Chapter Text
June 3rd, 2015
Avengers Facility, somewhere in upstate New York
“When I’m lonely, well, I know I’m gonna be
I’m gonna be the man who’s lonely without you
And when I’m dreaming, well I know I’m gonna dream
I’m gonna dream about the time when I’m with you…”
The radio volume turned down of its own accord, and Danielle Cavanaugh sighed from under the chassis of the black SUV. She felt a gentle kick on the bottom of her work boot.
“Hey,” a familiar voice said, “You awake under there?”
Dani rolled her eyes and pushed out from under the chassis. Sam Wilson was leaning on the hood and smiling down at her.
“What do you want, Sam?” she asked, getting up and heading toward the toolbox to pick up a new wrench, weighing it in her hand.
“It’s two in the morning,” he said, with an undertone of concern Dani knew all too well, “You working a rush order?”
“Been fighting this damn coolant leak for three days,” she said, turning back to the SUV and pointedly not looking at Sam, “I’m sick of looking at the damn thing.”
She started to drop back under the SUV, but Sam caught her arm, not hard, just enough to make her pause.
“We’ll find him, Dani.”
She clenched her jaw and still didn’t look at him, concentrating on the wrench in her white-knuckled fist.
“I know,” she said, pulling free of his grip and laying back on the trolley, “Turn the radio back up on your way out.”
She shoved herself under the chassis and attached the wrench to the bolt she had been struggling with. She continued to rattle and clank busily until she heard Sam’s footfalls retreat and the music returned to its original blasting volume. The wrenched dropped to the concrete as Dani covered her face with her hands. The new song washed over her, taking her back to a time before all of this, the uncertainty, the disappointment. Before…
April 24th, 2014
Cavanaugh’s Auto Repair, in Scotsfield, KS
"Where have all the good men gone, and where are all the gods?
Where’s the streetwise Hercules to fight the rising odds?
Isn’t there a white knight upon a fiery steed?
Late at night I toss and I turn and I dream of what I need...”
The patter of rain on the tin roof of Cavanaugh’s Auto might have been soothing if Dani hadn’t been so pissed off. She should have been done with this three hours ago, but the damn transmission cap had rusted on. Solid. She had been banging on it with a wrench, putting all of her not-inconsiderable muscle into it, but she had only managed to stick the curls of her sweat-damp red hair to her cheeks and fill the air with rust flakes that made her nose itch. She rubbed the back of her greasy hand over her forehead, trying to push back the loose curls. Even Bonnie Tyler roaring out of the old boombox in the corner couldn’t make her feel better. She didn’t need a hero. She needed a damn miracle.
Thunder rolled in the distance. The rain roared against the siding as the wind picked up. Dani growled, hoisted her wrench, and went back to work, throwing her elbow into it.
“Somewhere after midnight in my wildest fantasy
Somewhere just beyond my reach is someone reaching back for me
Racing on the thunder and rising with the heat
It’s gonna take a superman to sweep me off my feet...”
The train lurched, jerking the Soldier out of his silent screaming nightmare. He had already rolled into a defensive crouch before he’d even opened his eyes. Nothing was there. The boxcar was empty. Even in the dim light, he could sense that he was alone, just as he knew the car’s exact dimensions and how fast the train was traveling.
Had been traveling. They were stopping now. The car gave another gentle lurch as the engine put on its brakes in the distance. Rain lashed the wooden siding, and thunder rumbled, though there was no flash of a lightning strike.
They could be stopping for any number of reasons: obstacle on the tracks, maintenance issues, changing lines. But the lack of movement made him nervous. He suppressed a shudder, forcing his spasming muscles to relax while he weighed his options.
He could remain in the car. The likelihood of discovery was minimal, but the possibility existed. Eventually he would be discovered. It was only a matter of time.
