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“Thanks.”
He pulls me into his arms and stares at me with so much longing, my heart flutters. I raise up on my toes, tilt my head, and purse my lips.
An engine roars by on the road in front of the shop. The driver honks their horn, startling me out of Griff’s arms.
“Jackasses,” he mutters. Shaking his head, he sifts through the ring of keys in his hand until he finds a short silver one on a red ring. He slides it in the lock and opens the door.
Inside, it’s dark, but the mix of moonlight and the lights spilling through the wide glass windows highlight where we’re going. Griff moves quickly to the right, opening the door leading to the garage bays.
The familiar, sharp scent of motor oil stings my nose as we enter the garage. Griff flicks on an overhead light that shines down on an old Ford pickup in the first bay.
“I like this. Are they keeping the mint-green paint?” I ask, running my fingers over the shiny chrome front fender.
“Yeah, I just replaced the clutch,” he says over his shoulder.
He keeps walking. My platform boots had been cute and comfy when I’d gotten dressed this morning but now my toes squish and rub with every step. I limp and struggle to keep up with Griff’s long strides.
Griff stops and turns. “Are you okay?”
“My feet are starting to hurt. I should’ve changed into my sneakers.”
“Come here.” In two steps, he’s in front of me and scooping me into his arms. His loving eyes roam over my face for a few heartbeats. “Birthday girls should be carried, anyway.”
I loop my arms around his neck. “Thank you.”
The last bay holds a car-shaped lump under a big red blanket of some sort. It looks too new to be something Griff uses often. “Did the owner bring their car’s blankie from home or something?” I joke.
Griff chuckles and gently sets me down on the hood. “Hang on.”
I slide on the material. Afraid I’ll scratch whatever’s underneath, I jump off and stand in front of it. The lights flicker above. Definitely a car under there. Wide black tires peek out from under the edge of the red cloth. Griff walks up behind me and slides his hands over my eyes.
“What’re you doing?” I laugh.
“Keep your eyes closed for a second.”
“Okay.”
The warmth of his hands on my face disappears. His body brushes against mine, his footsteps a quick shuffling over the concrete.
There’s a ripple through the air. A rush against my cheek. A rumpling of fabric.
“Open,” Griff says.
My heart pounds. I peel my eyelids open and stare at the beat-up black-and-copper Chevy Malibu in front of me. My jaw drops and a squeak of surprise scratches out of my throat.
“Happy birthday.”
My scrambled brain can’t comprehend what’s happening. My gaze flits between the car and Griff’s questioning face.
“It’s yours.”
“What do you mean it’s mine?” I ask, my voice full of surprise and anticipation. He remembered that I said I wanted to restore a Malibu with him? Then went out and found one for us? Am I dreaming?
Griff flashes a crooked smile, and my heart skips. “Correction—when we’re finished with the restoration, it’ll be yours.”
“Really?” I squeal with delight and throw my arms around his neck. “You remembered that’s what I wanted?” I pepper his face with happy kisses.
“How could I forget?” He slides his arms around my waist, lifting me and catching my lips with his own. He sets me down and takes my hand. “Come on.”
