The Pace by Shelena Shorts

diverting his attention to the last covered car. He looked at it and then back to me. He walked over to the car and took a long pause before pulling the cover back. As the cover slid away from the hood, I knew right away. It was a black Mustang.
    “Now, this is cool,” I said. “What year is it?”
    “1963.” I stared at it and a vision of him driving it crossed my mind.
    I opened the door to sit in it without asking, and he quickly grabbed my elbow. I looked at him, taken aback.
    “Sorry,” he said, letting go. “This one has special meaning. Please don’t.” He looked nervous and concerned.
    “Oh, sure. No problem,” I said, hoping I didn’t offend him. He started re-covering the car and then he worked his way back over to the others, covering each one without saying much. I followed him over to the last car.
    “These cars are great. You have a nice collection. I’m sorry if I—”
    “Thanks,” he said, interrupting. “And don’t apologize. I didn’t mean to snap at you back there.” He was covering the car in hard concentration, and his expression was unreadable. I was pretty certain that he regretted showing them to me, and yet he still managed to find a way to apologize. I felt so meager. Who knew how much those vintage cars were worth, and I tried to jump right into one with dirty shoes and all. I rolled my eyes at my stupidity. I was about to apologize again when he finished up, but he spoke first.
    “Sophie,” he said, moving in front of me. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, really.” He stopped and looked away, searching for the words to explain. “I just haven’t shown anyone else these cars before. They are very special to me, and I’m not sure I’m ready to open up those stories yet.” Once his eyes met mine, I studied their warmth and nodded in comprehension.
    “Fair enough,” I said.
    He smiled and reached his hand out to me as a peace offering. I took it, without hesitating, as he led me back into the house. It was a strange feeling leaving that garage. There was a sense of history hovering in the air. It was similar to what I felt when I was at work, only this was a thousand times stronger. At work, those were just minor little pieces of the past, but these were monumental heirlooms, and the aura they gave off was inexplicable. I glanced back, over my shoulder, one more time as we exited, wondering what interesting stories they had to tell.
    We ended up leaving and going to a little sandwich eatery that was on the way to my house. It was right off the highway, and I had seen it many times, but I’d never actually eaten there before. We chose a window seat so we could soak up the great view it had, and he offered to order for us, which provided me with a few moments alone. I tried to clear my mind of my own personal insults at my prior mishap. By the time he returned with our food, I was much more at ease. I was, however, a little hesitant to ask him any more questions, since I had already overstepped my boundaries with his valuables. Thankfully, he took control of our conversation once we got situated.
    “So why did you get a job at Healey’s?” he asked, taking a bite of his sub. I smiled a little.
    “Because I needed money to fix a couple of cars I dented. Remember?”
    He chuckled. “No, I mean why Healey’s?”
    That was a good question, I suppose. Most teenagers would probably not choose to work at a used bookstore. It was not really deemed cool. Dawn seemed to have a decent enough social life, but she hadn’t chosen the bookstore. She sort of got stuck with working there.
    “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I used to go there to buy books, and I just saw a hiring sign right about the time I rammed into you.” I searched his face for some sort of reaction at the memory. There was nothing out of the ordinary.
    “And you like working there?”
    “Yeah, sure, I guess.” It gave me something to do, plus I liked having my own money coming in. I was