Something passes between us. I’m not sure what, but I almost want to reach out and touch her. Kiss her. Whatever it is, it’s quickly broken when the car behind me sounds his horn, alerting me the lights have now turned green. Suddenly, I don’t like where this is heading.

I should’ve let her catch the damn bus.

••••

We travel in silence for the next twenty minutes. When we reach our destination I pull into a parking spot. “You gonna stay in the car? Or do you want to come with me?” She shrugs before answering.

“I guess I’ll come,” she says removing her seatbelt.

Indi’s dad recommended this place to me. Apparently he’s been friends with the owner since high school. He deals in new and used parts, but specialises mainly in classics. Ross was going to call him today and let him know I was coming in. He said he’ll look after me.

Indi falls in behind me as we head towards the shop front. From the street you can see it’s attached to a large factory type building. That’s probably where they store all the parts.

The bell chimes above the shop door when we enter. A man in his mid-forties walks out from the back room. “Well if it isn’t little Indiana Montgomery,” he says as he makes his way around the counter. “Look how much you’ve grown.” She’s grown? How fucking small was she? She’s only pocket-size now.

“Hi, Mr. Gregory,” she says hugging him.

“Let me look at you.” He pulls back, studying her face. “You look just like your mum did at this age. God rest her soul.” What? Her mum’s dead? Looking at her face I see a fleeting moment of sorrow pass, but a smile quickly takes over. I’ll admit I did wonder why I hadn’t seen her mum around, but it never occurred to me she didn’t have one. That makes me feel sad for her. Growing up, I would’ve been lost without my mother. She’s all I have. Here I thought she had the perfect life. I guess I was wrong.

“My dad says that a lot,” she replies with a sad smile, and he gives her a sympathetic look.

“You must be Carter,” he says, eventually turning his attention to me. “Ross told me you were dropping by.”

“Yes. I am,” I answer, grabbing hold of his extended hand.

“Warren. Warren Gregory,” he says.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sir.”

“So you’re after parts for a ‘75 Monaro I believe?” he asks.

“That’s right.”

“You’re in luck. Come out the back and I’ll show you what I have,” he says, turning and heading towards the door over by the far wall. Indiana and I follow.

••••

I’m beaming by the time we leave. That place is like spare parts heaven. I got everything I needed, plus I was able to put a few of the larger, more expensive things aside until I can come up with some more cash. Fuck knows how I’m gonna do that. My cash fund has just about run dry. I may need to find a job.

“Wanna get something to eat while we’re here?” I ask as I load the last of the parts into the trunk.

“You want to eat something? With me?” she asks surprised. I guess I don’t blame her. I’ve been an arse. I’m not sure why I even asked. I guess I’m hungry.

“I’m hungry,” I say with a shrug. I don’t want her to think this is a date, because it isn’t.

“Okay.” We make our way towards the burger joint a few doors down. I’m already regretting asking her. What the hell am I gonna talk to her about? I don’t do shit like this. I don’t go out much. I’m definitely not what you’d call sociable.

We sit in silence as we both scan the menu. “The burgers are great,” she says. “My dad brings me here sometimes.” I make eye contact with her over the top of my menu. A burger sounds good.

“Are you guys ready to order?” the waitress asks when she approaches our table.

“Can I get a burger, fries and a chocolate shake?” I answer before looking in Indi’s direction.

“I’ll get the same,” she says closing her menu. I’m impressed. I thought girls like her ate lettuce or tofu, shit like that. I’ll be interested to see if she actually eats it.

When the waitress leaves, silence falls over us again. I watch her as she looks around the restaurant, anywhere but me. She looks nervous and a little uncomfortable. Makes two of us. I’m not a fan of small talk.

“So, tell me about your mum,” I ask out of the blue. Fuck me. Why can’t I keep my mouth shut? When her eyes meet mine I see sadness. It tugs at me for some reason. She doesn’t say anything at first. Now I feel like a dick.

“Oh, you heard Mr Gregory did you? Not much to tell,” she eventually says. Her hands are twisting nervously in front of her. I can only gather how hard this subject is for her to talk about. “She died when I was six. She had a brain tumour. I don’t remember much. My dad tried to shield me from it. She was in a lot of pain and spent most of her time in bed. My dad struggled with her death. Still does. It couldn’t have been easy for him. He had a full-time job, a sick wife and a small child to contend with.” I see sorrow cross her face. It’s fleeting, but I definitely saw it. I guess that’s understandable.

“I’m sorry,” is all I say. Lame response I know, but it’s the best I’ve got.

“What about you? Do you still see your father?” Her question instantly gets my back up. See this is why I hate small talk. Fuck, me and my big mouth. I should’ve kept quiet. Talking about my father, or lack thereof, is something I never do.

“I don’t have one,” I snap.

“Everyone has a father,” she responds. Not everyone. I don’t. Maybe she just assumes my parents are divorced.

“Well I don’t. Can we just drop it?” When I glare at her, she gets the message because she changes the subject.

“How long have you had your car?” she asks. Fuck she’s nosy.

“I bought it a few years ago. It needs a lot of work to get it to where I want it, but it’s all I could afford at the time.”

“Did you have a job before moving here?” she asks.

“Yeah. Kind of.”

“What do you mean kind of? You either did or you didn’t. Did you buy the car yourself?” I wish she’d stop with all the questions. I hate talking about my personal life.

“Yes I did,” I snap. “Not everyone has a privileged life like you, Princess.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks defensively. I ignore her. It means just that. My mum struggled to put food on the table most days. Any luxuries I wanted I had to buy myself. When I was twelve, I started to do odd jobs for the people who lived in our apartment building. It all progressed from there.

“How did you get money to buy the car then?” she probes further.

“I have ways,” I say, smirking when I see her processing my answer.

“What ways?”

I shake my head and scoff, “Fuck you’re nosy.” I stare her down hoping she’ll get the message to quit it. I’m not comfortable talking about this subject with her. With anyone for that matter.

“What kind of job? I can’t imagine how someone your age could afford a car like that.” Fuck. Obviously my intimidation didn’t work.

“Can we change the subject?” I plead, exhaling.

“No. What’s the big secret? What, were you a drug dealer or something?”

“Hell no,” I chuckle.

“Well what then?” I may as well tell her the truth. She’s not going to let up until I do. At the very least it will shut her up.

I lay my hands on the table between us and lean into her. She mirrors my stance before I whisper, “Sexual favours.” Her beautiful green eyes widen with shock.

She puts the distance between us as she leans back. “Bullshit.”

“It’s true,” I tell her. That’s exactly how I got the money.

I watch her eyes dart around to make sure no one is able to hear her. “Like a prostitute? Oh. My. God. You’re a prostitute? You make those girls that jump through your window, pay you?” she shrieks.

“Fuck no. That’s for pleasure,” I say frustrated as I look around the restaurant. “Look, it’s a long story. Just drop it okay.” All these questions are starting to give me a headache.