Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 82(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 82(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
When Wendel Reese fully retired and left his auto repair place here in town to his son, Jacob, I put in a good word for Windy. Jacob was hesitant, but her credentials couldn’t be denied. Everyone she’s ever worked for has given her rave reviews, and she made them believe that you don’t need a dick to be good at getting cars running.
So she’s finally coming home after all these years, and really? I can’t wait. I can’t believe how much I’ve missed her and how excited I am that she was coming back to town. I set up this date for us as soon as I heard.
Date in that it’s a time when we’re meeting, I mean. Not like a date in the romantic sense.
With another sip of my beer, my eyes dart around the saloon. I can’t wait to see her again, and my anticipation is killing me.
There she is though. Pushing through the door.
Goddamn, she’s something special. She has curves for days, tight, grease-stained jeans showing them off, and the old metal band t-shirt from the eighties that she’s wearing is just as good at showing her form off. She’s as cute as a button, her hair tied back in a bun. Despite her very tomboyish interests, she’s kept a feminine edge, and that means plenty of scrunchies when it comes to not getting her hair caught in an engine belt.
Her face lights up when she sees me, beautiful brown eyes and a smile to die for.
I can’t believe how much I missed seeing her.
She rushes up to me. “Williams! How long has it been since we’ve talked in person?”
“Years.” Truth be told, even a week is too long to go not talking to her, even if it has to be online.
I’ve invited her to Christmas and family dinners over the years. But maybe she thought it was weird for a friend to come to a family thing. Because that’s what we are. Friends, and not more than that.
A fact I have to keep reminding myself of. Even as we share a brief hug, one that she forces herself away from rather than lingering.
We sit down, and I order her a beer. Mitch delivers it swiftly, but keeps quiet knowing we’re already in the midst of a conversation.
“So, what’s it like slotting back into Burly, Windy?”
She takes a swig of her beer. “Everything feels different yet exactly the same. It’s comforting to a degree.”
“You’ll get right back into it. I’m sure everyone remembers you. You’re not like the other girls, after all. Not a lot of chicks going around smelling of motor oil instead of flowers and berries.”
“I try to get the smell out, but I guess it’s too strong to overcome.”
“Hey, I’m not complaining. I kind of like it, honestly. It’s your own unique fragrance. Bottle it up and market it.”
She shakes her head, amusingly annoyed. “I’m sure it’ll fly right off the shelves.”
I move the mozzarella sticks between us, shifting a napkin out of the way. Windy stops me.
“Wait, what’s this?”
I glance at my work. Oh yeah. I was doodling an idea I had when I was working on one of our tractors. “It’s a mod I want to put into one of the ranch’s vehicles.”
She looks at it. “Something with the lubrication supply?”
I nod. “Thinking of a way to keep some fresh oil on the moving parts to keep it moving smoothly with good and steady rationing. If everything is kept oiled up, the wear and tear on the machine will greatly decrease and save us a bunch of money in the long term. But I’m trying to think of some way to keep the supply separate from the machinery until it’s needed. We aren’t gonna save any money if we’re just dumping endless doses of oil over everything.”
I think I was onto a massive efficiency increase. I just need to connect the last few dots.
Windy studies my rough design. No one could ever make sense of my technical doodles and handwriting except her. She can read it with no problems and interpret it fully, even hastily scribbled down on a napkin. “A timed release, a latch, and a brush. That’s what this needs, and I see where to add it.”
She snatches a pencil out of a cup on the bar, the ones usually meant for trivia night. She adds notes to my design, scribbling some stuff out and presenting it. “This. This is it. You add these modifications to your plan and it should run absolutely perfectly.”
I look at her design. She’s right. And she’s brilliant as always. “You really should be more than an auto mechanic, Windy. You’re too smart to just be fixing everyone else’s mistakes.”
“Hey, I like fixing everyone else’s mistakes. At least I like fixing yours,” she says with a sly smile, looking my way.