He could jump now. He didn’t know his location, his proximity to civilization, but that might be for the best. He wasn’t fit for civilization in his current state, and the likelihood of his being reported went down to zero if there was no one to report him. But, at some point, he would need to eat. They hadn’t been able to zap that bit of humanity out of him.
—screaming… lost… cold… the man on the bridge… I knew him—
Another shiver caught him unawares, clacking his teeth together. He pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt and zipped his jacket to his chin before he nudged the door to the boxcar open and slipped to the ground, pressing himself into the shadows beneath the slats. There was light in the distance, shimmering in the downpour. A town: small, sleepy, the risk of suspicion high when everyone knew everyone, but the closest thing to shelter. He shoved his shaking, gloved hands in his pockets and stalked into the rain.
“Up where the mountains meet the heavens above
Out where the lightning splits the sea
I could swear there is someone, somewhere, watching me
Through the wind, and the chill, and the rai—”
Dani clicked off the radio and stood still. She’d heard something outside. A dull thump against the metal of the building… there! There it was again, followed by a scrape. She adjusted her grip on her wrench and approached the side door that led out into the alley. Water was pouring off the building in a rush, and thunder rumbled ominously.
“Hello?” she called out, hoisting her wrench.
No answer. Of course there wasn’t. What, did she think someone was going to just politely respond? ‘Yes, hello, I’m here to steal what little money you have and do who knows what else, let’s find out!’
She should call John. He was probably on patrol and would be more than happy to play the intimidating big brother. But… this was Scotsfield, not Wichita. It was far more likely to be a stray cat than a criminal. And if she called John for help with a stray cat? She would have to look him in the eye for the rest of her life and know that she had called her big brother, the cop, to save her from a stray cat.
“Please be a stray cat, please be a stray cat, please be a stray cat—” she muttered, flattening herself against the wall next to the door and reaching for the knob, wrench still held aloft. She twisted and tugged the door open. The wind nearly ripped it out of her hand, but she scrambled for a better grip and then peeked out.
A lightning flash lit the alley, illuminating a large form hunkered down against the metal siding. Definitely not a stray cat. But not exactly menacing either, huddled against the wall, barely escaping the worst of the rain.
Thunder crashed, and Dani jumped. The form shuddered, and she thought she heard a low sound, like a groan. Shit. Was this person hurt? She briefly toyed with the idea that she might be getting played, but then she remembered again that this was Scotsfield backwoods Kansas, and while crime could, and did, happen everywhere, she was more likely to be dealing with a drunk than an axe murderer. Or even someone that might need help.
Can’t let fear make you the thing you’re afraid of, kiddo.
Her dad’s voice echoed in her memories, and Dani felt a jolt of guilt. Michael Cavanaugh would have already been out in the rain, with a blanket and a friendly smile, coaxing and kind. And here she was, heir to everything he had owned, still cowering in the door frame. She heard his voice again: It’s just money, honey. We can make more.
Lightning flashed again as she stepped out into the alley, and she waited for the inevitable boom of thunder before she tried speaking.
“Hey,” she said, trying not to sound nervous and failing miserably, “You okay?”
The form shifted and from beneath the soaked hood she caught a flash of eyes in the dark. A large hand reached for the wall, levering the form into a standing position.
“Sorry,” a man’s voice mumbled, “Didn’t see the light on—”
He stumbled, and on instinct Dani jumped forward, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady him, but the guy jerked back as if she’d burned him, hitting the side of the building with a slam and a grunt. He shuddered again, but Dani didn’t move forward to help him this time, holding her wrench and empty hand out in front of her in a placating gesture.
“Do you need help?” she asked, and when there was no immediate answer, she went on, “Can we at least get you out of the rain? You’re gonna catch your death.”
He glanced up and his eyes were a little wild, like a cornered animal. Dani took a step back.
“Listen,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm and level, “You haven’t done anything wrong. And if you don’t want my help, that’s fine. But I don’t like the idea of leaving you out here in the rain. It’s supposed to get cold and sleeping in wet clothes is the worst.”
