Yeah. Today was my favorite day in a very long time. He smiled despite himself. Mine, too. That night, lying in bed, Ethan thought about his daughter's words.
Don't mess it up. Simple advice from an 8-year-old who somehow understood more about relationships than he did. He wouldn't mess it up, or at least he'd try not to. Tuesday morning arrived cold and gray. Typical Seattle weather that threatened rain without actually delivering.
Ethan opened the shop at 8:30, giving himself time to make sure everything looked as professional as possible before James Morrison arrived. He'd swept the floors, organized the tools, even cleaned the office windows. It still looked like a struggling repair shop in Georgetown, but at least it was a clean, struggling repair shop. Morrison showed up exactly at 9, driving a Heart Industries fleet van that had definitely seen better days. He was in his 50s, heavy set with the weathered look of someone who'd spent decades managing logistics.
Mr. Cole. He shook Ethan's hand firmly. James Morrison. Thanks for meeting with me.
Call me Ethan and thanks for coming out. They walked through the shop. Morrison asking questions about capacity, turnaround times, part sourcing. Ethan answered honestly. He could handle maybe 15 vehicles a week if he stayed on top of scheduling, more if he hired help.
Miss Hart mentioned you work alone. Morrison said, "For now, I had to let my last guy go a few months back. This contract would change that. We're looking at regular maintenance on about 50 vehicles a month, plus emergency repairs as needed. You'd need at least one other mechanic, maybe two. " Ethan's heart rate kicked up.
"That's a lot of work. It's steady work. Guaranteed payment. 30-day terms. We're not the fastest payers in the world, but we always pay. " They discussed rates, scheduling, expectations.
Morrison was straightforward and fair, treating Ethan like a professional instead of someone to be managed. By the time they finished, Ethan had a preliminary contract in hand and a start date of next Monday. Welcome to the Hart Industries family, Morrison said, shaking his hand again. And between you and me, M. Hart doesn't usually get personally involved in vendor selection.
Whatever you did to impress her, keep doing it. Ethan felt heat crawl up his neck. "We're friends. " Morrison smiled knowingly. "Sure you are. See you Monday, Ethan. " After he left, Ethan sat in his office and stared at the contract.
50 vehicles a month, steady work, enough income to catch up on his loan, hire help, maybe even start thinking about expansion. All because Vivien Hart had broken down on a dark road, and he'd stopped to help. His phone buzzed. Vivien, how did it go? Good.
Really good. Morrison seems solid. He is. Been with the company 15 years. If he likes you, you're set.
Thank you for this for everything. Stop thanking me. You earned this still. Thank you. A pause.
Then, are we still on for this afternoon suit shopping? Ethan looked at the contract again at the payment schedule that would actually let him afford things. Yeah. Where should I meet you? Nordstrom downtown.
2 p.m. And Ethan, yeah, don't overthink it. It's just a suit. But it wasn't just a suit, and they both knew it. It was him stepping into her world, trying to be someone who could stand beside her without looking like he'd wandered in from the street.
It was terrifying and necessary, and he was definitely overthinking it. He showed up at Nordstrom at 155, feeling immediately out of place among the polished shoppers and designer displays. Vivien was waiting near the men's section, wearing a business suit that probably cost more than his monthly rent. "You came," she said, smiling. "I said I would. " "I know, but I wasn't sure if you'd bolt again. " "I don't bolt. " "You literally ran away from my car on Sunday.
That was a strategic retreat. " She laughed and linked her arm through his. "Come on, let's find you something that doesn't make you want to bolt strategically. " The next hour was surprisingly painless. Viven had pulled a personal shopper, a guy named Marcus, who had an eye for fit and zero patience for Ethan's self-deprecating comments. "Stop saying you look ridiculous," Marcus said, adjusting the shoulders on a charcoal suit. "You look good.
Accept it. I look like I'm playing dress up. You look like someone who cleans up well. " Viven appeared beside him, examining the fit. Marcus is right. This is perfect.
Ethan looked at himself in the three-way mirror. The suit was simple, charcoal gray, clean lines, nothing flashy, but it fit well, and he had to admit Marcus and Vivien were right. He didn't look ridiculous. He looked like someone who might actually belong at a corporate fundraiser. How much?
He asked. Marcus quoted a number that made Ethan's stomach drop. That's Yamos. It's what good suits cost, Vivien said gently. And you'll get years out of it.
Job interviews, Sophie's future graduations, weddings. Still a lot, which is why I'm loaning you the money. We talked about this. They bought the suit, plus a white shirt and a tie that Viven picked out over his protests. When the total rang up, Ethan made a mental note of the exact amount.
He'd pay her back, every penny. They walked out of Nordstrom into late afternoon drizzle. Ethan carrying his purchases in a Nordstrom bag that felt both exciting and completely foreign. Thank you, he said, for helping with this. You've thanked me three times already.
I mean it though, Vivien stopped walking and turned to face him. I know you do. And I need you to understand something. I'm not doing this because I feel sorry for you. I'm doing it because I want you at that fundraiser with me because being around you makes everything else bearable.
Even boring corporate events. Especially boring corporate events. He kissed her right there on the sidewalk, not caring about the shoppers hurrying past or the rain starting to pick up. When they pulled apart, Vivien was smiling. Wednesday, she said, "7 p.m.