So I wasn’t all that surprised when I got home around six-thirty and found him still out in the garage, grease smudges on his chin and cheekbone, and his hands not fit for company in their current state.
“You have got to take a shower,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “My friends are going to be here in half an hour.”
“That’s plenty of time,” he replied, fiddling with some unidentifiable slender brass part.
“Um, no, not really. Come on, Grayson — you’ve been messing with that thing all day.”
“All right.” An expression of irritation passed over his features, but almost at once, he relaxed and shook his head, as if annoyed with himself. “Sorry, Kara. I’ll go make myself pretty.”
“You’re pretty right now,” I said, and gave him a swift kiss while avoiding the grease smudge on his chin.
He got
