“Agnes?” I squint at her skeptically while I feel my heart climb back into my chest.
She nods eagerly. “Oh yeah, Agnes is a true local. But if you see her, you better run.”
“Why would I run?”
“Because Agnes is an old, mangy moose and she doesn’t mind chasing people that get too close to her.” She grins, looking pleased with herself. “Pretty Boys included.”
“Is that a smile I see, Shadow?”
Her grin fades and her brows knit together. “Shadow?”
I shrug. “If you get to call me Pretty Boy, I get to call you Shadow.”
“But why Shadow?”
Part of me wants to tell her the truth. I already know images of her smoky eyes and smile will live at the edges of my dreams for the foreseeable future, following me like a shadow.
Instead I settle for something more lighthearted and smirk back at her.
“Because as charming as it might sound, Local Spewer of Verbal Diarrhea is a mouthful to say.”
CHAPTER 5
KELSEY
My dad swearsfrom under my car. “Kels, how long has that light been on?”
I lean against the passenger door, looking down at him. He’s only visible from the neck down, but I can picture the irritated look on his face.
“I don’t know. Probably a few weeks?”
He lets out an annoyed sigh like only a dad can. “Jesus, Kels. You basically have no brake pads left and the rotors aren’t in great shape either.”
“Oh. Is that why they’ve been squealing?”
He shimmies out from under the car and looks up at me.
“Please tell me you didn’t think that was a normal sound?”
“I could tell you that or I could tell you the truth.”
I smirk at him, but I don’t think he finds it funny. He closes his eyes and mutters under his breath.
“I mean who needs brakes, right?”
He glares at me. “OK. That better be a joke.”
I shrug. “I just figured they’d get better on their own, like they were breaking in or something.”
He rubs his temples. “Dear Lord, that’s not how they work. Help me up?”
He reaches up and I grab his hand, pulling him to his feet. He takes off his gloves and dusts off his jeans.
Dad isn’t a mechanic, but he’s always been handy and works hard no matter what he’s doing. That’s something he instilled in me—we buckle down and find our own fixes. Growing up, that meant he was always doing things around our house. Even after my parents sold the house I grew up in, he still helped at Grandma’s house , so I never held it against them for leaving Jackson. At least they waited until I graduated high school and was living with Monica.
“So can you fix them?” I ask, raising my hands in a pleading gesture. “Pretty please?”
He gives me a soft, apologetic smile. “I wish I could, but I don’t have the right tools. You’ll need to take it to a shop.”