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"Great. Thanks a lot, Tiffany. I'll see you in the morning."
"Sure. See you then."
Erin sighed, put the brake line down, cleaned her hands, and took the time to put some moisturizer on, too. With the beating her hands took, every little bit helped. Then she stripped off the coveralls and returned to the coffee shop. First, she checked the front door; Tiffany had locked it. The drive-through window was not only unlocked but wide open. She locked it, then started on the closing checklist she'd written when Tiffany started. Not that a checklist seemed to do much good, since Tiffany checked the step off as "done" no matter what.
She wiped counters, the scent of bleach warring with coffee. The idea was perfect. An employee in the mornings to pull espresso while Erin rebuilt classic cars. In the afternoons, Erin would man the coffee shop and use the time between customers to order parts and do research. In reality, Erin spent most mornings in the coffee shop because Tiffany wasn't reliable. Or fast enough.
Or anything enough.
If only Erin could find someone who would take the apartment above the coffee shop in exchange for working in the mornings, as she'd originally planned. But, as long as she had to pay Tiffany a salary, Erin had to take outside work like the maintenance on Mrs. Cust's car to pay the bills. And that meant closing the coffee shop after noon to work on her classics. Even when the coffee shop was officially "closed," it was rarely empty. Organizations used the shop for meetings, paying a flat fee for coffee and snacks and serving themselves. Unfortunately for her, they were all non-profits, so Erin earned nothing but goodwill.
Eventually, she'd like to hire a couple of reliable high-school kids for the after-school crowd and moms desperate for an afternoon pickup, but that hadn't happened yet either. Not enough hours in the day. Erin counted out the till, set it up for tomorrow morning, and took the bank bag for her afternoon rounds. Peering out the window, Erin grinned at the bright sun and blue skies.
In the garage, she clicked the far-end door opener and hopped in Smoky, Michael's 442. She grinned when the engine turned over with a roar. It quickly settled to a high idle, pushing fluids through the engine and joy through her heart.
Michael loved this car, and it showed. The 1968 Peruvian Silver Hurst/Olds 442 wasn't a popular muscle car, like a Mustang or a GTO, but it could scream off the line much faster. Especially this model—one of only five hundred and fifteen produced. When Michael was still too young to drive, he pulled it out of a field and restored it to driving condition. Every time he had a little extra money, it went into the car, along with a lot of elbow grease and love.
Erin ran a hand over the velvety dark gray upholstery. She'd learned on the 442, too. As she helped Michael with his project cars, she became a better mechanic. Eventually, she got good enough to keep working while he was deployed. In Michael's limited time at home, he concentrated on his favorite part, rebuilding engines. Erin did or arranged for everything else. Other than the bedroom, their favorite place was the garage. The neighbors commented enviously on their "made in car heaven" relationship.
A classic car restoration shop was their post-retirement dream, but dreams became plans and then reality when Mother commanded their presence for a big bank anniversary celebration. Driving around Marcus to avoid spending time with Mom, they'd spotted the property. The main building was nothing but a shell, a huge open room with nothing inside. They watched the listing and scooped it up after the price dropped dramatically. When their realtor complained about the lack of good espresso shops north of town, they decided adding a coffee shop with a drive-through would be a good second revenue stream. They both loved coffee and knew the car business wasn't steady or stable. But adding the coffee shop plus the upstairs apartment meant getting a loan—they couldn't do it with just their savings. Especially when they'd planned on having kids. So Erin took some small business classes and wrote a business plan.
Then Michael was killed. She tightened her grip on Smoky's steering wheel. She'd run back home to grieve and hide. But only two months later, her loving mother decided it was time for Erin to stop mourning, whether she was ready or not. Mom invited single men over for dinner and held parties each weekend. Mom's house no longer a haven, Erin updated their business plan, making an appointment to discuss the loan while Mother was traveling. After a glowing report from the loan officer, Mom had no choice but to approve it. Erin grinned. Especially after she reminded Mother how bad it would look if Erin went to a rival bank. Angered, she approved the loan but stepped up her campaign on Erin's love life. Erin moved into the bare-bones apartment above the coffee shop, doing much of the finish work herself. That didn't stop Mom from trying to set her up with the "right kind" of man.
