Boss's Accidental Baby: A Billionaire Small Town Second Chance Romance (Secret Love) Page 16

  “Guilty as charged.” The stranger now christened Thorin twisted his body in a mock swing. He threw out his arm as if he had just hit the imaginary ball out of the park. “As I was telling your daughter, I just bought some land up the road. I intend to build my offseason home there.”

  “So far from the stadium?” questioned my dad.

  “I’m a fan of the countryside. There’s a quiet here that you can’t find anywhere else and that’s just the thing I’m looking for during the offseason.”

  “Well, if peace and quiet is what you’re looking for, you’ve found it.” I motioned to the large expanse of land all around us. “Welcome to Elk Haven, residents five-hundred and two.”

  He smiled and held out his hand. “Your name?”

  “Hazel.”

  “Hazel,” he repeated. “If everyone in this town turns out to be as friendly as you two, I’ve certainly struck gold choosing to live here.”

  “A lot of horror movies start with sleepy little towns like this one,” I said.

  “I know my way around a bat. If some ax murderer comes at me, well, I won’t go down without a fight.”

  “Good because I think I might like having you as a neighbor.” For whatever reason, I winked at Thorin. I wasn’t flirting exactly but I was enjoying his company. He had a great taste in cars and from what I could tell, a decent sense of humor. In my book, that made him an alright guy.

  “Likewise.” His smile lit up his eyes, making them golden. “And your name, sir?”

  “Sir? Did you hear that, Hazel? This boy knows how to respect his elders.” My dad acted like he was whispering so that only I could hear him, but the guy didn’t know the first thing about volume control.

  Thorin chuckled but acted like he was none the wiser to my dad’s comment.

  “Hank,” my dad answered. “Name’s Hank and it’s a pleasure to have met you. This is a great car you’ve got here and I watched your performance with the Oakland A’s. The talent is there. If you drive in some runs for us, we’re bound to have one hell of a year. We might even redeem ourselves and make it to the Series.”

  “Dad,” I interrupted. “I’m sure Thorin has places to be. We’ve held him up enough as it is.” I was trying to do the guy a favor because when my dad got started on baseball, he was liable to go at it for hours. It was better to cut him off before he went in too deep.

  “Now that you mention it, I am due to meet some of my contractors regarding the build of my home, but the time spent here was far from wasted.” He looked around with a keen eye almost like he was surveying the shop, searching for something. “I know you might think me a little forward for asking, but would you ever consider selling the place?”

  Dad looked like he was about to have a stroke. “Sell the place? Heavens, no. It’s been in the family for too long. I wouldn’t sell this place even if someone came at me with a signed check for a million dollars.”

  “What about two million?” Thorin pressed. “I own a chain of car shops. I specialize in restoring old, vintage cars and motorcycles. Keeps me entertained when I’m off the field and out of trouble, too. I’ve always wanted to own an old fillup station like this one and do it up nice and proper.”

  “Some things money just can’t buy, son.”

  “I can understand that, but if you ever decide to change your mind or if you just want to talk about baseball, here’s my card. That’s my personal cell phone number. Call me day or night. I won’t always answer, but I’ll always get back to you.”

  Dad took the card. “Really? Anytime?”

  “Anytime,” he confirmed. “That goes for you too, Hazel.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said while stuffing my hands in the pocket of my jumper. I didn’t want to do any stupid gestures, embarrassing myself. Blushing was bad enough. But why was I blushing at all? The guy was just being polite — nothing more. If he was trying to flirt, I was sure he wouldn’t do it in front of my dad.

  “In the meantime, would you two be interested in taking on a project?”

  “A project? What kind of project are we talking about here?” My dad was quick to jump on any business transaction.

  “I couldn’t resist. I bought an old Chevy Chevelle that’s in desperate need of some love. Instead of shipping it out to one of my shops, why don’t I bring it here? It would just be a personal car, anyway, so I don’t want to burden my boys with the additional work. They have their hands full building cars for my paying customers. Plus, it might be better if I keep this car a secret. The guys are starting to think I have something of an addiction.”

  “Do you?” I asked.

  “I might,” he answered.

  “So, you want us to enable your addiction by fixing up this Chevelle until she purrs?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “When’s the deadline?”

  “A year.”

  “It won’t take us that long,” I said. “Unless we have some major trouble coming up with parts, but my father always knows a guy who knows a guy.”

  “I’m traveling this offseason and then I’ll be leasing a condo in the city once April rolls around. I won’t be back until next November when the house is built. I figure I can drop by then, pick up the car, and make another stab at buying this place from your dad.”

  “You’ll need to pay us a storage fee,” I said.

  “Of course.”

  “And a 25% deposit —”

  “How about I just pay in full? You two seem like honest people.”

  “If that’s what you want to do, let’s take this to the office. It won’t be but a minute and then I’ll let you go off to meet those contractors of yours.”

  Dad smiled knowingly because where negotiations were concerned, I wasn’t one to be messed with. Although, Thorin made my life easy because, in the end, he actually overpaid us. That’s right. I told him he had made a mistake, but he just winked and took one of my business cards off the desk. “Looks like I’ve got your number now, too. Mind if I give you a call now and then?”

