Eliza
After my run, I'm due at the shop. It's located on the far side of the Village and is the only auto repair shop in Whistler, which is why it's constantly busy. What I love about working here is the atmosphere – everyone is happy and bubbly and there's always music playing in the background. I love the people I work with and the smiles on the faces of my customers when I tell them I've repaired their vehicle or simply changed the oil. I also love being able to get down on my hands and knees and get dirty. My mom wasn't too fond of me displaying an interest in becoming a mechanic in high school so she definitely didn't like it when I decided to go to university to become one. She wanted me in the culinary world or to become a journalist – anything that was a bit more feminine. The jobs she suggested were also fairly hands-on, but they didn't suit me. I am the type of woman that needs something to do. With an automobile, be it a bike or a vehicle, there's always something to do. People always need their oil changed or their tires changed from summer to winter ones. There are plenty of issues that people need help with, such as the transmission giving out or broken windshields. And whatever the problem is, I know how to fix it.
The tips are also really good.
I get a lot of weird stares from customers because of my oil-stained navy-blue jumpsuit, the dirt on my face, and my messy blonde hair that's normally tied up into a bun, but I don't let that deter me. I love my job and people need to get over the fact that a woman can be just as good with automobiles as men can.
"What's the damage, Sangster?"
Gus, the owner of the shop, is a sweet old guy that I've known for years now. While I was attending university, I babysat his granddaughters to make some extra money on the side. Any mechanic program isn't cheap and I had very little money left for food and clothes and bills by the time I paid for my semester and all the textbooks. Thankfully, Gus gave me every job he possibly could. He even let me come in and act as an apprentice while I was getting my degree.
I toss the oiled rag over my shoulder. "Well," I say, adjusting the zipper of my jumpsuit. "The clicking sound Mr. Hernandez was hearing was due to the failure of a U-joint. My estimation of the cost would be about four hundred and fifty – not including tax. I'm going to need to order the parts, which will take a few days, and then repair them. While he's waiting for his car, I set him up with the rental company we're partnered with so he has a method of transportation."
Gus jots down a few notes in his weathered yellow notebook before nodding his head in approval. "Perfect. Thank you, Eliza. I always knew there was a reason I hired you."
Rolling my eyes, I wave him off. When Gus hired me, I was in desperate need of a job because I was nearly broke from attending university. If anyone should be thanking someone, it's me. Without Gus's help, I would have ended up living on the street. My parents do live here, but ever since their divorce, they've become extremely annoying. Especially when they're around each other. They always try to outdo the other, continuously bragging about their lives and all they've accomplished. It drives me nuts. Which is exactly why I'd take the streets before living with one of them.
"Mr. Hernandez," I smile, patting the hood of the retro truck. "Can have this beauty back by Sunday."
"Thanks, again!" he calls over his shoulder as he walks back to the office. The office is so tiny it can barely fit Gus, let alone all the paperwork he has stored in there. I keep trying to convince him to shift his files from paper to digital, but he always refuses. Apparently, computers aren't trustworthy enough for him. I think he's just old-fashioned.
As soon as Gus is out of earshot, Mitch, my fellow employee, snorts. "You've got old Gus wrapped around your finger, Sangster."
"It's not my fault I excel at this job," I retort, slipping on a ballcap. Mitch is only a couple of years older than me. His hair is a dark shade of honey-brown and he always wears it up in a man-bun. I hate the man-bun so much I keep fantasizing about cutting his hair for him while he naps in the corner of the shop one day. His left arm is a surplus of tattoos; roses, intricate lines, lyrical words, skulls. I'm not a fan of tattoos, mainly because I'm scared of needles, but I really like his sleeve. Whoever did the work for him was really good at their job.
He walks over and knocks back the visor of my ballcap. It falls, getting caught on my bun and loosening the elastic. "Whatever you say."
I scowl as I stoop down to pick it up. We always joke around with each other and participate in playful banter, but I always get annoyed when he does that to my hat. "You're lucky I have an upcoming wedding to attend, Mitch, or else I might just succumb to the price a person has to pay for murder." I adjust my ballcap, making sure my bun is secure. Last time a strand of hair slipped free, it got coated in spoiled oil and I couldn't get it out for weeks – no matter how many times I washed it.
"Speaking of weddings," Mitch drawls. "It looks as though someone has a lunch break date." He nods over my shoulder,
Smiling, I turn around and see James standing at the small desk located at the front of the shop. He's dressed in his usual attire: jeans and a tight-fitting muscle shirt, paired with a large pair of steel-toed work boots. An orange hardhat is in his right hand and there's a smudge of dirt on his left cheek. James went to school to become a conservation officer. While he did get a degree for that field of work, he fell in love with the construction job he had while attending school and stuck with it.
Removing the oily rag from my shoulder, I toss it at Mitch. He catches it, grinning at me. "I'll see you after lunch break," I say to Mitch.
"Try not to have too much fun, Sangster," he winks.
I ignore Mitch and walk over to James. He sets down the auto shop catalogue he was inspecting and stares at me, a content smile on his lips. His face is sun-kissed; tanned with a hint of a sunburn on his broad cheeks.
"Hey," I say.
James takes my hand and raises it to his mouth, kissing my knuckles. "Hey yourself."
Smiling, I glance down at our touching, scuffed-up boots. It used to annoy me when people would second-guess the idea of a construction worker like James marrying a mechanic like me, but I'm over it now. I think people were shocked more by the fact that I am a woman who does a job that society defines as masculine. Now, I'm just here to prove that there is no job a woman can't do.
"So," James says, tugging me out of the shop. "Are you hungry?"
"Famished," I reply.
