Red Truck Rendezvous

“I guess if something is meant to be it will be.”
“Just don’t take it for granted,” Carlos spoke, his dark eyes serious. He reached for a slice of the buttery, crumb topped cake holding it in his hand as his eyes held his brother. “Even if something is meant to be, you can always throw it away. Don’t talk yourself out of life. It’s not all about work and success. Having someone to talk to, someone who shares your hopes and dreams, is important too. You have to take the chances where you are and see how they play out. You never know, you might just find that everything you have ever wished for is right there at your fingertips.”
“You sound like a poet,” Pablo chuckled, finishing his coffee cake and downing the last of his coffee. “Better watch out, or Jamie will have you writing her love poems.” With his last word, Pablo stood, grabbed his lunch pail from the counter, and headed out the door. He had work to do, and no matter what Gram said, or Carlos believed, he and Portia were too different ever to find common ground.

Chapter 14
Pablo spent the next two days buried beneath, driveshafts, fender panels, and bumpers. He sanded Sweetie to a dull orange color, patched holes, blasted away years of rust, and sent the wheel rims to be painted and new whitewall tires put back on.  He had the truck nearly ready for paint by the time the big flatbed trundled up the road, followed by the silver Mustang.
The sound of the truck sent a strange wave of joy coursing through Pablo, and a bright smile broke across his face when Portia started directing the tow driver to put the new acquisition at the side of the barn.
“That’ll be fine,” he said, hurrying outside. “I’ll have easy access to whatever I need out here.”
The driver lifted his bed, adjusting the chains and lowering the sad-looking truck to the dusty side yard.
“She doesn’t look like much,” Portia said before Pablo could speak, “but I looked at the engine, and it isn’t in bad shape, at least from the outside.”
“I guess we’ll see,” Pablo waved as the tow truck driver left then walked around to look at the spare truck Portia had purchased. The body was a disaster, the blue paint so faded as to make the thing look like a specter that might be blown away by the wind. “We won’t get much from the body.”
“The door handle works though,”  Portia beamed, rushing to pull open the front door and hopping onto a seat that was more spring than leather. “See?” Portia slammed the door shut in a shower of rust, a bright grin on her pink lips.
Something warm and fuzzy ran across Portia’s sandal, and she screamed, yanking the door open and jumping into Pablo’s arms, as sickly shivers raced across her skin.
“What’s wrong?” Pablo pulled her close, looking for any signs of danger. It wouldn’t be the first time a mechanic or some other unfortunate soul had found a nest of snakes in an old car.
“Mouse,” Portia flinched again, settling into Pablo’s arms. “I do not like creepy crawlies on my person.”
Pablo’s deep chuckle ruffled the hair by her ear, and Portia snuggled closer for a totally different reason. She didn’t care if he was ‘just’ a mechanic, she liked him very much.
Pablo tightened his grip around Portia. She felt so right in his arms. She smelled of vanilla and sunshine, and all things good. He knew that in another week, maybe two, she would be gone leaving him behind, but for now, he could enjoy her company. He had never thought much about his future. He had always been content to do the things he loved and take life a step at a time. Even if this thing was fleeting, why not embrace it while he could.
“So the door handle works,” he leaned in, whispering in Portia’s ear.
“Umm,” she hummed in his ear, he was probably getting greasy handprints on her back again, but she didn’t care.
The sound of a car approaching, made them pull apart and Portia watched the delivery truck drop off a large package as the spell was broken.
“Come on, pop the hood,” Pablo said. “I’m sure you scared the mouse more than it scared you.”
“What do you think?” she asked a moment later as they stared down at the engine, while Pablo held the hood upright with both arms.
“It looks promising, but only time will tell. Here,” Pablo handed her a screwdriver, lowering the hood. “help me take this hood cover off, and we’ll start taking it part.”
“Me?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Because I’m paying you to do it.”  Portia scowled at the man. Surely he couldn’t expect her to work on her own truck.
Pablo grinned. “Yes, but the sooner we get finished, the sooner you’ll be able to hit the road again.”
A flash of something raced across Portia’s face, and Pablo could tell he had hurt her feelings. He had only been teasing, but perhaps the mark had hit too close to home.
“Never mind,” he said softly. “I’ll get to this, come see what I’ve accomplished while you were out getting this old ghost. You’ll be happy.”  Gently he took her hand in his, squeezing it as he led her back into the garage.
“What have you done!” Portia dropped his hand, reaching for her face. “It’s just a shell. You’ve taken everything.”
“No, it’s not like that,” Pablo said. “The wheels and tires will be back tomorrow. The bumpers, grill, and hubcaps are being re-chromed, and the engine is all but in.”
Portia stood horror-struck at what used to be her Sweetie. The paint was all but gone, ground to an anemic orange powder. The whole frame sat up on the lift, pale, broken, and empty. “I should never have hired you,” she wailed. “I should have listened to my Daddy.”
Before Pablo could explain, she spun on her heel and fled to the waiting convertible.  He