It's About Time (Hunt Family #5) (9 page)

Chapter 12

"You've only been here two days, how'd you get this?" I asked when I walked outside a couple of hours later and saw Evan's new truck. It wasn't new at all, actually. It was quite old. I wasn't a huge car person, but I knew a few things from listening to my dad and the guys at the restaurant, and I knew this was nice.

"I've wanted this car since I was in high school. It belonged to my parents' neighbor. I called him the second I decided to move back into town."

"And he just sold it to you after he'd been having it that long?" I asked.

"I'm pretty persistent," he said. He was standing beside me, and I glanced at him to find that he was smiling. The shape of his mouth when he smiled was exactly what a smile should look like. He'd been out in the sun, which made his teeth look exceptionally white. My eyes fell onto the sharp points of his eyeteeth, and that jittery feeling washed over me again. I instantly glanced back at the truck.

"Is it a Bronco?" I asked, pointing at the letters F-o-r-d, which were in the middle of the grill.

"It's awesome that you know that," he said.

"I figured it was a Bronco, but I don't know what year or anything."

"It's a seventy-two," he said. "I've wanted this car since I was sixteen."

"Why didn't you just get one in California?" I asked. "I thought stuff like this was all anyone drove over there."

"Because I wanted this
very one
," he said. "It's pretty much my dream car. Don't worry about it."

It was one of the most beautiful restoration jobs I had ever seen. It was navy with off-white accents, big tires, and lots of chrome. It had a hard top over the front seats, but the back was open. I walked up to it thinking that it was perhaps the coolest vehicle he could have possibly shown up with.

"Is there a seat in the back?" I asked, walking up to it.

"Why? You worried about Cupcake having a place to ride?"

I opened the passenger's door before I turned to smile at him. "She's gonna be happy you thought about her," I said. I glanced in to find that the inside was just as immaculate as the outside. Brown interior—bucket seats in the front, and a small bench seat in the back with a little bed behind that. "This is maybe the coolest truck ever," I said since it was absolutely true.

"I had to have it," he said. "It's the only crazy purchase I've made since I started working, so I figured I'd treat myself."

I sat in the passenger's seat with my small shoulder bag on my lap and stared up at him. The door was open, and he was standing there with one of his arms on the door and the other one on the truck. There was a gate made of Evan blocking me in, and it was a glorious sight. It was overcast but bright at the same time, and his face seemed to me like one of an angel. His scar had settled in color, and it appeared to have softened some. It fit his face like he was born with it. The combination of the scar and the long hair while I was sitting in the passenger's seat of a really cool truck had my heart fluttering.

"Do I get to ride in it?" I asked feeling a bit like a kid at Christmas.

"Yeah, unless you want to follow me over there," he said, knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that I would say 'no' to that offer.

I didn’t even bother responding. We both knew there was no way I would ever refuse to ride in a truck like this one—especially with a guy like him. I reached out for the door handle and smiled at him, indicating that if he didn't get out of the way, he might get hit with the door. In other words, I was staying right where I was in the passenger's seat. He smiled and smacked the side of the truck before helping me close my door.

"Oh my goodness, oh my goodness, oh my goodness," I whispered as he jogged in front of the truck to get to the driver's side.

"You sure you don't mind giving me a haircut on your day off?" he asked once he started the truck and was pulling out of the parking lot. We had to speak loudly over the low rumble of the engine.

"Not at all," I said.

We had just come to a stop at a traffic light, and the guy in the truck next to us smiled appreciatively at me and gave me a thumbs up. I knew he wasn't flirting. He was talking about the truck, which was worthy of such gestures. I gave him a thumbs up back just as the light turned green and the engine roared as Evan took off in first gear.

"Oh my goodness, he gave me a thumbs up," I said once we were on the road and the guy in the truck could no longer hear me.

"People love it," he said smiling while his eyes remained on the road. I asked Evan to put on some music, and he turned it to a classic rock station that was playing a southern rock song by a band that may or may not have been Credence Clearwater Revival. I wasn't familiar enough with the song to know the lyrics, but it was a familiar tune that fit perfectly with the scene—wind whipping through our hair as we cruised Charlotte on a beautiful morning. I was relatively sure life did not get much better than moments like this.

"Does your whole life feel like a movie when you ride around in that thing?" I asked as we were walking into the salon a few minutes later.

Evan laughed. "I've only had it for two days, but so far, yeah it pretty much does."

"Your life's sort of like a movie anyway, I guess," I said.

"I don't really even know anymore," he said, shrugging as we walked. "I didn't think I was tired of everything until it just hit me one day that I was. I think I should have slowed down and trusted the process when I first had the accident. I think God was trying to tell me something by bringing me out here. I just missed it at first."

I cleared my throat because I didn't trust my voice. "I heard you were looking at locations for restaurants," I said.

"I wish you'd come to work for me," he said. "I could really use you in the front of the house."

I laughed. "I make way better money doing hair," I said. "I just stay on at my grandma's place for fun."

"That's too bad," Evan said, shaking his head. "You didn't even ask me how much I would pay you. You just assumed it was less than you make doing hair."

"It would be, trust me, or you'd be paying me too much. You could get someone better qualified than me to run a restaurant for the amount of money I make doing hair." I paused. "Did that make sense out loud? Because it makes sense in my head."