He blinked, and a little of the wildness left his eyes. His shoulders relaxed the tiniest fraction, and he shuddered again. Except Dani finally realized he wasn’t shuddering. He was shivering. Dani felt her own shoulders relax, and she shivered too. The rain had soaked through her oil-stained flannel and plastered her hair to her head. She swiped it back out of her eyes and smiled at the man.
“Come on,” Dani said, pushing open the door to the shop, the light spilling into the alley, “I gotta couch with your name on it.”
The Soldier blinked at the woman again, his vision swimming for a moment before it sharpened back to crystalline clarity. She was smiling. Not a large smile, but friendly enough, even with the nerves touching the corners of her mouth. He felt another damn shiver and went rigid to stop it from traveling through him. Rain had soaked through to his skin and even though he was resistant to most things, including cold and disease, his body still had to fight. And he was exhausted. He hadn’t been ‘awake’ for this long in a very long time, and he hadn’t allowed himself even a moment of recovery in the weeks since—
I’m with you… to the end of the line…
He flinched from the memory, and the woman dropped her outstretched hand. The heavy wrench in her other hand was held loosely, the worst sort of grip for a weapon. He could disarm her in three moves, hand to her throat, skull cracked on the pavement, bleeding out, gasping—
He shook his head and took a tentative step forward, his hand flat on the tin siding to keep himself steady. He managed to keep his balance as he slipped past the woman and into the yellow light of naked incandescent bulbs. He blinked to adjust his vision. The woman closed the door behind him, and edged around to open a closet tucked beneath a set of wooden steps that wound around a corner and up into a space above the shop.
“I’ve got some old coveralls in here,” she muttered, “Dad was a pretty big guy, they should fit. Bathroom’s to the left!” she called out as she rummaged, “Should be towels on the shelf above the toilet, you can probably reach them better than I can.”
He opened the door nearest him and found the tiny bathroom, comprising a toilet, a small, glassed-in shower, and a sink. There was indeed a stack of neatly folded towels above the sink, clean but stained black and brown in places. He took the whole stack and shut the door.
The woman had already moved again, and his head swam as he followed her. She had a set of canvas coveralls slung over one shoulder and was laying a rough woven blanket over a well-worn couch pushed up against one wall of what he could now see was an automotive shop.
“Dad used to nap down here when business was slow,” she said, laying out a lumpy pillow and another blanket, this one a worn and pilled fleece. “Easy to do when you’ve got cheap help doing all the work for you.”
She smirked at him, and the Soldier realized she was making a self-deprecating joke. He blinked and dropped his eyes. He was dripping onto the concrete floor, a wet patch spreading beneath his boots. At least his feet were still dry. He pushed his hood back and took a towel from the stack still in his hands, handing the rest to the woman. She took them.
“Thanks.”
He ran the towel through his hair and watched the woman do the same, reaching behind her to gather a mess of red curls and squeeze the water out. She caught him looking, and he dropped his eyes again, letting his towel fall to the floor to mop up the water that had collected there, even standing on it so his clothes wouldn’t keep dripping directly on the concrete.
“So,” she said, tossing the coveralls onto the arm of the couch, “What name should I put on the couch?”
The Soldier blinked at her again, hearing that same hint of nervous humor in her voice, but unable to place the joke. The girl shrugged and waved a hand uncertainly at the afore mentioned furniture.
“I mean, I did say this couch had your name on it, I just thought…”
Oh. A name. Did he have a name? He had titles; he had missions; he had handlers from different countries calling him different things that all meant the same thing: Der Spion. Soldat. Jumeog. The Asset. Bucky.
“...Your name is James Buchanan Barnes.”
“James,” he said, realizing it had taken him far too long to answer, “My name is James.”
She smiled again, that same nervous little smile.
“Dani,” she said, looking as if she wanted to hold out her hand to him, but resisting, “Dani Cavanaugh. This is my place. But I guess you already knew that.”
