Crystal looked him up and down. “You’d look cute in one of those uniforms.”
Even though he wasn’t crazy about the “cute” adjective, his breath caught again on her smile. “I have absolutely no desire to go 180 miles an hour. My family knew early on I’d never be a driver.”
Then he rethought the burst of honesty. Did it make him sound timid? Nerdy?
The clerk slid the smoothies across the counter, and Larry signed the credit card slip.
“I’d try it once,” said Crystal, capturing the plastic straw between her white teeth. “Just to see what it felt like.”
Larry’s gaze caught on her red lips as they wrapped around the straw and took a pull on the thick drink.
Then she grinned. “Of course, there’s every chance I’d scream my head off.”
She stirred the straw through the drink as she turned away. He watched her long legs, the sway of her hips, and the smooth skin of her bare shoulders. She was gorgeous enough to be on a Paris runway. And for the first time since his wife died three years ago, Larry felt a rush of sexual desire.
He tore his gaze from her body, scooped the other smoothie from the countertop, and followed her.
Crystal chose a corner table between a potted fig and a glass wall that overlooked the park. The ceiling was lower here than in the pool area, dampening the echoes of the growing swim crowd.
Larry rushed forward to help with her chair, and she turned to give him a bemused smiled. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He took the chair opposite, setting his drink on the table.
“So, you bucked the family business,” she began, dabbing her straw up and down.
“I did,” he agreed, struggling to keep his gaze from straying below her neck.
“Were they disappointed?”
“That I became a professor instead of a mechanic?”
She tipped her head sideways. “It sounds strange when you say it that way.”
“Only to people who don’t understand the value of a good mechanic.”
“And you do?”
“I became a professor, because I’d make a lousy mechanic.”
“And I became a parts driver, because I made a lousy model.”
“You were a model?” It didn’t surprise him.
“For a couple of months. I hated it.”
He raised his eyebrows, waiting for her to continue.
“The sum total of your being is reduced to the size of your waist and the length of your legs.”
He couldn’t help it, his gaze dipped down. Luckily, she didn’t notice.
She wiggled forward in her chair. “I felt like some kind of a mechanical Barbie doll. Face this way. Walk that way. Frown, pout, stare. And all those people.” She shuddered. “Ogling you. They pretend it’s about the clothes, but half of them are checking out your body.”
“Why did you try it in the first place?”
“I was in college, and the money was good.”
“What was your major?” he asked, feeling himself relax in a way he rarely did around women.
“Creative writing, plus some history and anthropology.”
“But you became a parts driver?”
“Unlike you, I didn’t buck the family business.”
He nodded, remembering the logo on the side of her van. “Softco Machine Works.”
“Mom and Dad are good for a paycheck.”
“Do you write at all?” He knew it was tough to make a living as a writer.
She nodded, sliding her fingertip through the condensation on her glass. Larry had to remind himself to take a drink of his own melting concoction.
“Short stories mostly, based on the lives of the women who settled the South. That’s why I like driving for Softco. It’s part-time, and the hours are flexible. If I’m working on a story, I can come in late or take off early.”
“That sounds fascinating,” he told her honestly.
“Mostly it’s traffic lights and getting cut off by sports cars.”
“You know what I meant.”
“It’s fascinating,” she agreed. “Particularly the interviews. And I’m working on a cookbook and anthology that my publisher thinks might pay off.”
“Tell me about it.” Larry took a long pull on the pineapple-mango smoothie, wondering how he could possibly segue from a cookbook to a date.
CHAPTER TWO
ON SUNDAY MORNING, CRYSTAL had to settle for bran cereal instead of cold, leftover pepperoni pizza. On the bright side, she now had a dozen cans of dog food, a shiny black dog dish and a leather leash dangling from one of the hooks beside her kitchen door. On the down side, she might have to ask her mother for an advance this week.
Rufus was curled up, asleep on the woven mat in front of the fireplace. It would have been a picture-perfect scene, if the fireplace had worked, if it wasn’t ninety degrees outside and if Rufus hadn’t snored like a longshoreman. The dog had remained aloof for the past two days. He was polite, but clearly confused, and he still had an air of watchfulness and waiting about him.
The phone rang, and he jumped to his feet.
“It won’t be for you, boy,” she said, then added, “Sorry.”
Still, he watched her closely while she crossed the faded, yellow linoleum to retrieve the cordless phone from the top of the washing machine. The readout showed it was her mother from downstairs in the office.
She clicked the talk button. “Hey, Mom.”
The computerized lathes and milling machines rumbled in the background. “Are you up?” called Stella Hayes.
“I’ve been up for an hour,” said Crystal. It was way too hot to sleep late.
“Good. Norman’s been up since four this morning machining a backup axle for Dean Grosso, just in case, and we need a delivery driver.”
Crystal experienced a moment’s hesitation.
The Dean Grosso garage might bring her into contact with Larry again. Not that that was a bad thing. It was simply a…strange thing.
There was something about the man that made her restless and edgy, not to mention uncharacteristically expansive. When she thought back over their conversation, she couldn’t believe how much she’d rattled on about her Colonial cookbook and anthology project.
She also couldn’t believe a man who was helping the world explore the asteroid belt had been interested in her writing project. Looking back, she worried that he’d simply been humoring her.
When she’d asked, he’d admitted he was consulting on an ion propulsion engine for NASA. Although most of the technicalities escaped her, Larry explained how a blue beam of light that could barely push a piece of paper on earth could eventually propel a spaceship to thousands of miles an hour. The man was a bona fide rocket scientist.
“Crystal?” her mother prompted.
“Sorry, Mom.”
Rufus gave up and went back to the mat.
“Can you drive today?”
“Sure.” Everybody pitched in during race week. Besides, Stella was as practical and no-nonsense as they came. Crystal could hardly explain that she didn’t want to go because she got a funny feeling from a man who might be at the track.
“Give me fifteen minutes?” asked Crystal.
“The axle will be ready when you are.”
