The Hateful Heavy Heart | 18+

14 - Tears of Love

Operation Get-My-Man-Back didn't take off as soon as I wanted it to. It took me another week, at the least. However, that was because I had vowed to spend the rest of the week not worrying about Ruggiero, but worrying about myself. Cleo and the other patients, too, but that was because I had to. After my movie and wine night, I decided to pamper myself. It was rare that I splurged on myself.

I took the remainder of the week to take myself out to lunch—I went to Quintavi's on Thursday because even I would be lying if I said their potato soup bread bowl wasn't breathtaking—get a manicure and pedicure, a deep-tissue massage, and even took advantage of one of the yoga classes offered at Glendshire. I had to admit, I was feeling amazing and it had nothing to do with sex. On Friday night, I had returned to Glendshire with homemade mint chocolate chip brownies to share with Cleo.

It wasn't until the middle of the next week that I had to finally face Ruggiero. Well, I certainly wanted to, but up until that point, I had been trying to take time to focus on myself for a couple of days. I was trying to love myself, and so I was doing things that made me happy. However, when I was coming home from work on Wednesday, it took my car a freakishly long time to come to a stop at the stoplight and it had done so way too far past the white line for comfort. I couldn't avoid getting my brakes fixed any longer.

That Thursday morning, I woke early enough to eat and shower. I then called my job, letting them know that I would either be delayed or absent altogether before explaining my dilemma. After dressing in a pair of jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes, I left the apartment and set off to Carlisle Auto Shop.

About fifteen minutes later, I arrived. The auto shop was cute. It was stereotypically blue and the main entrance was the first garage door on the left. There was a side door, but it was for employees only. It was by far not a small shop. There were five garage doors, all of them pushed open and one could see that on the inside, there was room for at least fifteen or so cars to fit inside. There was also the large thirty-car or so parking lot that surrounded the place. Above the entrance hung the name of the shop, 'Carlisle's' stylized as a large license plate.

With a sigh, I parked my car close to the entrance and went inside. Inside, there was a lot of commotion. They played rap music on the stereo and the man laughed together as they worked on the cars inside the shop. Much to my disappointment, I didn't see the man I was hoping to, but I had to get my brakes fixed regardless.

One of the many mechanics—there were six of them that I could see—scooted himself from underneath a Ford pickup truck. He stood up and shot me a crooked smile, wiping his oily hands on the pants of his uniform. He was attractive, with the gap in his front teeth and his shoulder-length blond hair. He looked like someone I would fuck, if I didn't have Ruggiero on my mind. "Good morning," he greeted me, his accent that of a native Tennessee resident, "I'd offer to shake your hand, but y'know."

"I know," I assured. "Good morning to you, too." I looked around a bit, hoping Ruggiero would pop out from somewhere. "I was, uh, hoping to get my brakes fixed. I think it's just the pads, but it could also be the entire brake system. It's been an awful long time since I've had them done."

The blond nodded his head understandingly. "I'm sure it's nothing we can't handle. Brakes are simple but very important." I finally looked down at the name sewn onto his shirt, curious about his name. It read 'Lucky.' He must have caught on to me curiously because he shot me another toothy grin before saying, "My name's Dan, but Lucky's my nickname."

"Okay, Lucky. I'm Jace," I told him, introducing herself. As I didn't care much about the mess, I extended my hand for him to shake it. Yeah, if it hadn't been for Ruggiero, I probably would have gotten Lucky's number. He had a nice, strong grip.