There was a moment of awkward silence. He used to be good at filling those… hadn’t he? Or had he just read that on the wall of a museum, heard it in an interview with someone who claimed to have known him?
He shivered again, and the girl shifted, edging toward the stairs he had seen before, nearest the door.
“Anyway,” she said, never putting her back to him as she went by. Good, that was smart. He reevaluated his assessment of her intelligence, combat experience, and situational awareness. “Light switch is there on the wall, you can change in the bathroom, I’m heading upstairs—”
She hesitated, one foot on the step. The Soldier—James, he supposed, for now—still hadn’t moved, only turning in place to follow her movement as she went by. She met his eyes, the first sign of boldness he’d seen in her. He reevaluated her again, calculations and threat assessments pinging through his brain. Her eyes were a shade of green that reminded him of… something, but he couldn’t quite catch the memory as it flitted by.
“Just so you know,” she said, all trace of her nervous smile gone, “I sleep with a taser on my nightstand and deadbolts on my door. If you’re gonna try something, keep it downstairs, got it?”
He resisted the urge to smile. If he had wanted to kill her, there were a dozen different ways he could have done so already. And a taser certainly wouldn’t stop him if he changed his mind. Still, he understood the reasoning behind the declaration, however futile. He nodded a wordless acknowledgement of the warning.
“Good,” she said, “Then I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.”
He doubted that very much, but she turned and clattered up the stairs without waiting for an answer that he probably wouldn’t have given anyway. Another rumble of thunder echoed in the now empty garage. The storm was moving off, but the rain was still battering the roof, echoed and amplified by the metal and lack of insulation.
He turned another full circle, evaluating his surroundings. Nothing immediately threatened. No hidden cameras or electronics that he could detect. The shop was full of nooks and crannies and equipment that could be used to advantage in an emergency. But his instincts told him it would be unnecessary. He vaguely heard a door above him open and shut, a few muffled thumps, things dropping to the floor. Then silence.
Another shiver wracked his body and (not wanting to corner himself in the tiny space of the bathroom) he began to strip out of his wet clothes, laying them neatly over various pieces of equipment to dry. The fingers of his left hand pinged metallically against the handle of the floor jack as he laid out his jeans, and he jerked back at the sound, freezing and listening intently. Nothing. No sign of awareness. He was still alone. He relaxed the tiniest bit. She was smart. But she was also frightened. The likelihood of her coming downstairs to investigate small noises was negligible.
He quickly shimmied into the coveralls and zipped them up to his chin. They were a little big, but they were warm and dry. He could already feel his body responding to the more desirable environment. The shivering relaxed. His jaw unclenched. His vision cleared, and his head swam less, though there was still a halo around the edges of his vision. This was most likely due to malnourishment. He hadn’t had a proper meal in days, and what he had managed to scrape together could hardly be called good nutrition. His body was conditioned to continue functioning under all sorts of circumstances, but he was also suffering exhaustion and unexpected mental strain.
“…but I knew him.”
“Wipe him. Start again from scratch.”
There was a mini fridge tucked into a corner beneath a shelf with a stereo. He opened it and found some bottles of water, cans of cola, and a box of granola bars. He took one of the granola bars, a bottle of water, and shut the door. But as he cracked the cap on the water, he felt a tiny prick in his gut. He ignored it and swigged from the bottle, then tore into the wrapper on the granola bar. Another prick, this one more insistent and nothing to do with his hunger.
Guilt. He felt guilty.
He evaluated the sensation as he bit into the bar. The woman… Dani. She had taken him into her home, had given him clean clothes, a roof over his head, a place to sleep. And all he’d done was frighten her, drip on her floor, and now he was eating her food and drinking her water while she lay upstairs with one hand on a taser that couldn’t save her. The sensation was… odd. He hadn’t had to think about these things when he was on mission, with set parameters and handlers who made sure he was where he was supposed to be, nourished the way he should be, provided for and then put away again. He hadn’t had to think at all.