It's rare that James and I can manage our hours so our lunch breaks are synced, but on days like today we always go out for lunch to one of the best places in Whistler. Well...technically, it isn't a place. It's a food truck that has the best street tacos in B.C. I have never strayed from ordering the Pescado taco with fresh pico de gallo and lime juice. If I had to choose one place to eat for the rest of my life, I'd choose this food truck.
When we arrive at the food truck, James orders my usual and then something he's never had before. He was never a fan of tacos until he met me. Now, I can barely get him away from this food truck whenever we visit the Village. I have no problem with that, but what I can't understand is why he wants to try everything. I think that, once you find your favourite, you should stick with it. That way you won't face utter disappointment in case you don't like the food you try and waste your money.
After we've gotten our food, we head to a nearby bridge and climb down below it. I used to come here alone to eat my lunch before I met James. When I introduced him to this place, I think he thought I was taking him down here to kill him or something; he was extremely nervous and admitted that he was on the verge of running away up until the point I pulled out a bag of takeout and showed him where the concrete foundation just out. It's the perfect spot for two people to sit. It's also a lot cooler down here during the summer.
"I don't know why you always order that one," he says through a mouthful of slaw, salsa, and marinated pork. "Why not try something new?"
I kick off my shoes and dip my toes into the cool water of Fitzsimmons Creek, breathing a sigh of relief. I do love my job, but one thing that's difficult to cope with is the sweltering heat I experience when I'm wearing my jumpsuit. Due to protective reasons, the thing is hardly breathable, soaking up all the sweat my body produces. It makes me feel gross and sticky. So it's an understatement when I say the ice-cold water feels refreshing. Setting my food down beside me, I lean down at wet my hands, patting the cold water against my sticky neck. I wish I could jump into the creek and take a swim.
"I'm accustomed to tradition," I reply, picking up my food. I take a bite, tasting the fried fish, jalapeños, and lime juice. I suppress a groan – the food is so goddamn good. "Sticking to what I know I like it how I roll, James."
Smiling, he wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me close, pressing a quick kiss to my temple. "I know," he murmurs. "I know."
My heart fills with a content feeling and I close my eyes, breathing him in. He smells like sweat and sunscreen with a hint of timber. If I didn't have to go back to work, I would spend the rest of my day right here, eating delicious tacos and spending time with James. Quite possibly in my sports bra and underwear, too. It's so damn hot!
"What are you smiling about?" James asks.
I watch as he begins to remove his work boots and socks. Once they're set off to the side, resting beside mine on the cracked cement, he rolls up his jeans and slips his feet into the water. The sides of our feet brush together and I kick his foot. He kicks me back.
"I was just thinking about how much I want to spend the rest of the day here with you, wearing nothing but my sports bra and underwear."
He laughs. "Now that is a sight I would like to see."
I give him a playful shrug. "You see that basically every night – and more."
"What can I say?" he drawls. "I'm selfish."
I snort. James is anything but selfish. Sometimes, he's ignorant and entitled. But he's definitely not selfish.
"So," he continues after we spend a couple of minutes eating our food. "Leon finally introduced himself to me during breakfast."
My taco nearly slips from my hands and into the water. I nearly choke on my food. I left the house early today, hoping I wouldn't get caught between Leon and James and have to explain things. Now, I'm wishing I would have stuck around. "What did he say?" I ask. I try to make my voice sound lighthearted and innocent. Truth be told, I'm terrified about what Leon may have said. James knows nothing about the past Leon and I share; I kept it a secret because when I met James, I was still hurting. And by the time I was comfortable enough around James, by the time I'd healed, I simply didn't see the point of telling him. The past is the past.
Except when it does a full circle and whacks into you like a freaking hurricane.
I tell my mind to shut up.
"Nothing much," James shrugs. "Just that the two of you were pretty good friends when you were younger. I was surprised when he said he was born and raised here."
There's an edge to James's voice, but I reply with a shrug. "We were friends and then we grew apart."
I silently hope he won't notice the hint of worry in my voice. That he'll mistake the bead of sweat that's suddenly formed on my temple for heat sweat and not nerve sweat.
"Eliza," James says, his tone turning serious. "He didn't say the two of you were more than friends, but you're acting weird. Do...Do I have anything to worry about?"
I close my eyes and sigh. I guess I'm not as good at hiding my reactions as I originally thought.
I turn to face my fiancé. "James," I say, taking his hand in mine. "You have nothing to worry about. I promise. Leon and I do share a history and we did date for a little bit, but it doesn't affect how I feel about you. I'm telling the truth when I say that Leon and I grew apart. James, I love you. That's why I said yes when you asked me to marry you."
James's brown eyes search mine. He still looks concerned, but his posture has relaxed a little. "Okay," he replies. "I wish you would have told me sooner, but I'm glad you did. Thank you."
I take another bite of my taco. "To be honest, I didn't think Leon was going to show up. I never invited him to the wedding – Tenille did."
"Why?" James frowns.
I shrug – I have yet to ask her. "I guess she wanted to get the gang back together. Honestly, though, James. You don't need to worry. I promise."
After several seconds, he smiles and nods, leaning down to kiss me on the lips. "Okay," he murmurs. "I trust you, Eliza. I love you."
I slide a hand up to his shoulder, his neck, to his cheek. Due to my job, my hands are always calloused, but it doesn't subtract from the scratchiness of his dark-brown stubble. My lips move against his, passionately, tenderly. His mouth is soft and tastes of spicy jalapeños and various Mexican spices.
"I love you, too, James," I murmur against his lips.
However, even as the words come out of my mouth, even as I try to focus on my upcoming wedding, Leon is still in the back of my mind. His words are echoing through like a howling wind, leaving me to wonder, why did he really come here?