Overdrive (10 page)

“Sure as shootin’ is, darlin’.” Gone was the cultured, upper-crust New England accent that had separated Mimi Galbraith from the unwashed masses. This was Deep South. And not the pecan-ranching, debutante kind of Deep South, either. Mimi could have easily been a Clampett.

“My mama was from tough stock, and she made no bones about us making a bettah life than she had. My two older sisters and me, we were wild when we was young,” she said with a whisper of a smile before steeling her spine again. “But she made sure we straightened out. Landed ourselves some good men with fine families. It wasn’t easy. Charm school was paid for by her second job as the mistress of a sugar plantation owner.” Her shoulders shuddered delicately. “Mr. Samuel Beaudegraven. What a bag of wind. I don’t know how she stood it, but I know why she did. For us.”

She smoothed the yellowing picture with one hand and cleared her throat before continuing. “And now here we are, you and I. I have spent my whole adult life trying to escape my beginnings. It’s a part of me, the need to make sure my children don’t go and undo all the hard work me and my mama did to get them out. To give them some legitimacy. But it’s times like these I feel a bit like a general without a war. You know what I mean by that, darlin’?”

“I think I do, yes, ma’am.”

“Because nowadays, nobody cares much about legitimacy or about what’s proper. Sure, the Montclaires do, and the Samuels, but aside from this little vacuum of a world I live in, does anyone really know or care?” She shrugged helplessly, suddenly looking every one of her sixty years. “Not one lick.”

A surge of sympathy rolled through Frankie, and she reached out to give the other woman’s hand a squeeze. Things were never as black and white as they seemed.

“Mackenzie has always suffered my silliness with a sort of good-natured acceptance. He’d get irritated, but he let me have my way if it didn’t tax him overmuch. But yesterday?” She shook her head grimly. “Yesterday I pushed him too far. Lord, I never saw him so furious. Gave me a piece of his mind, he did. Told me I had better take my snobby ass—he sure did cuss at me—over to your house and apologize for my behavior.” She lifted a hand to her elegant, champagne-blonde coiffure and sighed. “I didn’t much care for any of that and told him so. But he was right, and I told him that too. Then he told me he loves you.”

Frankie slammed her eyes closed as white lights exploded behind her lids. She sucked in a breath, then another, but she couldn’t seem to get enough air.

“Put your head between your knees, darlin’, and breathe through your nose.” Mimi’s voice sounded very far away, as if they were playing telephone with two cans and a length of string. “Get yourself together, young lady. Last thing I need is to tell my son I went and killed you. He’s likely to think I did it on purpose for spite. Come on now, slow breaths.”

A cool hand rubbed circles on her back as she did Mimi’s bidding. After a minute, her heartbeat started to slow and her lungs began to cooperate.

“W-we only went on one date,” she wheezed.

“Must have been a doozy. Or maybe he loved you before that. When I look at you, I surely do see a bit of this girl in there.” She tipped her head toward the photo of herself as a child. “I have neither the backbone nor the inclination to resurrect her, but I think I could get used to having someone with a little fire around in small doses. Not that I’d ever admit it outside these walls. Think on it long and hard because this whole hippy-dippy nonsense won’t happen again. I love my life and I have no intention of changing it for anyone. When I walk out this door, good old Mary-Alice is dead and gone again. If you become part of the family, I’ll butt in where I’m not welcome, browbeat you into fundraising events and even try to dictate your wardrobe. I’ll ride you about using the proper fork at a restaurant and I’ll not let my grandchildren run around like heathens. In public, at least,” she added with a wink. “As long as you understand that, and you’re good to my son, you and I will do fine.” She pushed the chair back and stood. “Now be a dear and fetch my coat.”

Frankie’s thoughts were racing as fast as her heart. It took a raised brow and pointed stare to kick her into gear. She made her way down the hall to the closet and retrieved the coat. Mimi had followed her and stood, arms outstretched, as Frankie held it open for her to step into.

