Garret is a big, broad man. I wonder if he’s big everywhere.
I add the last scoop of cookie dough to the tray, and I slide them in the oven and get to work with the next one.
“Do you mind pouring me some more coffee, sweetheart?” Dad asks.
“Of course.” I wipe my hands and grab the half full pot. This is the second pot I’ve made this morning. I typically only drink two cups of coffee a day, but I’ve drunk way more than that since coming home. My parents drink coffee throughout the day and after every meal. It’s a wonder they can sleep at night.
I refill his mug and decide to have a little more myself. We’re silent while Dad reads and I prep more cookies. The ten minutes it takes to bake the first batch flies by and before I know it, the timer is buzzing.
“Those smell amazing,” Dad says as he folds his paper and takes a drink of his coffee. “You’re gonna give me one, right?”
I chuckle. “Yes, Dad. You’re my official taster this morning. You have to tell me if they’re keepers.”
“Do I get one?” Rayne asks as she rushes into the room. “If Grandpa gets one, I do too, right?”
“Only if you’re ready for school. The bus will be here in fifteen minutes.”
“I’m ready.” She falls into a chair next to Dad.
“Where’s your backpack?”
“By the front door?”
“Did you pack your lunch?”
“It’s pizza day. I’m gonna buy my lunch.”
“Money?”
Rayne heaves a heavy sigh and nods.
“Water bottle?”
She rolls her eyes. “In my backpack. I’ve got everything. Promise.”
“Okay!” I lift my hands in surrender. “Just making sure.”