Yes, she could do this. Be fun and flirty, like the characters from her beloved romance novels, the kind of woman Sara always wanted to be. With Grant, it could happen, and there was no chance she would get broken-hearted.
No chance at all.
8 Grant
Grant wiped his greasy hands on a rag and slipped into the driver’s seat of Sara’s car. He turned the ignition, and the engine purred to life. “Yeah, baby.”
He got out and made sure everything under the hood was running properly. He’d not only repaired the vehicle but done a full service as well. Initially, it’d been to help out Sara, but the dirtier Grant’s hands got, the more he realized how much he missed working on cars. There was a simplicity to it. See a problem, fix it. Job well done.
Working as a SEAL was a bit more nebulous and complicated. Lives hung in the balance, and the weight of that had the ability to crush a man over time.
Grant sometimes wondered if it was crushing him. A decade of war zones and high-risk missions had changed him. Forever. Nightmares haunted him, and flashbacks happened on occasion. His back ached from carrying heavy packs and joint pain was more common. While he was proud of his service, Grant also worried his body was giving him warning signs, letting him know that quitting was inevitable.
“You got it running,” Aunt Suzie said, coming up the driveway. She had a shawl draped over her shoulders and carried a bottle of water. She offered it to him.
“I did.” He straightened and accepted the water. He broke the seal and took a long drink. “Thanks.”
“How did the after-school program go?”
“Better than I thought.” His mouth twitched. “The kids had a great time with the superhero theme and the scavenger hunt. There’s another one on Friday. We’re going to talk about outer space. Knowing Sara, she’s going to make me wear a planet on my head or something.”
Aunt Suzie laughed. “It’s good you’re helping her out.” She patted his arm. “I’m going to check on your mom. Any progress?”
Grant glanced at the house, his heart sinking. “None. She yelled at me this morning when I broached the subject of therapy. And she refused to let me take out the trash.”
“I know this is hard for you, honey, but things have taken a dramatic turn in the last
several months. The house…it’s not safe for her to live like that. Some of the exits are blocked off. There could be a fire, and she wouldn’t be able to escape. Maybe it’s time to file for a medical power of attorney and then force her into getting help—”
“No. Absolutely not.”
His tone came out sharper than he intended. This wasn’t his aunt’s fault. In fact, Grant owed her a great deal of gratitude. She’d been the one taking care of his mom while he was in the navy.
But take the choice away from Mom? Force her into treatment? Every single thing Pop instilled in him rebelled against that notion.
You need to protect your mother. Always.
Grant took a deep breath. “I will handle it. You’ve been patient, and I truly appreciate it. Give me a bit more time. I’ll get through to her.”
Suzie’s mouth tightened, and it appeared she wanted to argue with him, but then she sighed and nodded. She glanced at the Honda. “Is Sara coming to get her car?”
“In a little bit. She’s catching a ride with someone from work.” He swiped at a greasy spot on his pinky. “Aunt Suzie, I won’t be home for dinner tonight. Sara invited me to eat with her and Ben.”
His aunt smiled. “That’s fine, dear. Have a good time.”
“Thanks.”
She adjusted the shawl around her shoulders and gave his arm one last pat before heading up the walkway. Aunt Suzie hesitated a brief moment before going inside, as if she was shoring up her emotions. It was a feeling Grant related to. He did exactly the same thing every time he entered his mom’s house.
He picked up the tools from the ground and went into the garage. The radio in the corner played a soft country station—exactly the one Pop had always tuned in to. Grant cleaned the tools carefully, placing them back precisely where they belonged. It’d been strange to use them again, but not as painful as he expected.
It reminded him of the first time he saw Ben at the baseball field. Grant had expected it to level him. Instead, it’d taken the sharp edge off his grief.
The classic truck seemed to call him over, and Grant pulled back the tarp from the front of the vehicle.
This was supposed to have been his first car. Pop’s words rang in his head.
If you have to build it from scratch, you’ll respect it more.
Pop had a way of hitting lessons home without being preachy. Simple and effective. And also true. Grant had poured hours into rebuilding the truck, side-by-side with his father.
Pop died before they could finish it, and until two days ago, Grant hadn’t been able to step foot inside the garage. His first vehicle had been a pitiful Ford. Barely more than a hunk of rusted metal on wheels held together by Duct tape. It’d been all he could afford after a summer working three jobs.
Heels clicked against concrete. Grant lifted his head, and his heart skipped a beat. Sara strolled toward him, and when their eyes met, she smiled. A blush crept up her cheeks, and he drank it in. She had a natural beauty that made him forget his own name.
Their conversation from earlier had played over and over again in his mind for the rest of the day. Friends who flirt. It was something Grant could get behind. It enabled him to relax around Sara, because he wasn’t constantly calculating every move.
Learning she found him attractive too was a dream come true. The relationship couldn’t go anywhere. That he knew for certain. But