“I appreciate your hospitality. Although I never did get that cup of tea,” she said with a
tsk
as she let herself out, pausing on the doorstep. She didn’t turn around and her voice was hushed, but Frankie heard her loud and clear. “I do apologize for my behavior the other day. It was…unbecoming.” The words were barely out before she faced Frankie and continued briskly, “Now, maybe you want to consider running a brush through that hair and applying some rouge. Mackenzie is at the coffee shop down the street, and I’m sure he would love to see you.”

With that, she turned on her heel and marched down the stairs as Frankie stared after her, speechless.

Mac sent the watch on his wrist a baleful glare. His mother had been with Frankie for over an hour. That couldn’t be good, could it? An apology should’ve taken a few minutes, tops. Then again, this was his mother. The first hour was likely her working up to it. Apologies didn’t exactly come naturally, that was for sure.

The bell jingled over the door as another person who wasn’t Frankie or his mother stepped in, bringing a blast of chilly air with them. He tore his gaze away and took a slug of cold coffee. What would he do if she wouldn’t hear him out? More to the point, what
could
he do? And the answer was not a fricking thing. If she didn’t want to take a chance on them, then they’d go back to the way things were. Friends. Fellow car enthusiasts. Customer and proprietor. He’d have to console himself with the memory of their brief time together as more. At least they’d had that.

What a crock.

He swallowed a bitter laugh. Whoever said that nonsense about having loved and lost clearly didn’t know shit. It felt awful. Way worse than when he’d only been with Frankie in his imagination. The reality of it had been so much better than anything he’d expected. Going back to less would be sheer torture.

He pushed away his cup, scrubbing a hand over his face. He’d always considered himself a patient man. Hell, he’d waited two years for a change with Frankie, but he was at his wit’s end. If he didn’t hear something from his mother soon, he was going to lose his mind.

His cellphone chimed, jarring him from his thoughts, and he yanked it from his pocket. Marjorie, his assistant. He diverted it directly to voicemail.

The door jingled again, but this time when he looked up it was to see Frankie Sepkaski striding toward him. His body tensed, on high alert, as his stomach took a dive. Even now, with their possible future hanging in the balance and her blank expression, he couldn’t stop from admiring her. The elegant way she moved, the long line of her neck. He was well and truly snared.

She pulled out the chair across from him and dropped into it. “You sicced your
mom
on me?” she whispered furiously.

Upon closer inspection, the look he’d initially interpreted as enigmatic seemed more like shell shock. Her eyes had a glassy sheen, and the confusion on her face was plain to see.

“It sounds pretty lame when you say it like that,” he admitted. “But to be fair, I didn’t exactly
sic
her. I just told her she needed to apologize. She agreed, and we decided to meet here afterward so I could make sure she went through with it.”

Frankie gave him a dubious eye squint. “That’s all you told her to say?”

“Yep. So here I am. Waiting to see if she went through with it.”

She met his gaze then nodded. “She’s a piece of work, you know.”

“I do.” He was afraid to say more as his imagination ran wild. What the hell had his mother done?

“She told me some…things.” Frankie’s face turned a pretty shade of pink as she began fiddling with the sugar packets on the table. “She, uh, said that she wouldn’t necessarily disapprove if we were together. If you wanted to be, I mean.” Pink became magenta as she let out a whoosh of air, blurting, “She said you love me.”

Mac jerked back as the words hit him like a slap. He’d already pressed Frankie too hard once and had ruined everything. Now his mother had to go and tell her that. He could almost hear the final nail being pounded into the coffin. He fumbled to recover, letting his face go blank as he struggled to figure a way to do some damage control without lying outright.

“My mother tends to be both melodramatic and nosy. She was rude to you and hurt your feelings. I would have insisted she apologize to anyone she treated that way in my presence. You think she’s bad now? You can’t imagine what she’s like unchecked.” He shot her an innocuous smile that he hoped didn’t betray his roiling emotions.

“So you don’t love me?”