  And just like that, he was gone.

  1

  Thorin

  One year later.

  I was back in that sleepy town of Elk Haven. Nothing about it had changed. The rolling fields of corn, long since harvested, remained the main attraction as I cruised along the winding roads. As I neared my destination, something foreign to my last visit loomed in the distance.

  And that something was home, sweet home.

  The best designers and builders money could buy had been hard at work for the better part of a year constructing what could only be called a masterpiece — and I’m not just saying that because I was going to live there. It really was a work of art with its Greek-inspired design. Parthenon columns framed the front door, kept stark white to contrast with the blue of the door. A water fountain stood guard outside the garden. The marble statue looked like it had been pulled right from a museum gallery. Window balconies. A tiled roof. Suffice to say, I pulled out all the stops because when I was off the field and actually allowed to relax, I liked to do so in the lap of luxury. It wasn’t about showing off to the locals. It was more about reaping the benefits of my hard work.

  I eased the Alfa Romeo into the garage and chose to go through the front door even though it would have been easier to go through the garage entrance, but I wanted that experience of fitting the key through the lock and hearing it click. Of course, this wasn’t my first home nor did I think it would be my last. But it marked a milestone in my life. I was moving through my baseball career and the future seemed hopeful. My first year with the Rockies had been a smashing success with my batting average nearing the record-breaking level. My contract had been renewed and my paycheck doubled.

  Now, it was time to celebrate.

  Lucky for me, my in-house staff had stocked my fridge with single-serving banana cream pies. No one made banana cream pie quite like my grandma, but this brand was a close second. I snatched one up and ventured onto the back porch. Th
e hot tub had been left running in case I wanted to use it, but I didn’t fancy taking a dip on my own. So, I contented myself with leaning against the railing and watching the wind ripple against the surface of the pool.

  I smiled at the silence. It was comforting like a sort of blanket trying to lull me to sleep.

  Caw! A crow swept through the yard, picking a worm from the grass.

  A second later, my phone went off.

  My moment of peace and quiet had been short-lived. Accepting this fact, I took my phone from my pocket. The name Hazel Sperrin was at the top of the screen, followed by her latest text: Hey, hope you had a safe trip. Are you still dropping by the shop this afternoon?

  That’s the plan, I texted back.

  Alright, was her response. When first we started texting, we could go back and forth for most of the night, chatting about just about anything. Recently, she had become a little distant — her texts much shorter than they used to be. More than once, I asked whether something was wrong — whether she wanted to talk about it, but she always argued that she was fine, just fine. I was starting to worry, but I figured now that I was back in Elk Haven she’d feel more comfortable opening up to me. I could understand how some things were better dealt with face-to-face than over text.

  When I arrived at the shop, I found Hazel underneath the hood of an old pickup truck. She was so deep into the nuts and bolts of the thing that her feet weren’t even touching the ground. I couldn’t help the chuckle. “Should I get you a step stool or would you rather I give you a boost?”

  She lifted her head just enough to see me. “Neither, but if you could hand me that wrench, I’d appreciate it.”

  “This one?” I asked as I held the tool in my hand. “Damn, this is heavier than I thought.”

  “Dad likes to invest in quality tools,” she answered. “Costs a bit more up front but it saves us money in the long run.” She was tightening something, her face screwed up with concentration.

  “Do you know that there’s grease on your face?” I asked.

  “There’s always grease on my face. Occupational hazard.”

  I smiled. “It’s good to see you again.”

  She jumped down and wiped her hands with the nearest rag. “You know, I had my doubts about you.” From a mini-fridge, Hazel grabbed a couple of bottles of pop. They were glass bottles, too. She twisted the caps and handed one my way. “When you rolled up in that twenty-million-dollar car, I thought that maybe I was dreaming. Then you left that paycheck in my hands and it felt like even more of a dream. But then the Chevelle showed up at my door and you started texting me. I’ll have to admit, you were smooth about the whole thing. First, you’d just ask me about the car and how the project was coming along, and then you started asking me more.”

  “I didn’t think you had a problem with me striking up friendly conversation,” I said. “If I’m not mistaken, you always found the time to text me back, even during the middle of the night.”

  “You were a paying customer. I didn’t want to lose any future business by being rude.”

  “Is that all it was?” I asked. “And here I was thinking I was getting special treatment.”

  The corner of her lip twitched upwards. It wasn’t quite a smile but it did light up her eyes just enough to let me know that my teasing was being well-humored. “Come with me,” she said before moving toward a vehicle covered by a tarp. “Would you mind?” She tilted her head toward the back of the car. “It’s easier when two people do it.”

  Together, we removed the tarp, revealing the beautiful Chevy Chevelle hiding underneath. I whistled like someone catcalling a woman in the 50s. “Damn,” was all I could say. “You did all of this?”

  “I can’t take all the credit. Dad helped me from time to time, but yeah, I did most of it.”

