Red Truck Rendezvous

whole rebuild?”
“Yes, I’m sure you’ll do fine. Now about that chrome,” Portia tittered, catching the man’s hard glare. She was starting to enjoy annoying Pablo, and he seemed to be a very easy mark.

Chapter 9
Pablo sat at his desk, his hand covered with an ice pack, his head resting against the high back of his old chair. It had taken him nearly an hour to convince Portia not to chrome the engine, though there were parts that could use the shine.  Instead, they had agreed to paint the engine in blacks and reds to match the scheme of the outside.
If the woman was in such a hurry to get the truck rebuilt and put back together, why couldn’t she leave him alone to do the work? It would go much faster without her interference. Her condescending attitude didn’t help either. It was almost as if she enjoyed bating him about the repairs.
Once they had hashed out these minor details, and Pablo had started pulling the whole engine apart, Portia had grown bored and was soon racing off in the sleek silver convertible Mustang she had rented. At least, the pesky woman got points for her taste in cars.
Sighing, Pablo opened his eyes and reached for his lunch with his other hand. Gram still insisted on packing his lunch each morning, the way she had when he was in school, and he never knew exactly what he would find at the bottom of the ancient dome-topped lunch box.
Today he had a huge roast beef sandwich with hot mustard and a veritable salad on top. The usual, chips, apple, juice, and snacks were also there, but the container filled with the blueberry cobbler had his mouth-watering.
Lifting his sandwich to his lips and taking a scrumptious bite, Pablo almost cried when the phone rang.  Eyeing his sandwich with sorrow, he placed it on the desk and grabbed the phone.
“How much? Okay, when can you have it here? No, send it priority. This client wants this job done fast. Yeah, I guess it’s a sweet job if she doesn’t drive me crazy. Thanks, Bob, I’m sure I’ll be giving you a shout soon.  I haven’t even looked at the transmission yet. Bye.”
Pablo grasped his fat sandwich with both hands and grinned. Bob had found him parts and would have then here soon. He could get this job done and send the pretty, pesky, Portia on her way.
***
Portia raced along the winding road toward the big bridge, the hearty roar of the powerful engine putting a happy smile on her lips. She had put Pablo in his place, and her truck was getting fixed. Now it was time to play.
Slowing as more signs for the Island and an astounding amount of fudge shops appeared, Portia considered grabbing the next ferry and running over to see the fort, but the day was already half spent. Maybe she would book a few days there once she was sure that Pablo was taking good care of Sweetie.
He seemed like a very competent, if slightly cocky mechanic, but she would keep an eye on him just the same. She knew what she liked, and she usually got what she wanted. It had become a habit with her to ask for far more than she truly wanted, then let her father dicker down to what she really wanted. The tactic seemed to work equally well, with her mechanic.
Portia had known as soon as she mentioned chrome that it was a bad idea, but she had been curious about how willing or greedy Pablo might be.
He had been right about the engine paint, and she was pleased that he had been forthright with her about not having too much chrome on the old flathead. Another garage might have encouraged her indulgence in the extra expense and utterly useless chroming of Sweetie’s engine. Pablo Jimenez was honest, and if the stable of muscle cars he had sitting at the garage waiting for repair was any indication, competent at his craft. People with cars like those didn’t just leave them to anyone.
Pressing the gas pedal a little harder, Portia lifted her chin, feeling the air roll over her as she headed for the big bridge and Upper Peninsula. She would spend the day driving the roads there with the top down and see what she might like to explore further later in the week.
Tonight Portia knew she would be sleeping in her own bed in her little camper and that if she didn’t want to cook, she could head to the Inn for a meal, there was something comforting about her new situation, and a joy at knowing that you were home, no matter where you strayed.
Falling in line at the toll booths, Portia revved the engine of the sports car. Life was sweet, and annoying the stuffing out of the handsome mechanic was going to be fun.
Portia had always loved cars, the faster or older, the better. She had grown up racing go-carts, then graduated to racing cars, and though she had an army of mechanics and pit crew members, she had taken an interest in understanding how the cars worked. She had never been afraid to get her hands dirty in the garage, and knowing what made the engine of her latest auto crush hum gave her a great sense of confidence and connection.
Paying her toll, she sped across the bridge, laughing as the wind from the racing auto lifted her hair. The handsome mechanic was downright gorgeous when his eyes flashed in an angry glare, and for now, he didn’t need to know about her automotive past. Portia knew that all too soon, she would leave the wild areas of Michigan behind, and Pablo with them. She might just as well have some fun while she was here.
Another wicked grin stole across her face as Portia considered her earlier visit with the man. The whole time she had been at the garage, harassing him with her expectations,