The Fine Line by Alicia Kobishop Page A

hard to believe that a nineteen-year-old owned his own building.
    “Yes, my shop.  My dad left it to me and my uncle.  My uncle runs the business.  I help him out when he needs it, and I live in the apartment upstairs.”
    “Geez, must be nice,” I teased.
    “Actually, it is pretty nice,” he grinned back at me.
    I watched as he unlocked the side door.  We entered a hallway which had stairs to our left, and the garage was straight ahead.  We walked into the garage, and Logan switched on the florescent lights, revealing a sizable object underneath a grey canvas cover in the very first car bay.  The remaining three car bays were empty, making the room appear enormous.  Against the walls were shelves and peg boards stocked with tools and auto supplies.  Each bay had its own tool station which included several different tool chests.
    We moved to the back of the garage, and Logan tossed his keys on a metal desk.  I took a seat in the swivel chair in front of the desk and stared curiously at an old-time movie poster that hung on the wall.
    “It’s John Wayne,” Logan explained, noticing my interest in the poster.  “My dad was a huge John Wayne fan.  He always had those movies on when I was growing up.  We even had a room in our house specifically designated for all the John Wayne memorabilia that he collected.”
    He leaned back against a tall Craftsman tool chest directing his attention to the grey canvas cover in front of us.  His expression turned apprehensive, and he silently stared at it for a moment.
    “Why did you bring me here?” I asked softly.
    He turned his face to me, meeting my eyes. Slowly he shook his head as if he wasn’t sure he knew the answer.  My heart skipped a beat.  What was it about looking into his eyes that made me feel so…at peace…and thrilled at the same time? 
    He stepped toward the canvas cover then slowly removed the cloth, rolling it up along the way to reveal an old white muscle car with black racing strips which traveled from the front bumper to the back bumper.  The condition of this car wasn’t nearly as pristine as the Mustang.  The finish was dull with several nicks and scratches, and a few small spots of rust lined the bottom.
    “It’s a ’72 Nova,” he disclosed as he walked around the car, taking in the sight of it as if it were for the first time. 
    “It must be your current project.”
    “Not really,” he shrugged.  “This one’s been on hold for a while.  I’ve barely looked at it since…”  He didn’t finish.  His face turned serious, and he stayed silent for a moment.  Then, his expression melted into warmth and he looked at me, cocking his head to the side.  “Hey, do you wanna go upstairs and get a drink?”
    I frowned at him suspiciously.  “Is that why you brought me here?  You’re not going to get lucky with me.”
    He let out a chuckle then bowed his head down as he shook it, trying to hold back the laughter.  He couldn’t hold back the gigantic smile on his face, though.  “Don’t worry!  I’m not going to try anything with you.  I think you’re cool, Liv.  You’re someone I could hang out with, that’s all, nothing more.  Friends have drinks together, right?”
    I nodded, feeling embarrassed that I jumped to conclusions.  I stood up from the chair.  “Alright then, let’s go.”
    “Usually it’s the guy’s mind that’s in the gutter,” he teased as we walked up the stairs to his apartment.
    “Oh, please!  You have to admit, it sounded a bit forward,” I counter attacked.
    The apartment was only half the size of the garage downstairs.  The décor consisted of a few posters on the wall, a couch with a coffee table in front of it, an oversized round wicker chair in the corner, and a giant TV.  There was a breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living room.  I took my shoes off, sat down on the couch, and brought my knees up, resting them on the cushion. 
    Logan handed me a beer, sat