  “Can I hear her run?”

  She threw me the keys.

  I caught them and got behind the wheel. The interior had been completely refinished as well with leather seating and a wooden dash. I ran my hand along the sleek finish before turning the key. The engine roared. I could feel its power running through the entire body. Unable to resist, I revved the engine. The sound was deafening and that’s exactly what I liked to hear.

  “Roll it into the sun. I think you’re going to like what you’re about to see.”

  I did as I was told. The midnight purple paint came alive. The pearl made it shimmer and gave it a sense of movement. And the silver pinstriping? Oh, it brought the whole car together. “Man, this is something else. I expect this kind of quality coming out of my shops and to think you managed it with just you and your dad.”

  She took a seat on a nearby crate. “Yeah.”

  I stopped drooling over the car just as soon as I heard the tone of her voice. Something was wrong. I walked up to her and took the crate right beside her.

  She looked confused. “Shouldn’t you be looking underneath the hood? You’ll want to see the block I installed. Something of a bitch to find but —” She fell silent when she felt my hand on her arm. “What are you doing?” There was an edge to her voice, but I was glad to see she hadn’t pulled away.

  “I know something is bothering you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “We both know that’s not true and I can understand if you don’t want to pour out your heart to me because outside of texting, you don’t really know me on a personal level. I get that, but don’t keep lying to me and telling me that you’re fine when you’re not.” Her expression softened but she remained silent. “In any case, I just want you to know if you need someone —”

  “It’s my dad.”

  I leaned forward with my hand still on her arm. “What about your dad? Has something happened?”

  Hazel toyed with the name tag stitched onto her jumper. It was fraying at the edges. She pulled a loose thread and wrapped it around her fingers before speaking. “Shortly after you rolled in last November, my father was diagnosed with mesothelioma. We were pretty hopeful at first. The doctors were telling us about all these new treatments and how they’ve done well in clinical trials. We agreed and crossed our fingers, but dad has been taking a beating and he’s only getting worse. Most days, he’s so fatigued he can’t get out of bed.”

  “And that’s why you restored most of the Chevelle yourself?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Hazel. Every interaction I’ve had with your dad has been one to remember. You know he called me to coach me on my form one time? Said he knew a foolproof way to get me a home run every time I stepped up to the plate. I humored him and that cost me about two hours of my life, but he was so serious that I didn’t have the heart to hang up the phone.”

  “Thanks for humoring him.” Hazel looked up. There was a certain glassiness to her eyes like she was about to cry but she kept her composure, hands firmly placed on her knees, back rigid. “I remember that night. You made his day. He spent the entirety of dinner talking about how you’re this upstanding guy and that there should be more guys just like you.”

  “It makes me happy to hear that.”

  “But what I don’t understand is why you would take time out of your busy schedule —”

  “Because your dad is worth my time. You are, too. It’s obvious you two are down to earth people and that’s not something I get to see every day. Trust me, it’s much more pleasurable to hold a conversation with you or your dad than some guy in a suit who just wants me in his commercial.”

  “Right.” Hazel got up and leaned against a stack of nearby boxes, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I have to thank you,” she said after wetting her lips. “Not just for humoring my dad but for paying for the Chevelle’s repair upfront. That check has really helped pay for his treatments. I am not sure what we would have done without it.” She rolled back her shoulders but still some stiffness seemed to linger. “So, if you have anything else I could work on to generate a bit more income for the business, I would really appreciate i
t. And you know that whatever you leave in my garage will come out looking like it belongs on a showroom floor.”

  I joined her. “Of course,” I said. “I actually think I have just the project. Every year, I hold a charity event for the Saint Jude Foundation in honor of my late brother.”

  She raised her eyebrow in silent question.

  “Leukemia,” I answered. “He didn’t make it to the first grade. The doctors were excellent and they did everything they could, but it was an impossible fight. Markus hung on until the very end, but there came a point where he had to let go. I like to think that he’s at peace now and that every time I hit a home run, he’s up there watching.” My voice became choked and my throat a little tighter. It was the first time I had become emotional over my brother’s death since becoming an adult. I had told his story so many times I thought I had become immune to its heart-wrenching grip, but something in Hazel’s expression made me feel that weight of sadness all over again.

  “I’m sorry.” Now it was Hazel who rested a hand on my arm. “Your brother sounds like he was a good kid.”

  “He was. He was big into trading cards. I would sit by his bed for hours listening to the stories and stats of all these made-up characters because it always brought this big old smile to his face. I miss that smile more than anything else and that’s why I hold this charity event every year. I want there to be survivors — kids who actually make it into the second grade.”

  She squeezed my arm as soon as she heard my voice waver. I became quiet, head bowed toward the ground. As I said, I’ve told this story before but with everyone else, it was like I was reading off a script. With Hazel, it felt like I was actually pouring my heart out to her. Why? Was it that thoughtful expression or perhaps the way she listened, head cocked ever so slightly. Whatever the reason, I felt a certain freedom in sharing that story with someone who actually seemed to care.

  “Thank you.”