You’re my mission.
He blinked and realized that his eyes had come to rest on a car tucked off to the side of the garage: a Buick, ‘89 LeSabre, the wide, square hood propped open, and clearly not in great condition. Bits had rusted on, and though there had obviously been some effort to remove those parts, it had been ineffective. Basic engine mechanics. It was one of the many skills programmed into him, a necessity in case a vehicle he was using malfunctioned during a mission. He couldn’t be left stranded and couldn’t put his trust in locals if a situation was delicate or pressing.
He shoved the rest of the granola bar in his mouth and leaned over to inspect the cap for the transmission fluid.
Unsurprisingly, Dani hadn’t slept well. She had kept her taser under her pillow (not exactly a comfortable position), and every little noise had jolted her awake, noises she wouldn’t have found at all strange on a normal night. She kept John’s number up on her phone screen, and at least once she nearly called him. But the thought of the lecture she would get for allowing a strange man to crash on her couch (even just the couch in the shop and not her actual apartment) kept her from making the call.
She got out of bed earlier than she might have normally. It didn’t make sense to stay in bed if she wasn’t going to sleep. She took a hot shower, trying to knock the fuzzies from her brain, and dressed like a zombie, pulling her hair back into the messiest bun she could muster. Not that it mattered. If yesterday was any indication, it would but a frizzy mess in less than an hour.
At the last minute, she decided to tuck the taser into the back pocket of her jeans. Just in case. Then she grabbed her shoes and tiptoed down the stairs in her socks. She didn’t want to scare the guy, but she didn’t exactly want him to hear her coming either. Not before she saw him first.
She paused and peeked out from the stairwell. The sun was starting to come through garage door windows, and from where she stood, everything looked as it should, albeit covered in various pieces of clothing. A mop of dark hair stuck out over the arm of the worn down couch, the fleece blanket curled around a feet-shaped lump at the other end. She hesitated. She didn’t want to startle him out of a sleep, not after the way he had jumped last night. She’d seen reactions like that before. They rarely turned out pretty, even if the person being startled didn’t mean anything by it. But she also couldn’t sit here, hunkered down in the stairwell like a creeper, waiting for him to wake up.
After weighing her options, she tiptoed back upstairs, shoved her feet into her work boots, and clomped back down again. She tried not to exaggerate too much, but she made enough noise to be satisfied that anyone downstairs would hear her approach.
When she poked her head out of the stairwell again, James was already moving, gathering the clothes he had scattered out to dry. There was no trace of lethargy or the startlement of unexpected waking. It was like he hadn’t even been asleep. She blinked at him for a second before she realized she was staring and hurried out into the shop, making a beeline for the coffeepot.
“Morning!” she chirped, then winced at how annoying she sounded, “How’d you sleep?”
There was no answer for a long time, and Dani glanced behind her to make sure he was still there. He was, but he seemed to be contemplating her question for longer than it should have warranted.
“It was better than the alley.”
Dani snorted and turned back to the coffeepot, scooping in grounds and setting the percolator.
“Thank you,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
Dani rolled her eyes, but she tried not to let it show in her voice.
“You’re welcome.”
“I took one bottle of water and two granola bars,” he said, not apologetically, but as a matter of fact, like he was listing items on an invoice.
Dani froze getting the styrofoam cups out of the cabinet. Shit.
“God, I’m the worst idiot,” she said, smacking herself on the forehead with the sleeve of little cups, “Look, don't worry about it. If I was a better person, I would have offered them to you.”
She turned to smile at him and saw his perplexed expression.
“Really,” she reassured him, “It’s fine. They’re there to be eaten. And I meant to offer, but… I guess I was a little flustered.”
She considered that terrible choice of words just a second too late. She whirled back to the coffeepot so he wouldn’t see her blush.
“How do you like your coffee?” she asked, “Donuts should be here any minute.”
