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"There might be other benefits too." William smiled with a sly edge.
"Like?" William couldn't be implying anything romantic because that was patently ridiculous.
The smile grew wider. "Like space to work on your own car and use of the tools."
"Huh. Good thought." Ryan had his own tools but no place to put them. They were in storage, along with a bunch of other stuff. "I've always wanted a muscle car. Or an old truck."
William was almost grinning. "Erin's good. She could help you find one and walk you through the restoration too."
Tempting but troubling, too. "Huh. Can I think about it?"
"Sure." William shrugged. "How long?"
"I'll let you know by the end of the day."
"Perfect. Thanks." William turned to his computer.
Ryan returned to the counter. Nobody waiting for a change. A pleasant change—it'd been a busy day. He straightened the flyers near the register. He'd heard corporate was always riding William, so the cuts weren't a surprise. Better than he originally thought, which was a layoff. Sure, he could find a wage-slave job in half a dozen other places around town, but he liked Kelly’s for the most part. Except Jim.
Coffee was just coffee to him, but he'd learned to appreciate micro-brewed beer, so he could learn to appreciate espresso. He liked the smell, so living above the shop would be okay. Ryan wrinkled his nose. Although, after a while it might get old. Or maybe he'd get nose-blind. Guess he'd have to talk to Erin and see what the place looked like.
His shoulders hunched and he swallowed hard. He'd have to talk to Erin. Have to tell her about his injuries, and his post-traumatic stress, and talk about Michael. And she wouldn't want to stop there, no—she'd probably insist he go back to therapy, and join a support group, and talk to her about his feelings, and... Ryan sighed. Shoot. And he'd be around her all the time. She was too attractive in every way, shape, and form. Working with her every day would be torture. Or maybe not. Maybe he'd hate working for her. Maybe she'd turn out to be terrible. He snorted. Not a chance. She was an awesome person. And in a tough spot, trying to hire someone decent in a tight market.
He was gonna do it. He was such an idiot. Ryan would smack his head on the countertop, but he'd taken enough hits. Erin Moore would never be interested in him, but missing the chance to spend time with her made him scream "no!" inside. At least he'd work for someone who spoke his language—they'd lived the same places, they were both Air Force, and they'd seen some of the same stuff.
William emerged from the office, clipboard in hand.
"Hey, William!" He was so dumb.
He stopped. "Yeah?"
"I'll talk to Erin. Can you set it up?" Ryan couldn't quite put a name on the mix of emotions, but hope was part of it, along with a little excitement, and a whole lot of... worry. Yeah, worry. He wasn't scared.
"Sure." William nodded. "One afternoon this week, okay?"
"I'm free other than working here." He needed to get a life.
William smiled smugly. "I'll let you know." He chuckled and returned to the office.
"Thanks. I appreciate it." Ryan stacked another case of oil on the hand truck. Stocking oil probably wouldn't take his mind off of the coming interview, but he could try. The bell on the door rang, so he walked to the counter.
"Welcome to Kelly's, can I help you?" A scruffy guy, clothes and face smeared with black streaks shuffled toward him; a normal occurrence since working on cars was a dirty job. Body odor gusted across the counter. Ryan tried to hold his breath. Showers were a good thing.
"You got a screwdriver I can borrow?" The guy tapped nervously on the counter.
"Sure, we've got some loaner tools." Ryan turned to the tool cart, taking a big breath when he got farther from the guy. "Phillips or straight?"
"Straight, man."
Ryan handed him the tool. "Here you go. Anything else?"
"Can you give me a jump?" The man jerked his head back toward the front door.
"Sure, we can do that." At the battery rack, he pulled their jumper battery. The phone rang, and he couldn't find Jim again, so by the time he got free, more than a few minutes had passed. Ryan finally got the battery and jumper cables out the front door. The guy he'd loaned the screwdriver to was working on his car's fuel system—with a cigarette in his mouth. Brilliant. "Uh, excuse me, sir, but could you put out the cigarette?"
"Why?" Scruffy sneered over his shoulder.
Really? Ryan kept his tone even if no longer respectful. "Because spark and fuel are a good way to start a fire." Military life could be dangerous, but customer service might get him killed at home.
