Red Truck Rendezvous

ear. “You could call someone there to have it delivered, or I can get one of the drivers from the place I used to work to take you down and pick it up.”
Portia lifted her eyes, meeting Pablo’s gaze. He had a dreamy look in the dark depths of his coffee brown eyes as something soft seemed to flicker to life in his soul.
“That sounds good,” Portia’s words were a whisper, and she couldn’t take her eyes off the man beside her. Nervously she licked her lips afraid to move for fear of shattering this moment.
Pablo’s head inched closer as she lifted her chin meeting his lips halfway with a soft kiss.
Fireworks seemed to erupt in her head as Portia’s lips brushed Pablo’s. He tasted like coffee, motor oil, and hard work, a strange mixture of effort and heart.
Pablo’s arms wrapped Portia’s slim waist pulling her close as she wound her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss. He felt the smooth skin at her back as her shirt hitched up her spine and was lost for several moments as the kiss seemed to make the world evaporate.
Portia pulled back, her face flaming with heat at her boldness. “Oh, um, sorry,” she mumbled, her words coming in soft gasps. “I’ll call someone.” A moment later, the Mustang burned rubber onto the road, and she was gone.

Chapter 11
“Portia!” Gram Walton called from the front porch as the young woman drove her convertible along the front of the house.
Portia pulled to a stop turning to see Mrs. Walton waving at her before driving the car toward the small parking area by the Inn. Her wind tasseled hair fell to her shoulder as she came to a stop, turning off the ignition and climbing out. She had taken two steps toward the front porch when she remembered her bag and turned back to the open-topped car.
Leaning over the door, Portia reached across the console, grasping the strap of her bag. Warm sunlight caressed her back as the tied in front shirt rode up her spine. This time as she turned back to the house, she didn’t bother to pull the shirt down, leaving her midriff exposed to the warmth of the day.
Grandma Walton watched as the pretty Portia leaned over the car, exposing her back and barely bit back the laugh that rose in her throat.
“Oh my,” the old woman whispered to herself a bright twinkle in her eyes.  Two well-placed handprints, stamped out in grease graced Portia’s creamy skin beneath her polka-dot blouse. It was about time too.
“You called?” Portia ran lightly up the stairs smiling at Mrs. Walton, who had a peculiar look on her face. “Is everything alright?”
“Everything is peachy!” Gram enthused fighting the questions that threatened to pour forth. “I just thought you’d like to see the resident side of the house today. Everyone’s away at work, so we have it all to ourselves. You can even stay for tea.”
“That sounds lovely,” Portia agreed. It would be a pleasant distraction from the kiss only minutes before. A warm blush brushed her cheeks as she wondered if she would see Pablo’s bedroom. Would it be messy? Did his room look like the remnants of a young man’s dreams? Surely there would be posters of cars, or maybe those hot garage calendars with women draped over beefy muscle cars. Pushing the thoughts from her head, she fell into step behind Gram. She was interested in the house, not the handsome mechanic. At least that is what she was telling herself.
“I’ll be leaving for a few days,” Portia said, sometime later as she sat at a small table in the quaint kitchen. It was evident that this had, at one time, been a summer kitchen and had been converted to meet the needs of the family over time.
“You’re leaving? I didn’t think Pablo had the truck ready yet.” Gram hid her grin behind her dainty teacup, watching as Portia blushed.
“I’m not leaving for good. I have to run down to Oxford and pick up a truck.  Pablo has been having problems getting all the parts he needs to rebuild Sweetie’s transmission. I’m buying another old truck that we can use for parts.”
“Oh, my isn’t that expensive?”
“I found one at a fair price. It isn’t in very good shape, but hopefully, it will have what we need. Trucks that are too damaged to be rebuilt don’t hold much value other than for parts.”
“I see,” Gram mused. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Pablo mention having problems before.”
“This is a little different. Sweetie is a classic and a rather popular one. You see images of them everywhere at Christmas time. You know those little red trucks with the tree in the back. It’s getting harder to find them. Besides, they didn’t make many that year because WWII broke out, and in February of ’42, the factory switched to building strictly for the military.”
“I remember that time,” Gram shook her head. “I was just a girl, but everything changed. We all did our part, and we're proud of our country for standing up to tyranny. So many sacrificed so much, and we all wanted to do what we could.”
Portia’s eyes softened as she gazed at the older woman across from her. She couldn’t tell how old Gram was, but she had seen a lot of years and a lot of changes. How strange it must have been to live in a world that had shifted so much.  Portia felt a kinship bloom between her and the old woman, even as the knowledge of all that experience humbled her. Gram had lived. She had grown up through troubled times, married, had children, lost love, and still held tight to what she believed in. Portia only hoped that she could have half the life this dear old soul had.
“I’d better get going,” Portia said, reluctantly finishing her tea. “I have to be in Oxford tonight, and I’ll check out the truck in the morning.