His Uptown Girl. Gail Sattler

from auto wreckers for her. She needed parts for her current project—restoring an old pickup truck she’d bought from one of the families in her church. The man had lost his job and the family needed money. They wouldn’t accept charity, so instead, Georgette had bought the family’s derelict pickup truck for many times more than it was worth, a sum that would keep their mortgage at bay for at least six months. She was now working to restore the truck. Perhaps someday the thing would even run again.

      As she pulled into the shop, Georgette formulated her priorities. In three hours she had to be showered and ready, so she needed to make good use of her time.

      Her thoughts cut off abruptly when she approached the store and saw a cardboard sign in the window.

      HELP WANTED.

      Georgette’s breath caught. She quickened her pace, able to read the smaller print when she stood beside the door.

      Light-duty mechanic.

      She could do that. Fixing and rebuilding engines might just be a hobby, but she did it well. The pros at the race track confirmed it again and again. She’d never tackled a project she couldn’t complete. And unlike the other times her father had ruined her job chances with a phone call, her references could be her friends at the race track. Her father didn’t even know about this place, not that he’d deign to go to an auto shop any way. Georgette said a short prayer that they wouldn’t ask for more, and pushed the door open.

      The phone was ringing, and two customers waited impatiently ahead of her. Bob was behind the counter, taking notes as a woman listed the problems with her car. The voice of Bart, the other proprietor, echoed from the shop, over the noise of the hydraulic hoist, as he called for another customer to come out. Help certainly was wanted at Bob And Bart’s Auto Repair.

      While she waited for her turn, Georgette watched Bob a little more closely. Even though she’d been there before, she’d paid more attention to the spectacular finds he’d made for her than what either of the men looked like.

      He carried himself with confidence as he dealt with his customers. Considering his job, he was relatively tidy in appearance, although his dark hair could use a cut. His olive-green eyes and Roman nose made her suspect an Italian heritage, though, the poster on the wall advertising a discount at Bob’s brother’s Italian restaurant, was a pretty solid hint, too.

      As she stepped ahead in the line, she continued to study Bob.

      He was a good-looking man. When he smiled, the hint of crow’s feet at the corners of those amazing eyes put him at thirtyish.

      After a short conversation, the man ahead of her followed Bob to the opening between the lobby and the shop. Bob called out to Bart, left the man where he was, then returned to his place behind the counter. “Can I help you?” Bob asked as he reached for a blank work order. As he turned to her, his frown turned to a small smile. “Right. I left a message on your cell phone. Your parts are in. I’ll go get them. What’s your name again?”

      Georgette’s stomach quivered. “Ecklington. George Ecklington.”

      His smile widened. “Of course. George. How could I forget? I’ll be right back.”

      “No! Bob! Wait!” Georgette called as he took his first step away.

      When he turned back to her, she cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m here for my parts, but I see you’re hiring. I’d like to apply for the job.”

      His smile widened even more. He pulled an application from beneath the counter and slid it toward her. “I didn’t have time to make our own applications, so I borrowed a few from my brother. It says Antonio’s Ristorante at the top, but just cross it out, and write Bookkeeper in the corner so I’ll put it in the right pile.”

      Georgette tried not to let her annoyance show. She didn’t want the bookkeeper’s job. Usually she could understand when people in her father’s circle treated her like a frail little tulip, but to Bob, she was a customer—a customer who frequently bought parts, and installed them. Herself. She didn’t like his assumption, but she’d had to prove herself at the raceway, too.

      However, it wasn’t as if she couldn’t do the bookkeeping. Having been confined to her father’s charities, she’d picked up the skill, including receivables, purchasing and handling the disbursements. She could imagine her father’s blood boiling at the thought of his daughter doing work that paid by the hour. But not a dime of the allowance he’d given her was truly hers.

      This job and its salary, independent of her father, or of anyone who had any association with her father, would be.

      Georgette looked up at Bob, trying to show more confidence than she felt. “Actually, I’d like to apply for both jobs.”

      “Pardon me?”

      “I can do bookkeeping, but I’m also a light-duty mechanic. Your sign said the hours were negotiable. Could two part-time jobs add up to one full-time job?”

      Bob’s smile dropped. “I’m sorry, but we need a real mechanic, not just someone to change oil and check spark plugs.”

      “But I am a real mechanic. I usually do rebuilds, but there’s no reason I couldn’t work on current models.”

      “Well, maybe you could, but I don’t think—”

      As she pictured herself actually working there, the things she knew she could do bubbled in her mind. “When people come in and they don’t know what’s wrong, if you just hired a bookkeeper, you’d have to stop what you were doing and listen to them. If you hired me, I would get a pretty good idea of what was wrong right off the bat, even if I wasn’t the one to do the actual work.”

      Bob raised one finger in the air. “But—”

      Her words tumbled over his protest. “Then you’d have the option of being able to use me in the shop or the office, wherever I was more needed at the time. Or I could—”

      Bob put up his hands. “That really wasn’t what we had in mind.”

      She narrowed her eyes. “Are you saying a woman couldn’t do this job?”

      “No! That’s not what I’m saying at all…”

      “I might be a woman, but I’m a good mechanic, and that’s what you’re hiring. I would do a good job for you. For both positions. I could even start Monday.”

      “Monday? Really…?” Bob’s voice trailed off. He closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bart and I never discussed this possibility. We have to think about it. Why don’t you fill out the application, and when you’re done I’ll call him in here so we can talk about it?”

      Georgette tried to calm her racing heart. It was a possibility. Thoughts of her father’s vehement disapproval slammed into her, but she pushed them aside. If Bob offered her the job, she would come up with a way to deal with her father. She couldn’t think of anything she wanted more than this job.

      The chime sounded behind her as another customer walked in. Georgette slid to the end of the counter to fill out the application, using her race track friends as references, though she had to list her father’s holding company as current employer.

      When she finished writing, she waited for Bob to complete the work order for his current customer whom she could hear describing the problem he was having with his car.

      After the man left, Georgette spoke up. “It’s the coil,” she said. “Sounds faulty.”

      “You think so? I was just thinking the same thing.”

      Before she could respond, Bart walked into the lobby, wiping his hands on the back of his coveralls. “You here for the office job?” he asked.

      Bob glanced at Bart, then back to Georgette. “You may not believe this, but she’s here for both jobs.” He handed Bart her application along with the newest work order. “Pull this one into bay four. If it’s the coil that’s