Page 39 of Diesel

“I’ll make sure to use it.” My fingers absently traced the bite mark again, and warmth spread through me at the thought of going back to the shop. Of seeing Diesel in his element, covered in grease and looking at me with those blue eyes.

“Good. Now, I should mention—oh, it’s hardly worth bringing up, really. Greta stopped by yesterday afternoon. She was delivering those cookies she makes. The ones with too much vanilla, you know the ones. Anyway, her foot got caught in one of the porch slabs.”

My hand stilled on the bite mark. “Wait, what? Is she okay?”

“Oh, she’s fine, dear. Just fine. Made quite a fuss about it, but you know Greta. Always dramatic.” Edith’s tone remained light, conversational, like she was discussing a cookie recipe instead of her friend getting injured. “She pulled her foot right out and went on her way. Didn’t even drop the cookies.”

“Edith, is she hurt?” The towel slipped slightly, and I hitched it back up with one hand while gripping the phone tighter with the other. “Did she twist her ankle? Bruise anything?”

“She said she was fine. You know how Greta is. She’d tell us if something was wrong.” Papers rustled again in the background. “Now, about that coupon—”

“What about your porch?” The question cut through whatever she’d been about to say. My mind raced, picturing Greta’s foot wedged between broken boards, the potential for a serious fall. “How bad is it?”

“The porch? Oh, it’s been sagging for years, Ollie. Nothing new.”

I’d known it was sagging, but it hadn’t crossed my mind to ask if any of the wood was rotting, and now it was catching people’s feet. Greta could’ve broken an ankle. Could’ve fallen and cracked her skull open. The possibilities spiraled through my thoughts, each one worse than the last.

“I knew the boards were warped,” I said, more to myself than to Edith. “But I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

“It’s fine, dear. Really. Don’t worry yourself over it.”

How could I not worry? These were my people. My passengers. The seniors who’d become more like family than my actual family ever had been. The thought of any of them getting hurt because of something preventable made my stomach clench.

“I should go,” I said, already mentally running through my schedule for the day. “Thanks for calling, Edith. And for the coupon.”

“Of course, dear. Remember, thirty percent off!”

The call ended, and I stood there in my bedroom, water from my hair dripping onto my bare shoulders. Concern gnawed at me. Greta had said she was fine, but Greta also thought her grandson was mature enough to date a grown man when he was still in high school.

Her judgment wasn’t always reliable.

Maybe I should stop by. Just to check on Greta. Make sure she wasn’t limping around her house pretending everything was okay when she really needed ice and elevation.

Tossing the phone onto the bed, I started getting dressed. My body moved on autopilot, boxers, jeans, a T-shirt that didn’t have any questionable stains. The bite mark on my shoulder protested when I pulled the shirt over my head, and I paused to adjust the fabric so it wouldn’t rub.

From the nightstand, my phone buzzed. Not a call this time, just a text. Pulling it up, I saw Diesel’s name.

Diesel: Still up?

Me: Yeah. Just got out of the shower.

Diesel: Miss you already.

The words sent warmth flooding through me, chasing away some of the anxiety Edith’s call had stirred up. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, trying to figure out how to respond without sounding like a complete sap.

Before I could type anything, my phone rang. Diesel’s name flashed across the screen, and I answered immediately.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” His voice came through rough and warm, like he’d just woken up. “Figured calling was easier than texting. You sound off. Something wrong?”

We’d been together only a week, yet somehow he knew when my text was off.

“Edith just called,” I said, dropping onto the edge of my bed. The mattress still smelled like sex and Diesel’s cologne. “Greta’s foot got caught in Edith’s porch yesterday. One of the boards or slabs or whatever.”

“She okay?”

“Edith says she’s fine, but I don’t know. Greta’s the type to say she’s fine even if she’s bleeding out.” My free hand rubbed at my face, exhaustion from last night catching up with me. “The porch is in bad shape. I knew it was sagging. I’ve seen it every time I pick her up, but I didn’t know it was bad enough to actually hurt someone.”