Her father and Mr. Ly, owner of Ly’s Donuts down the street, had held a long-standing arrangement ever since Dani could remember: free oil changes in exchange for a dozen fresh donuts every morning but Sunday (nothing in Scotsfield was open on Sunday). It was an arrangement that Dani had been happy to continue after her father passed, even though she rarely ate all the donuts by herself. It was nice to have something familiar.
Again, there was a long pause, and Dani turned to make sure she wasn’t talking to an empty room. His clothes were folded neatly in his arms, his black-gloved hands squeezing at the stack, and he seemed to be considering something quite seriously. Dani was pretty sure it wasn’t the way he took his coffee.
“You can keep the coveralls,” she said, turning back to the pot, “They’re too big for me and I doubt I’ll ever have anyone in here that would fit them. Dad would want to know someone was getting some use out of them.”
He didn’t answer. She resisted the urge to check on him again. If he’d wanted to attack her, he’d have done it by now, and if he wanted to go, she wasn’t going to stop him even if she'd wanted to.
She poured two cups of coffee and dumped some sugar into her cup, leaving the container next to the other cup of coffee on the little table. Then she started walking her first round of the shop like she did every morning, making a mental list of what needed to be done today. Mrs. Spinelli’s ‘68 Beetle needed the oil put in—she was an early riser so that needed to be done first. Bob Hansen’s back left tire on his ‘95 Ram was a lost cause. She would order a new one today. And, of course, there was Mr. Tyson’s pride and joy, the ‘89 LeSabre he’d picked up at auction and brought to Dani as an ongoing project. She snorted. As if she didn’t already have enough—
She paused. She put her hand on the wide, square hood, closed over the engine. Hadn’t she left this open last night? She felt a jolt of panic. Oh god, he really had robbed her! What if he’d taken the parts out of all the cars? He could get a ton of money from spare parts. Oh god, it would cost her a fortune if—
She flung open the hood and let her eyes dart over all the most important parts, the most expensive. Nothing looked out of place. In fact, everything looked suspiciously in place. Specifically, the transmission fluid cap. Last night it had been rusted on solid. Now it was polished to a shiny chrome gleam. There were other things too: burned out wires that had been replaced, gunked up valves that had been cleaned. Dani started working the numbers in her head. Damn. It would have taken her days to do all of this. And specialized equipment. And money that she didn’t have. Mr. Tyson was good for it, but he was a notorious penny pincher. She would have had to squeeze him like an under-ripe lemon to get the cash she would have needed.
Hot damn. The thing might actually run.
“I kept a list.”
Dani jumped and looked up. She hadn’t even heard James walk across the garage. He was holding a piece of yellow notebook paper out to her in his gloved hand, his pale blue eyes watching her.
“Parts I used,” he clarified, “Equipment. You can check it all off.”
Dani took the paper from his outstretched hand, but she didn’t even glance at it. She didn’t need to. James wasn’t going to rob her or hurt her or cheat her. She could see it in his eyes. It wasn’t that he couldn’t. It was that he didn’t want to.
He stepped back and shoved his hands in his pockets, looking down at his boots. His hair flopped down over his face and he seemed incredibly young. Too young to look so haunted. So afraid. Dani knew what it was like to be too young, too haunted, too afraid.
“Do you want a job?”
His head jerked up, and he blinked at her.
“I couldn’t pay you much,” she said (or at all she thought frantically, doing the math in her head), “But… well, I have a couch. And I can feed you. And despite what you’re seeing right now, I’m usually pretty low key.”
She patted a nervous hand over her messy hair, and she saw his eyes track the movement, then drop back to her face. A small furrow formed between his brows. Oh god, he was actually considering it. Oh shit, oh shit, oh—
A knock on the back door made them both jump, James darting to the side and dropping into a defensive crouch quicker than Dani could blink.
“That’ll be the donuts,” she said, relieved at the interruption.
