Red Truck Rendezvous

shelves stacked above took up the rest of the space.
“You have more room than I would expect in here,” Pablo grinned, surprised by the space.
A shrill whistle beckoned them back into the kitchen, and Pablo took a seat at the table while Portia poured water over the dark roast in the bottom of a French press.
“How big is this?” he asked, taking in the surprising amount of storage space, cabinetry, and cubby holes, the camper had to offer.
“Twenty-two feet, but it always feels bigger. I never feel crowded somehow.” Portia took down two red mugs suspended above the stove on little hooks, placing them on a little tray that had been sitting on the white countertop. A moment later, she set everything on the table and slid onto the seat across from Pablo.
“So, what are your goals for the summer?” Pablo sipped his coffee, looking over the rim of his cup. “I mean now that it looks like you’ll be grounded for at least a few weeks.”
“I want to explore the lake area and the UP,” Portia said, “but I guess I’ll be stationary for a while. Do you have any idea how long it will take to get Sweetie up and running again?”
“I can’t say exactly, but it will be weeks, not days. I’m sorry. Maybe tomorrow after I pull the engine and get started, and find out how hard it will be to get what I need, I’ll have a better idea.”
“Thanks.” Portia placed a hand over Pablo’s, squeezing it. She would try to be patient, but she was used to getting what she wanted when she wanted it.

Chapter 8
Pablo positioned the big lift over the front of the old truck and double-checked the chains. He had already removed the hood of the truck, and next, he would lift the engine free for disassembly and repair. It was a massive job, and he had already sent messages to a few of his contacts to see if they could start lining up parts.
Satisfied that everything was ready, Pablo grabbed the hydraulic lever on the lift and began inching the engine out of the truck. The higher it rose, the more unwieldy the thing became, and soon he was stopping every few inches to arrest the swing of the massive engine.
“Pablo!” Portia’s voice echoed into the cavernous middle section of the barn, making him start with surprise. The engine twisted clockwise at his inattention, and Pablo grabbed for it, his hand grasping the outer edge a second before it connected with the lift arm.
“Ouch!” Pablo felt the bite of a smashed finger, but pushed his hand off the lift, swinging the engine back inline.
“Oh, there you are,” Portia hurried around the side of her truck, looking cute and fresh as a daisy. “What’s wrong? Did you break something?”
“No, I didn’t break anything.” Pablo’s scowl was fierce as he cranked the engine the last few inches over the fender wells.
“It’s rather dirty, isn’t it?”
Pablo placed both hands on the lift arm, popping the brake with his foot, then turned to stare at her. “It’s an engine; it is supposed to be dirty.” His finger throbbed, and he wanted nothing more than to get ice on it.
“Well, yes, I know, and after all these years, it would be. Of course, the man I bought it from kept wonderful maintenance records on it. Still, I don’t like the way it looks. Perhaps we should chrome it.”
Pablo closed his eyes, his stomach roiling at the thought. Not only was chroming an engine expensive, but it was also going too far on a truck like this. Leaning into the lift, Pablo pushed it toward the industrial workbench, wishing the woman would go away with each creaking rotation of the wheels.
“How did you get here?” Pablo finally asked, all the while thinking the last thing he needed was Portia Princeton sticking her nose into his work. “I thought you were spending the morning with Gram?”
“I hired a car. You don’t expect me to stay in the camper all the time, do you? Besides it’s already afternoon.”
Pablo could hear the smile in her voice but refused to turn around. If money was no object for fixing the truck, surely it wasn’t an issue for renting a car. Hoping Portia would leave and go explore the lake area or maybe spend a few days on the Island, he set the brake of the lift, forcing himself to stay focused on the job at hand.
With great care, Pablo lowered the engine to the table, watching as one by one the heavy chains holding it went slack. It was time to get down to some serious work.
“I needed to talk to you anyway. I spoke with Daddy last night,” Portia’s voice drifted to him from somewhere behind the truck. “He tried to convince me to come home and bring Sweetie with me. He feels I should have a reliable, well-established garage do the work.”
Portia made her way around the truck stopping to study the young man hunched over the engine. His face was smudged with grease, his hands blackened, and his overalls grubby, but he was still astoundingly handsome.
“You’re going to take the truck all the way back home after I just spent my whole morning pulling the engine?” Pablo felt the words grind from between his teeth.
“No.”
“What?” Pablo turned to face the infuriating woman. “What do you mean? Are you taking it or not?”
“No, I convinced Daddy that you were up for the job.”
“Oh, thanks,” Pablo felt anything but grateful at the woman’s condescending tone. “I really appreciate it.”
“Well, if you don’t want to do the job,” Portia felt her bottom lip tremble, and her temper rose.”
“I didn’t say that.  It might have been nice if you could have given me a call and let me know or something, though.”
“I’m telling you now.”
Pablo closed his eyes, trying to find his calm. What was it about Portia Princeton that annoyed him so? “So, I’m still doing the