He stared at her hard as he tried to untangle his thoughts. Her rich brown eyes regarded him expectantly. Was that hope shining there? Fear? She swallowed audibly, her delicate throat contracting, and suddenly it was clear as glass. It didn’t matter what she thought she wanted to hear. She loved him too. The question was whether she was willing to take a leap with him. It would kill him if she walked away. But after years of watching his mother dance to the tune of the people around her who she so desperately wanted to impress, he’d had his fill of phony. He’d been daring Frankie to be honest with herself, face her fears. How could he turn around and do less than that himself?

“She wasn’t lying. I do love you.” He shrugged helplessly. “Every time I see you, I fall a little harder. In fact, I had to build a new garage last year. Do you know why?”

She shook her head dumbly.

“Because I bought six cars. Six. Don’t get me wrong, I love cars. But more than that, every time I saw one I knew you’d like, I’d imagine your eyes lighting up when you saw it. I’d picture us choosing colors for the paint, and me stopping by with coffee, checking up on your progress. Us laughing and flirting. You in your little overalls. I hadn’t planned on buying any more cars until I was through with my business expansion plans, but the prospect of spending time with you was too tempting to pass up.”

Tears clung to her lashes as she slapped a hand over her trembling mouth.

He leaned closer and took her by the wrist, uncovering her lips. “And now this new garage is full too, so it would be really great if you could put me out of my misery and tell me you love me back,” he urged gently, hoping she couldn’t hear his heart knocking against his ribs.

The tears spilled over and she nodded once. “Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“I love you b-back.”

He stood, dizzy with relief, and pulled her to her feet. “I thought you might. The question is, do you want to be with me? Are you willing to put up with the crap a couple people might throw our way?”

“Let them talk. As long as you love me the way I am, none of the rest matters.” She bounced onto her toes and laid her lips on his.

He wrapped his arms around her, reveling in the warmth of her body and the joy he felt at not having to wonder if it would be for the last time. After giving her a hard squeeze, he pulled back to look down at her face. “And my mother? Can you stand it? Because if not, they have cars and plenty of buildings in California. Then we’re talking Christmases and funerals only.”

“Wait, are we moving in together now?” she demanded, panic stealing over her features.

“Doesn’t have to be right away. We don’t have to talk about it until you’re ready. As long as you’re aware it’s part of my master plan. That and, you know, a ring and babies an—”

She thumped him in the chest with one fist. “Babies?” she screeched. “Stop. Please stop. My brain can’t take it right now.”

“Shh, it’s okay, love. We have all the time in the world. As long as you want that
someday
, I’m not going anywhere.”

She nodded and curled into him, the tension seeming to seep from her body. “That, I can handle. I don’t want to move away, though. Your mom and I have had a meeting of the minds. Sort of. And I could never leave the garage. It’s the one place I can still feel close to my dad. It’s my whole world. Well, it was. Until you.”

Her words washed over him like a healing rain. “I am so happy to hear you say that.” He tugged her arms from around his neck and stepped back. “So, let’s make it unofficial. Frankie,” he said, his tone solemn as he dropped to one knee with her hand in his. “I want to be your eight-cylinder man. Will you agree to a long-term lease, with an option to buy?”

She tossed her head back and let out an exceptionally bawdy laugh. “Eight cylinders, huh?” She yanked him to his feet. “If you can keep up with me, I’m yours.” She cupped his face in her hands and tilted her lips to his. “I’m all yours.”

About the Author

Chloe Cole is one half of the happiest couple in the world. She and her handsome hubby currently reside in Pennsylvania with a four-pack of teenage boys and their two dogs, Gimli and Pug. When she isn’t acting as maid, chef, chauffeur or therapist, she can be found reading just about anything she can get her hands on, from young adult novels to books on poker theory. She hates bugs (except ladybugs, on account of their cute outfits), but lurrves chocolate. She loves writing super-steamy romance stories, but also hopes to one day publish something her dad can read without wanting to dig his eyes out with rusty spoons. If she had to pick another occupation, she’d be a pirate. Ooh, or, like, a ninja maybe.