Hell Without You

Chapter 6

 "Yes. God, yes!" Clementine clutched her cellphone, abandoning the job listings she'd been perusing so intensely just ten minutes ago.

Leaving her laptop on the counter in the reception area of the garage, she strode into the work area, where Donovan lay on a wheel board, half his body under an old El Camino.

The garage was divided into two halves – Donovan's half, where he did repair and body work, and Mike's half, where a paint booth served as his main work space. According to Donovan, his garage was the only one in Willow Heights to offer painting services. Mike wasn't really an employee, but a specialist who worked in Donovan's garage and therefore surrendered a portion of his proceeds to the shop. They had their own spaces, their own tools, and Clementine had to admit that Donovan seemed to be running a pretty smart operation – there didn't seem to be any lack of work, anyway.

"Do you have a minute?" she asked, shoving her phone into her jeans pocket.

He pushed himself out from under the car, a wrench in hand.

Her body temperature rose by a few degrees at the sight of his fist wrapped around steel, grease stripes black and familiar against his skin. For a second, she could almost taste Dr. Pepper on the tip of her tongue, then – even more disturbingly – could almost taste him.

"What is it?"

"I just got a call from a firm I applied to. They gave me an interview for Friday – that's two days from now, and they're in DC. Do you think my new tires will be in by then?"

"You got an interview already?" His dark brows knit together.

"Yes. I'm surprised too, to be honest. If I managed to land this job... Let's just say it's really important that I make it to the interview." She wriggled her toes inside her flats, willing him to understand. True, if worse came to worst, she could rent a car, but given her financial situation, she was hoping it wouldn't be necessary.

"Your tires should be in by tomorrow." With a boot against the concrete, he shoved himself back under the car.

"Are we doing lunch again?" she asked after a minute or so of silence that was interrupted only by the noise his wrench made against the car's undercarriage.

"Mike just went out. He's picking up something for all of us."

"Oh. Okay. I'd better get back to my search then – you know, in case this interview doesn't work out."

"Right."

As she retreated to her place behind the counter, the high the phone call had given her faded rapidly, though she couldn't say exactly why.

* * * * *

Hugh Jeffries stood on the front porch, sounding even more agitated than he had when he'd come by the evening before and Clementine had told him that Donovan was unavailable – again.

"I'm not interested," Donovan said, his solid body blocking most of the door frame.

Sitting at the kitchen table, Clementine could just barely make out the top of Hugh's balding head peeking over one of Donovan's shoulders.

"Why don't you take some time to consider? I assure you, my offer is serious. I've seen the deed, and I know how much you paid for this place. It was a spectacular deal. Most owners would be interested in selling again at a profit."

"I'm not. The house isn't for sale."

"Mr. Kemp, like I asked, please take time to consider. This is a beautiful property – a historic property. I think it would be best to preserve it and offer others a chance to enjoy it, don't you?"