Most of the time, it wasn't worth fighting about. She would go, be polite, and never think about that particular guy again. Then Chaz told Mom that Erin was the love of his life, and the war began. To Mom, he was the perfect man, simply because he was rich. Perhaps that was the appeal of the new people Mom was associating with—sheer wealth.
Erin shuddered and hit the accelerator to kick the engine down to its normal low rumble. Her entire body rumbled with it. Cust and company could go pound sand; she had Smoky. She pulled out of the garage, driving slowly down the gravel driveway to avoid dinging the paint. At the highway, she stepped on the gas, hard, and laughed. Pure, old-fashioned horsepower never got old—the heart-pounding thrill ran right over the depression, loneliness, and guilt.
Slowing as she rolled into town, Erin made her deposit at the bank, then drove sedately through town to Deb’s Bakery. She and Deb graduated from high school together, but when Erin entered the Air Force looking for adventure and money for college, Deb stayed in Marcus and married her high school sweetheart. After Deb’s sleaze ball husband decided dealing drugs to kids was better than working a real job and ended up in jail, Deb started a bakery. In the mornings, the active, retired set hung out when they weren’t out fishing, hiking, or gardening, and kids dropped by after school. Deb had a delivery service, but Erin wanted to see her friend—and the sun.
Erin entered the bakery's back door, knowing Deb would be madly mixing, baking, and decorating. About once a week, Erin got to taste test a new recipe—a wonderful experience for her mouth but terrible for her hips. Which led to her next semi-regular stop, the late afternoon Crossfit class. But not today.
Inhaling deeply, cinnamon, chocolate, and delicious browned butter filled her senses. Her tummy rumbled in response. "Deb?"
"Decorating!"
Erin passed the still-hot ovens, the cooling racks, and the huge stand mixers, to the decorating table. Before she said anything, Erin peeked around the corner, into the shop's small eating area. Erin did not want to run into any of her would-be boyfriends, especially Chaz. Fortunately, only Deb's regulars sat there. "How's it going?"
Deb never looked up from the cake, piping elaborate silver figures across pristine white fondant with a big pastry bag. A white cloth cap contained her long strawberry blonde hair, and bright frosting smeared her white coat. "Today's a good one. Lots of orders for the next couple of weeks, but spaced so it's doable, and plenty of customers, but not too many. Perfect, all in all, which makes me wonder when the cheesecake will crack."
Erin snorted. "I figured the pessimism was coming eventually, but really? In one sentence, you go from 'it's great' to 'the world will end'?"
"It does, ya know?" Deb chuckled.
Erin laughed. "I know. Got another command performance with Mom on Saturday night. If it's Cust, I'm turning right around and walking out."
"Ew, yes." Deb's nose wrinkled. "He's slimy."
Erin nodded. "But his money isn't, and I've got a lot to make on restoring his car, so I guess I'd better get back to it."
"I still can't believe you agreed." Deb shook her head.
"I agreed before I knew Mom was trying to set me up with him. I never dreamed she'd keep trying so hard for so long with so many losers. Especially Chaz." Erin shuddered.
"Maybe if you leave her with the losers, she can hook up with them. Your mother would be the quintessential cougar if she'd loosen up a little." Deb grinned.
Erin laughed. "Wouldn't she? I think that's why she picks them; she's looking for somebody who'd be right for her, not me. But Cust's simply a money thing. I don't think Mom likes him at all, personally." She stared at Deb's display case. "I'm not sure what's really going on. She's made comments about him being a spendthrift loser in the past, and I think she'd hate having him for a son-in-law, so why is she giving into his pressure?"
"Lots and lots of lovely money?" Deb chuckled.