"I think I get it, but I still think you'll change your mind eventually." Evan wasn't bossy, but he had this certain confidence about him that made every one (including me) want to fall in line with his plans, whatever they were. I was just about ready to say I'd quit doing hair and work at his restaurant full time if he wanted me to—if he needed me.

"I don't know what I'm doing in a real restaurant, anyway," I said.

"Amy's is a real restaurant," he said.

I laughed. "It's a little laid back. Basically, people are coming by my house to pick up some extra breakfast my grandma cooked, but thank you for believing in me."

Amanda was at the salon when we arrived. She had the door locked since we were technically closed, but she ran over there and let us in when she saw us approaching.

"Is that your truck?" was the first thing out of her mouth when she opened the door.

"It is," Evan said. "Do you like it?"

"How'd you ever get Mr. Porter to sell you that thing?" she asked, staring at it in its parking spot. "That is his Bronco, isn't it?"

"How do you know him?" Evan asked.

"My dad's into cars," she said. "All those guys know each other."

"I paid more than it was worth, if you want to know the truth about why he sold it." He smiled. "He wouldn't part with it easily."

"I'll bet he raked you over the coals," she said, shaking her head at the thought of how much Mr. Porter loved that truck.

"It wasn't too bad, actually. He's got grandkids coming," Evan said. "I think I hit him up at a good time."

"Nothing is coincidence," I said.

"What are y'all doing here?" Amanda asked.

"I'm cutting Evan's hair," I said. "He hasn't had it cut since the last time I did it."

Amanda gasped. "That was like a year ago," she said.

"Almost," Evan said.

"I saw that ad you did where you can see the scar on your leg," she said. "That's crazy how bad that accident was."

In addition to his broken leg and gash to the face, the pavement had chewed the skin on his leg up as he slid over it. There was scaring smattered about his thigh and lower leg and much of it had been visible in an ad he did for a swimwear company recently. I had seen the shirtless ad Amanda was referring to, and it made me jealous that it was the first one that popped into her mind when she saw Evan.

"I had to do six months of physical therapy," he said as a response to her statement about his accident.

"Oh, man, that must have been bad," she said seeming overly concerned.

I loved Amanda, I really did but the way she was behaving made me wonder if I would ever get used to the way girls throw themselves at Evan. Not that I had any right to say what girls did around him, because I didn't.

I led Evan to my station and briefly discussed the fact that I would take off a few inches, basically giving him the same haircut as I did last time.

I took my time cutting Evan's hair because I was having so much fun talking to him. We laughed and told stories, and one topic led to another until we'd been goofing off for an hour and a half when the same haircut would have normally taken me forty-five minutes or less.

Amanda was in the salon with us, but she had music playing, and we spoke quietly enough that we weren't being overheard. It was the most fun I'd ever had doing a haircut, and it wasn't just because I got to reach out and touch his hair the whole time. It was because I truly had fun with him. His sense of humor was so similar to mine that it was as if we already had long-time inside jokes in place even though we were just getting to know each other.

I wanted to tell him about ten times during our conversation that I was single, but I could never get the words out of my mouth. We were on our way out when he took a fifty-dollar-bill out of a money clip and handed it to me.

"I do
not
want that," I said, pushing his hand away.

He tried to push it back toward me, but we were headed out of the salon at the time, so we paused our debate to say a quick goodbye to Amanda.

He tried to hand it to me again as we went outside. "It's not enough," he said, trying continually to make me take it.

"I seriously don't want it, though," I said.

Evan was not a client to me. It was hard to explain, but he was already somehow like family. I honestly couldn’t imagine taking money to cut his hair.

"I had fun doing that," I said, dodging his hand as he waved the money at me. "If you try to give me that, I'll feel rejected right now," I said, smiling at him.

He cocked his head at me as if trying to understand what I meant by that statement. "Are you saying I'm on your free haircut list?" he asked.

I shrugged and looked away shyly.

"Cause that's a boyfriend privilege."

"Nu-uh, I give my mom free haircuts. And Stan. And a few other people."

"How about the pilot?" he asked, opening the passenger's door for me. "Does he get free haircuts?" he added when I didn't answer right away.

I moved to the open doorway of the truck, but didn't climb in right away. I turned to stare right at Evan. "No," I said, my voice coming out more tentatively than I intended.

Evan put his fist to his mouth and let out a teasing laugh. "Oh, the pilot doesn't get his hair cut for free and
I do
?" he asked.

"I don't guess I cut his hair anymore," I said. I was speaking in a almost whispered casual tone that he didn't catch right away.

"What?" he asked.

I smiled and shook my head, not wanting to repeat myself. "Nothing."

"What'd you say, Annabel?" he asked, moving closer and invading my space. It was either be right next to him or turn and sit down in the truck, and I really only wanted the first option.

"Your hair looks good," I said, staring at his new cut, which was combed away from his face and was still slightly damp.

"You said you don't cut that guy's hair anymore," he said.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "If you heard me, then why'd you ask me what I said?"

"Because I wanted to hear you repeat it."

"I don't need to repeat it if you heard me perfectly the first time."

"Is that what you said?" he asked.

"Yeah," I answered after a brief hesitation.

"What's that mean, Annabel?"

"What do you mean, what's it mean?"

"I mean what's it mean, Annabel? Are you telling me you're not dating that guy any more?"

I shrugged since I was tragically embarrassed by the truth.

"Did you break up with that guy?" he asked, moving to put his face in my line of vision so that I'd be forced to look at him.