A Father's Name. Holly Jacobs
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He cooked.”
Tucker realized her father’s dinner invitation was a peace offering even as she groaned. “Oh, Bart, I’m so sorry. I’m a bad, bad mother. I mean, subjecting you to your grandfather’s cooking is nothing short of torture.”
“Hey, it’s okay. He went to Wegman’s and bought some macaroni salad and there’s tossed salad to go with the steak he’s grilling.”
“Phew.” She wiped her brow with exaggerated relief. “Oh, why didn’t you say so? That’s edible and qualifies me for at least fair-to-middling mom.”
Bart kissed her cheek. “I think you’re higher than that. Not much maybe, but higher than middling,” he joked. “Come on, let’s go get you fed.”
Tucker got up off the floor and studied the bike. It had an RC car on it. Not her first choice for painting, but Mr. Paradisi had three great loves: his motorcycle, his RC car club and his family. He said the pecking order changed daily. “What do you think?”
“I think the Paradisis will be thrilled. You made an RC car look cool. And I love how you worked the gas cap into the remote control picture.”
“Yeah, I thought that was inspired, too. “
They walked out to the front garage and Lou slapped Bart’s back. “Figured you’d talk her out of her hidey-hole. Now, on to supper, boy.”
Tucker loved seeing the guys interact with her son. Bart might not have had a father in the picture growing up, but he had her father, and the guys at the shop. It seemed to be enough for him.
He grinned at the older man. “Sure thing, Lou.”
“Hey, how’s the new guy?” Tucker asked.
“He did a great job today. Knows his way around cars, that’s for sure.”
Tucker couldn’t help but wonder why a guy who knew his way around cars felt the need to have someone else service his vehicles all these years. Even things as simple as new spark plugs or oil changes. It didn’t make sense. She glanced at her son. “Let me check in with him, then we can go. Want to meet him?”
“Sure.”
She found Tyler Martinez underneath a 1953 Volkswagen Beetle. She’d always referred to him as Mr. Martinez when he was a customer, but now that he was an employee, that sounded odd, so she called, “Tyler?”
His creeper zipped out from under the car and Tyler smiled for a minute, then his expression froze when he spotted her. “Yes?”
“I wanted to introduce you to my son. Spencer Tucker, otherwise known as Bart, this is Tyler Martinez, the garage’s newest employee.”
“You can call me Spencer,” Bart told him. “Everyone in the real world does…it’s only here in Mom’s mystic workplace that my childhood nickname still haunts me.”
“That’s because you are not a Spencer,” Tucker assured him. She enjoyed falling into their old argument. “I mean, I thought you were when you were born. I looked down and thought, Spencer. But I was wrong. You’re a Bart, through and through.”
“And that, Mr. Martinez, is why you might as well call me Bart, too. Because Mom will pretend not to know who you’re talking about if you call me Spencer. Just like she doesn’t know who you’re talking to if you call her Angelina.” He singsonged her name and laughed as she scowled.
“And that’s the problem with giving babies names at birth. They’re not fully developed. They’re tiny little blobs of humanity. A good name—a true name—tends to become apparent within the first few years. I’m Tucker, he’s Bart. Do you have a nickname?”
“No. Tyler is fine.”
Tucker noted that Tyler wasn’t enjoying her banter with Bart. His face was frozen into an expression of polite interest, but it was apparent he was anything but.
Not for the first time, she felt foolish in front of him. “Well, we’re heading out. See you in the morning.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Tucker,” she assured him. “Not ma’am.”
“Or Angelina,” Bart said, still kidding around.
“No.” She tossed her son a motherly glare of warning. “It’s simply Tucker.”
“Tucker,” Tyler parroted. “See you tomorrow morning, Tucker.”
“Come on, Bart. Let’s go get something to eat, I’m starved.” She clapped her hand on her son’s back, and for a moment, she thought she caught the ghost of a smile on Tyler’s face, but it happened so fast, she couldn’t be sure. His face was once again expressionless as he gave her a nod, then slipped again under the car.
“He seems nice, Mom,” Bart said.
“Yeah, he seems nice, but meeting someone for a minute doesn’t give us enough information to really discover if they’re nice or not. It takes—”
“Another Mom-lecture, ladies and gentlemen,” Bart teased. “You know, I have friends whose parents wallop them when they make a mistake. Sometimes I wonder if that’s preferable to being lectured to death.”
“That wasn’t a lecture,” she protested.
“No, that was your chance to work in one of your famous life lessons, and those are so close to lectures, it’s hard to tell the difference.”
She playfully slugged his arm. “Well, you can rest assured I can wallop you if the lectures don’t work.”
Bart laughed. “Oh, Mom, you try to be tough. And I imagine there are many people who believe you are, but no one who knows you would believe that for an instant. And I know you, Mom. You’re a marshmallow.”
“Take that back. I work in a garage full of guys and I am not a marshmallow.”
“Oh, yeah. You’re like a great big candy bar. Crunchy on the outside, and all soft or mushy on the inside. Maybe that’ll be your new nickname… Candy.” He sprinted across the yard toward her father’s, hollering “Candy” over his shoulder.
“I’ll show you how tough I can be,” she shouted, taking off after him, laughing for the sheer joy of laughing.
And at that moment, chasing after her son as they both teased each other and laughed, Tucker decided it wasn’t such a bad Monday after all.
CHAPTER TWO
TWO WEEKS.
Tucker stared at the calendar hanging on the wall next to her desk and was struck by the fact that it had already been two weeks since Tyler Martinez had started working at the shop. He was, on paper, the perfect employee. He was the first one to arrive every morning, and the last one to leave every night. He knew as much about cars as anyone in the shop. He got along with everyone, never caused a problem.
But…
Yes, there was a but dangling there at the end of her thoughts.
Tucker tried to put a finger on it. Tyler wasn’t standoffish. He joked around with the guys, and they all seemed to accept him. He didn’t actually joke around with her, but he was polite.
No, standoffish wasn’t the word she wanted. Maybe, closed book was a better description of Tyler Martinez.
Back when her friend Eli was expecting her son and having man troubles of her own, Tyler had actively pursued Tucker. Tucker had said no, of course. After all, Tyler was a successful businessman, and she worked in a garage. He was a carefree bachelor, she was a mother. He wore designer suits, she wore jeans. They had no common ground.
Maybe day-to-day proximity had convinced him that they weren’t meant to be anything more than a boss and employee. Or maybe prison had changed him. Whichever it was, the man she remembered was gone.
And