She crossed the shop and opened the door, propping it open with her foot and smiling at Tamara Ly, Mr. Ly’s fifteen-year-old daughter.
“Morning, Ms. Cavanaugh,” the girl said with a rosy smile, accented by the pink hat and work shirt she wore with her jeans.
“Morning, Tammy,” Dani said, juggling her half-full coffee cup to take the pink box of donuts from the girl and flip open the lid, “Grab your delivery fee.”
The girl grinned and selected a chocolate frosted doughnut from the dozen in the box, glancing back over Dani’s shoulder. Her eyes widened.
“I didn’t know you hired someone,” she said, biting into the doughnut and shamelessly leaning over to get a better look, her young eyes roaming up and down appreciatively. Dani felt herself blush.
“I haven’t yet,” she said, snappng the donut box shut, “We’re negotiating.”
“Do you need more donuts?” the girl asked, still staring, “I can come back, if you think it would help—”
“Good bye, Tammy.”
Dani shut the door in the girl’s face, rolling her eyes as she shifted the box in her grip and turned back to the shop. James was standing in the hallway, the extra cup of coffee in his hand, an eyebrow raised.
“Negotiating?”
Dani shrugged, setting the donuts on the coffee table and snagging a regular glazed, leaning on the back hood of Mrs. Spinelli’s Beetle.
“Well, you haven’t told me no.”
She bit into the doughnut and took a sip of her coffee. James watched each movement with intense scrutiny, as if he were sizing her up. She waved her doughnut hand toward the box.
“Help yourself.”
He turned to survey the box. Then, with careful deliberation, he plucked the black glove from his right hand and selected another of the glazed doughnuts. He eyed it for several seconds before he finally bit in. He considered that bite, analyzing it, before taking a second bite. Dani watched him through this entire process, fascinated despite herself. He did everything so… deliberately. Like he was discovering it all over again. She remembered what that had been like too. And she knew she couldn’t have done it on her own. If her dad and her brother hadn’t been there during those first few years… Well, she didn’t like to think what might have happened.
He turned those blue eyes on her, and she ducked her head, downing the last swallow of her coffee and polishing off the doughnut. She checked the hands on the old Pepsi wall clock. 5 ‘til 9. Mrs. Spinelli would be here any minute, and she hadn’t even pulled the oil off the shelf. She wiped her hands on her jeans and reached past James for the coffeepot. He didn’t move from his spot, leaning against the coffee table. She could feel his eyes following her. She was determined not to blush for the third time this morning, but she wasn’t sure she succeeded.
“I’m not sure you want me here.”
He said it with no apology, no self-pity, just perfect sincerity. Dani refilled her cup.
“If I didn’t want you here,” she said, reaching over to top off his coffee too, “I wouldn’t have asked.”
He watched the coffee pour, then his eyes flicked back to her, considering. She smiled. As if he were testing it out, he lifted the corners of his mouth too. The change it brought to his face was so startling, Dani almost dropped her cup. It was like looking at a different person, the way it softened his eyes and—
The bell rang, echoing against the tin of the garage in a dissonant clamor that made Dani wince and James jerk upright, sloshing his coffee.
“Shit, that’s Mrs. Spinelli,” Dani said, setting the coffeepot back on the burner, “I told her I’d have that oil change finished this morning, I’m gonna get an earful.”
“The Beetle on the lift?” James asked, straightening and putting the black glove back on his right hand, “It only needs filled up, I can get it.”
Dani paused at the garage door opener and blinked. He had already turned to the Beetle, no longer looking at her.
“Yeah,” she said, trying to wrap her mind around the consequences of what had just happened and failing, “The 15-40 is on the top shelf in the back.”
Without another word or even a glance back, James went to the shelves and started digging for the oil. The bell rang again, more insistently this time, and Dani hit the garage door opener, plastering on her best smile.
“Good morning, Mrs. Spinelli! It’s nearly finished, let me get you in the office…”