the back of her hard hat, she remembered Gabby’s little gift. She’d earned it at school and Sabrina couldn’t bear to get angry over the fact it had ended up on her work uniform. It was an act of little-girl generosity, because Gabby had been sure her aunt wanted a big sparkly pink star of her very own. “Do you need something?”
He laughed, bright eyes locked on her face. “You keep asking me that.”
“Are the girls okay?”
“Everybody’s fine.” He moved closer to the Hobart. “Marisol said you needed help.”
Of course. The way this day was going, she should have guessed that Marisol wouldn’t bring a ladder or a prop. She would bring a man, and one who spoke in a deep, chocolaty baritone that made Sabrina wish she wasn’t wearing coveralls and coated in potato peels. She blew out a sigh and jerked her shoulder toward the metal sheet that was the front of the chopper.
“I need to get into the engine, but there’s nothing to hold up the cover.” Searching for a tool spared her from having to make eye contact and seeing the look on his face.
“Sure.” He stood close to the cover, one hand on the edge. “There’s no way to lock the hinge?”
“No. I usually have a prop, but I forgot it at home.” The idea of him hovering as she worked made her palms sweat. “It’s up right now, but with all the vibration of the machinery, it could fall while I’m working. I don’t want my nose squashed into the gears if I can help it.”
“I’ll be the spotter.” He set his feet apart, seeming comfortable enough.
“Spotter?”
“It’s a sports term. You’re the athlete and I’m the person who stands nearby to catch you if you fall.” He was smiling that slow smile that started at the corners of his mouth and worked toward his eyes.
Sabrina nodded and ducked under the hood, swallowing back a sudden wave of emotion. It had been a very long time since anyone had been there to catch her. Even when her parents were alive, she had been the one responsible for interpreting for them, for talking to bosses and apartment managers. After her mother died, her dad’s drinking meant she was head of the household at sixteen. It was impossible to keep her little sister under control. By the time Rosa was twenty, she’d had two babies. Another year and she’d been gone, off to live with some guy she met on the internet, a guy who didn’t want the responsibility of kids.
Turning a wrench with a quick twist of her wrist, Sabrina tried to focus on the job at hand. Responsibility was her middle name. All work and no play was her motto. It was nice to think of having a partner, to not be the only one in charge, but in the end it was all up to her. Better to face that fact and not be disappointed. Plus, when fighting for custody, the court looked more kindly on a woman who was focused on the kids and not her social life.
“Do you carry all your tools in your trunk?” His voice came from somewhere right above her head.
“My trunk?” It was easier to talk this way, as if she was talking to the grumpy Hobart.
“Of your car.”
“Oh.” She dropped a few bolts into the tin near her foot. “I don’t have a car. We took the bus.”
There was a pause. Sabrina stared at the shiny blades of the peeler. She didn’t like taking the bus with two little girls at this hour of the night, but a job was a job, especially since the rent just went up. Again. There were only so many hours in the day. Soon it wouldn’t matter how much she worked—they would have to move to a smaller apartment in a tougher neighborhood.
“My nieces are pretty good about staying out of the tools, but thanks again for letting them play in the gym. When I was taking night classes, they sat in the hallway, right outside the open doorway of the classroom. It was tough, even with picture books and crafts. A few professors would let them sit in the back of the room, but they still had to be quiet.”
“Not a problem. They’re having a great time. In fact, they’re better than most of the regular team. Does their mom work at night?”
She reached for a rag to wipe off more potato sludge and said, “They live with me.” The whole story was too complicated for the moment. She hoped he understood that. The story of her childhood, her dad’s drinking and her sister’s wild life wasn’t something she shared with anybody outside of a court. Even then, it was humiliating to own the disaster of her family life and the poverty of her past. She needed to prove to the court she was the best one to take care of the girls. If they ended up in foster care, her heart would break.
“Interesting. I’ve never met a—”
With a loud clank, the tool slipped from her hand and rolled a few feet away. Sabrina closed her eyes, wishing she could click her heels and the chopper would be fixed. He’d never met a what? A single mother? A fractured family?
He stuck out one foot, not leaving his post by the heavy raised cover, and nudged the wrench back in her direction as if it was a soccer ball. “I’ve never met a professional juggler.”
She snorted. So he was funny as well as athletic and gorgeous. “Just a mediocre one, actually.”
“That’s the thing about juggling. It’s really impressive to the person watching.”
She couldn’t help smiling as the final gear came loose. Even though she usually worked in silence, it felt good to talk to someone older than Kassey. The kitchen sounds were soothing now, less frantic. She wondered if Marisol had sent some of the staff home, but she didn’t turn around to check. The clock was ticking.
“How did you decide to become a mechanic?”
Another swipe of the rag and the last half-peeled potato came out of the chopper. “I took classes.”
Jack laughed, a sound rich and deep. She felt it from the base of her skull all the way down her spine. “Before that. Did you know it was your calling?”
She shook out the rag and sat back for a second, meeting his gaze. “My calling?”
He nodded, his expression completely serious. “Your purpose in life, if you want to call it that.”
She dropped her gaze to the toolbox and kept her face straight as she searched for the locking pliers.
“You want to say something, but you’re too polite.”
Startled, she let out the laugh she’d been hiding. “True.”
“Go ahead, be honest. I can take it.” And for all his obvious strength, she wondered if he could. It took a lot more than muscles to handle honesty; it took maturity. He looked about her age, maybe a few years closer to thirty.
Sabrina drew in a breath and hoped she was being honest but not rude. Life was too short to be mean. “Finding your purpose in life sounds like something rich people worry about when they have a lot of options.”
His face didn’t change, but his gaze sharpened, as if he was seeing her for the first time. “And you don’t have options.”
“Not many. Not like that.” She ducked back under the hood and hoped that was the end of the conversation. She felt raw, as if he had stripped back layers of accumulated worry and anxiety. The question of purpose, of calling, was something she used to understand. But that was before Rosa had walked away and left her the mother to two little girls.
“You must have a few.”
“Sure,” she said, feeling a bead of sweat roll down the back of her neck as she worked at an old bolt. “I can fail or I can work harder.”
“Like the rest of us, then.” He wasn’t letting the question go and frustration flared inside her, just for a moment. Who was he to ask questions that were already answered? Who really cared why she was a mechanic?
She grabbed a can of industrial solvent and sprayed the inside of the stubborn part. The fumes were a reminder of the dirty,