The Chance. Robyn Carr

the headquarters meant no more traveling or supervising anyone. I really didn’t love supervising or training computer techies and researchers. I might come up with a new idea for earning a living during the next year.”

      With an elbow on the counter, Eric leaned his head into his hand. “How are you with a wrench?”

      “Better than you think.”

      Gina brought his breakfast.

      “I’ll let you eat,” Laine said. “I’ll bring my car over one day this week.”

      “Great,” he said. And he watched her walk out the door.

      When he turned back, Gina was staring at him. “Did you ask her out?”

      “Of course not.”

      “Why not?” she asked. “You obviously want to.”

      He picked up his fork. “You don’t know that,” he said, then shoveled eggs into his mouth.

      “Those pretty green eyes of yours lit up when you saw her sitting at the counter.”

      He swallowed. “I can still appreciate a good-looking woman,” he said. “But I’m very busy these days.”

      “You should make time for a more interesting social life than catching meals at the diner.”

      “Well, I’m not completely comfortable talking to you about that possibility since you and I were...you know what we were. Involved.”

      She laughed and her eyes twinkled. “We were involved for about two weeks and I hope you don’t take this too hard, but I’m completely over you. I was over you at least fifteen years ago.”

      He ate more eggs. “It was more than two weeks.”

      “Not much more.”

      “And I’m over you, too.”

      “Good to know. So...how about Laine?”

      “Bugger off,” he said.

      “She seems to be a nice, stable, attractive—”

      The door to the diner opened and Gina’s husband came in for his morning coffee break. He was all uniformed up, gun and all, and although Eric was roughly as tall as Mac, law enforcement uniforms always seemed to take about four inches off his height. Mac leaned over the counter to collect a wifely kiss. Then his coffee appeared.

      “Good, you’re here,” Eric said. “Your wife is getting into my personal life. She’s giving me dating advice.”

      “You’re dating?” Mac asked.

      “No, which is why I shouldn’t have to listen to dating advice.”

      Mac raised one eyebrow and peered at Eric. Then he lifted his cup. He was a man of few words.

      “You should see his eyes when he runs into Laine. Bip, bop, whiz! And smile? Oh, she makes him smile,” Gina said.

      “Bugger off,” Eric said again. And Gina laughed while Mac chuckled into his coffee cup.

      “You should be on the lookout for the right woman. You’ve never been married or even engaged, you work all the time. You could use a little stability. And the right woman tends to level a man out. Mellow him. Right, Mac?”

      “Whatever you say, baby,” he said, bringing his cup to his lips.

      “I’ll take that under advisement,” Eric said, scooping up his home fries. “And thanks for keeping these potatoes out of the kiln.”

      “My pleasure,” she said. “Business good?”

      “Excellent. Now that the station offers more services, we have more business. Norm was winding down, getting ready to sell, looking at retirement, so business was moving out of town. We’re spooling up, adding services, bringing business back. It turns out it wasn’t such a big gamble.”

      “Great,” Gina said. “But you’re still living in a motel, not dating. We have to take care of that. You need a decent place to live and a woman.”

      Eric drank the last of his coffee, stood, put a twenty on the counter and said, “Extra big tip, Gina, with thanks for the excellent advice.” Although she was laughing as he left the diner, he was thinking, I’m going to have to learn to like fast food. She’s killing me! She’s nosier than a sister!

      But he also thought, I could really use some leveling. Some mellowing.

      Three

      Laine brought her midsize SUV to Eric on Tuesday, the day after they talked. It was a new model and in excellent condition. If he subtracted the cross-country miles from the odometer, she’d only put a few thousand miles on it in a year. Ordinarily he’d have Norm or Manny service the vehicle, but he did it. He found nothing wrong with the car, so he washed and detailed it. Himself.

      Eric had four employees. Norm, who had sold him the station, was trying to avoid going on cruises and Elderhostel trips with his wife, so he kept working. No doubt he told the missus it was absolutely necessary to help out during this ownership transition, but he was more honest with Eric—he wanted to unload the station and put the money in the bank but he wasn’t quite ready to indulge in retirement activities that sounded like sheer torture to him. Nor could he fathom spending day after day with his wife.

      Manny had come with Eric from Eugene after Eric sold his body shop there. Manny was a good friend from way back and had a wife and a passel of kids. Howie had worked part-time for Norm, was about the same age, didn’t do much—if any—mechanical repairs and the two of them gossiped, drank a lot of coffee and pumped a lot of gas. From the look of the place when Eric took over, neither one of them ever pushed a broom or applied a rag to windows or other surfaces. Both of them might quit before too long because if there was one thing Eric hated it was a dirty shop. Classic car collectors especially liked the garage to look like an operating room. He pushed both of those old boys hard.

      And then there was Justin Russell, a lanky, moody seventeen-year-old, who was either troubled or very shy and reminded Eric of himself at that age. Eric suspected he’d hired Justin out of some desire to groom him. It was almost like some sort of psychological experiment, as though by straightening Justin out he could make up for his own delinquent youth. So far that wasn’t happening. But Eric was, if anything, stubborn.

      Justin worked hard, had good hands under the hood and remarkable instincts for a kid who hadn’t tinkered with engines much.

      Eric went into the bathroom, scrubbed his hands, swiped water over his face for good measure, rinsed his mouth and gave the mirror over the sink a shot of glass cleaner. He wiped out the sink with the paper towel he’d used to dry his hands. Then he appraised himself in the mirror. He had taken off his coveralls and was wearing a mechanic’s uniform—dark blue pants, light blue shirt, Lucky’s sewn onto the shirt. His name was embroidered on the pocket. He’d opted for the new business name since he’d been feeling pretty lucky. There was a part of him that wished he were dressed as a civilian, but this was who he was—a mechanic, a body man. His uniform was clean—he always donned a jumpsuit over his clothes when he got into or under a car engine. His hands were clean, even under the nails.

      And then he found Manny and said, “I’m going to deliver a car. I won’t be gone long.”

      “Yeah, boss.”

      He drove the few short blocks to Laine’s house. He turned off the car. He had her cell phone number and called it from the driveway. “Is this a convenient time to drop off your car?” he asked.

      “You don’t have to drop it off,” she said. “I’ll come and get it in an hour or so.”

      “Ah, I’m in your driveway,” he said. “If I can just leave the key fob somewhere, we can settle up when it’s convenient.” She didn’t say anything and he waited. “Laine?” he asked. And then he watched as the front door opened and she walked outside,