Apples & Oranges (The This & That Series)

Apples & Oranges (The This & That Series) by Brooke Moss Page A

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Authors: Brooke Moss
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laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
    He looked about as cranky as I felt. “I looked it up. Your BMW has two recalls out.”
    “Oh, right.” I waved a hand dismissively. I remembered getting a letter in the mail from the dealership a month or two ago—or maybe more—about that. “Okay. I’ll make an appointment with the dealership.”
    “I ordered the parts through my friend.” He put the receipt down on the corner of the metal desk and fished a pen out of one of the drawers. It was plastic and chewed on, just like the one I’d used the other day. “They’ll be here in a week or so.”
                  Shaking my head, I took the pen and scrawled out my signature. “Not necessary. It’s free if I go through the dealership.”
                  “They’re only free within a year of the recall,” Demo explained. “After that, you have to pay for labor.”
                  I shoved the receipt at him. “Then I’ll pay them for labor. I’ll pay whatever—”
                  He rolled his eyes and tossed it onto the desk. “I know. But for what it’s worth, though, I charge half of what they charge. Half . You won’t find that anywhere else in town.”
                  I watched Demo for a beat. The garage itself had seen better days. The doors were rusted, and the sign out front had begun to crack and curl around the edges. It was clear he needed the business, especially if Candace was right and he fixed cars for trade.
                  “Demetrious, are you groveling?” a little voice scolded from behind my back.
    Demo looked over my shoulder, and his surly expression melted away. “Good morning, Yiayia.”
    I turned around and was met with a tiny old woman who was eye level with my chest. Her head was covered with a perfect helmet of white hair, and the handbag hanging from her elbow was at least half the size of her little body. On her wrinkled face, she wore a pair of thick glasses adorned with a blue and white beaded chain.
    “Morning, Demo. Who’s this?” she asked.
    “A customer.” He nodded at me. “She was just leaving.”
    Trey sauntered into the garage, carrying an oversized tray of fresh baklava. “Geez, Yiayia, do you think you made enough this morning?” He chuckled, before stopping when he saw me. “Oh, hey. Marisol, right?”
              I nodded. “Yes. Hi, Trey.”
    “She remembered my name,” he said to Demo with a grin.
    “Congratulations,” growled his uncle.
    “Ugh. So grumpy.” The old woman swung her giant black purse at Demo, swiping him on the hip. “He’s always grumpy. Even when he was a kid. Grumpy.”
    I laughed despite myself. “I’m glad it’s not just me.”
    “No way. Uncle Demo’s always in a mood.” Trey lifted the corner of the plastic wrap on the tray. “Baklava? My yiayia makes the best around. It’s won contests at our church. She makes treats every morning for our customers.”
    “Thank you.” The smell was heavenly. I plucked one from the tray, knowing my trainer would punish me for it later. But once I took a bite, and the rich, heavy sweetness filled my mouth, I knew it would be worth it. “This is incredible.”
    The old woman beamed. “Thank you, dear.” Her tiny, wrinkled hand slapped the side of Demo’s arm. “Well, aren’t you going to introduce me to your girlfriend, Demetrious?”
    “Oh, I’m not his girlfriend,” I said at the same time Demo said, “She’s not my girlfriend.”
    She winked at me. “But you will be.”
    “Like I said, Marisol was just leaving.” Demo plucked my keys off of a hook above the desk and handed them to me. “Have a good one.”
    Her little hand smacked his arm a second time.
                  “Ow, Yiayia,” Demo said, rubbing his arm. “Easy.”
              Giggling, I shared a smile with Trey. It was nice to see someone of Demo’s stature getting his ass kicked by

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