Page 84 of Tanner

Kevin laughs. “You got her on a motorcycle? What kind?”

I lift the thrown grapes off the floor and toss them in the trash. “Ducati, and she loved it.”

He looks to Harper. “Why didn’t you tell him you know about cars?”

She shrugs. The way she’s sitting up there in jeans and sneakers, eating grapes and giving us shit, makes her look like a teenager. “And, for the record, organization is key in mechanical engineering. Cars are intricate, and the new computer systems take a lot of research. As for cleanliness, a floor cluttered with empty oil cans, worn tires, and dirty rags is a big red flag.”

Kevin laughs. “This one grew up under a car. My Rita worked the books, so we had no one to watch Harper. She played with her dolls while sitting in the hole of a spare tire and did her homework sitting on the bar of a vehicle lift. As soon as she had her working papers, she was replacing struts and working on suspension systems.”

If my eyes match my open mouth, they’re slack and stunned.

“She’s like an encyclopedia for cars. Come on, Harper. Show Tanner what you know.”

She shakes her head. “This is ridiculous. I know a few things about cars.”

I try to think back to conversations I’ve had with Austin before asking, “Okay then, what’s the difference between indirect fuel injection and direct fuel injection?”

“Simple answer: more power.” She shrugs. “The indirect fuel injection would pre-mix the gasoline outside the intake manifold. The direct injection system isn’t pre-mixed, and the gas is injected directly into the cylinder—hence, more power.”

Holy shit, my girl knows a lot about cars.

She hops off the counter. “I have to pee. What are we having for lunch? These grapes aren’t cutting it.”

Kevin gets up and turns to the fridge, taking out some meat that looks like it’s been marinating. “Barbeque chicken, roasted potatoes, and I thought you’d help with the salad.”

Harper moans in hunger as she leaves the room.

“Can I get you another beer?” I ask Kevin as I watch him down the last sip.

“I’m good. Come help me, son. I want to talk to you while she’s out of the room.”

I walk up to him, ready for the chat I figured we’d have. You know the one—where he tells me he’ll kill me if I hurt her or he says how many guns he has.

What I’m not prepared for is when he says, “Thank you for reading to my Rita.”

I bow my head. “Harper mentioned she loved to be read to.”

“You did it for Harper. I saw your face when she got emotional. You want to ease her pain. That—for a father to see a man look at his baby girl like that, well, there isn’t more you could want.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Let me ask you a question. You don’t seem like you want to go back to San Francisco.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Does that complication have anything to do with Harper?”

“It has everything to do with her.”

He nods in acknowledgment. “If you ask her to go, she’s going to say no.”

His words make my chest hurt. I rub it with my fist.

“She’ll only say no because of me. She thinks I need her here to help me stay sane. I do. That girl’s face brings me so much joy.”

“I understand. I think.”

“For a while there, she wasn’t being herself. She was with that guy for years, and I never liked him but not because of something he did or who he was. He was a good kid, I guess—always polite and seemed to take care of Harper. But what I didn’t like is that I never saw that spark in Harper’s eyes when she talked about him.”