Rapscallion

My Ex Plans for World Domination

You'd think that a solemn prediction of the death of my kind would make meeting Marjorie again seem like a breeze. No such luck. Edgar watches me with his head resting on his paws as I fiddle around with another customer's car and get absolutely nothing accomplished.

I check my watch for the sixteenth time this morning. It's a quarter until eleven and every minute I wait my veins seem to grow tighter. At this point I've swept the floor, put all the tools lying around away, and straightened up my desk.

Not that my shop is normally unkempt. It's small enough that I keep it relatively neat, even if it's nothing fancy with it's faded mint COOPER'S sign, hanging askew above the garage. After all, any good mechanics shop is a little ghetto.

Finally, Marjorie's faded hatchback creeps up the driveway. She wasn't kidding when she said it smoked—I'm half surprised she made it this far. Don't screw this up, man.

She gets out, peering around curiously. She's jacketless again and I wonder if this is a theme with this girl. "Hi," she says.

"Hi," I reply, trying way too hard to squash the cheesy smile wrestling it's way onto my face. Edgar rises from his hairy slump and trots over to lick her jean clad knees, smacking her car with his tail when she reaches down to ruffle his ears.

"I drive by this place all the time," she tells me, and I grin at the thought.

Bet she never knew it was owned by the local hotshot villain.

"You look cold," I say, thinking of Genie and her Cosmogirl tips. I grab my jacket and hand it to her.

She blushes, taking it like it might be a strait jacket. "Thanks. I, uh, forgot mine at my place again." Her crooked grin makes me melt right down into my boots.

She slides it on and I definitely do not notice how cute she looks in it, how her fingers are nearly hidden by the sleeves and how it reaches down to mid thigh.

I flip the radio on for some white noise and roll my office chair over for her to sit in. "It'll just take me a few," I tell her, quickly wiping the dust off of it.

"Thank you," she says again, pressing the back of her hand to her pink cheeks.

Genie would be over the moon.

"How long have you owned this place?" she asks as I slide my hands underneath the hood, searching for the latch to open it.

"Almost five years," I tell her. "Opened it after my parents died." I don't know why I added that last part. I didn't want the pity. There was just something about this girl that made me want to share, made me want to feel like a... human.

"You lost them during Christmas?"

I snap a lid back on with a little more force than necessary. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she says softly, and I know a sincere condolence when I hear one. "Do you mind me asking how...?"

"Car crash. A drunk driver hit them head on." Saying it still makes me feel like a fifty pound weight was dropped in my gut, but I'm strangely comfortable talking about this with her. Jane, as usual, was right. I silently thank her for always being wiser than me.

"How about you?" I ask, hoping I'm not being too pushy. "Who'd you lose?"

She scuffs a foot on the concrete. "My fiance," she replies, her voice distant. "Two years ago. It was the Virus."

Oh. Oh.

My throat feels tight. I look at her, taking in the way her hands are tucked underneath her legs and the lines of sorrow etched into her face. "I'm sure he loved you," I murmur, and I want to reach out and touch her shoulder but I'm afraid it's too soon.