Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
“Yeah.” He walks his bowl to the sink and rinses it out. I look at Billie for some insight, but she just shrugs.
“Alright, bud, but if he keeps it up or if it becomes too much, I want you to tell me.”
“Okay, Dad,” he mutters.
“Do you have all your school stuff ready?” I ask him.
“Yeah, I just need to get my backpack and fill my water bottle.”
“Do that now.” I look over at Billie. “Do you have all your stuff packed?”
“Yeah, my bag is by the front door.” She carries her plate to the sink.
“Are you up to riding today, or do you want me to drive you?”
“I’ll ride.” She puts her plate in the dishwasher then I follow her to the mudroom and Cooper meets us there a minute later. With my cup of coffee in hand I walk with the two of them into the garage where their bikes are parked.
“Coop will be at Gigi’s after school until baseball practice. You can go over there or come home. Just let me know.”
“The tryouts are after school until five, I can ride over to the baseball field when they’re done.”
“Sounds good.” I kiss the side of her head, then pull Coop in for a hug.
With their helmets on, they take off down the driveway then head down the block. I know without me asking her to do it that she’ll follow Coop on the five-minute ride to the elementary school since it’s on the way to hers then ride the rest of the way to the high school which is about eight minutes further.
Closing the garage, I head back inside and pour myself a to-go mug of coffee, then head back out and get Dozer in my Jeep.
When I arrive at Rafe Motors, both Benett and Hector’s trucks are out front, but Hanson’s motorcycle is not parked in his usual spot. I don’t monitor the guys’ hours; they show up when they show up and leave when they want. They don’t need me babysitting them. Not when they are grown men who know what needs to be done every day. And none of them have an issue staying longer if something comes up.
Getting Dozer out, I walk to the front door and let him in before me, then head down the hall to the office, where I can hear voices. As I step through the door, I find Benett at the desk with a cup of coffee in one hand, a donut in the other. Hector sitting on the bench seat we pulled from an old pickup and put in the office for seating with a cup of coffee. Benett and I were friends in high school, but we lost contact when he went off to college, and I joined the military. After doing six years of service and specializing in mechanics, where I met Hector, I came home and opened my shop. A year later, Hector retired from the military and came to work with me. About four years ago, I ran into Benett and found out that he was working at a shop downtown, custom wrapping cars with a buddy of his. I mentioned I had my own business, and not liking where they were or the cut they were getting from the custom work they were doing, they both came to work for me.
“Morning.” I jerk up my chin as Dozer waddles over to greet the two of them.
“Yo,” Benett mumbles over a bite of donut. “Lucy made donuts.” Lucy is his sister who owns a treat truck slash bookstore that drives around Nashville and sets up at events. I don’t know where she came up with the idea, but she has done well for herself the last couple of years.
“Nice.” I walk to the desk and set down my coffee then pick up one of the cinnamon sugar donuts out of the open plastic container.
“Some chick called about ten minutes ago,” Hector says and continues. “She asked if she could drop by and have us look at her car. Said Bax told her to call.”
“Did she leave a number?” Normally we don’t take drop ins, we have too many customers waiting for us to do that, but Bax Mayson saved my ass and I owe him a favor for recommending the contractor I used to remodel my house after my first contractor flaked and I was left with the interior of my house in shambles.
“Yeah, it’s on the notepad.” He motions to the desk, and I rip it off the pad. Shoving the doughnut in my mouth, I chew as I pull out my cell and dial the number Hector wrote down, then put my cell to my ear.
“Hello?” A woman with a soft voice answers.
“Hey, this is Logan from Rafe Motors; you called this morning.” I wait for a response, and when one doesn’t come, my brows drag together. “Hello.”