Read Online The Best of Me by Nicholas Sparks - Free Book Online Page A

“I’m here probably for the same reason that you are. When did you get in?”
    “Just now,” he said, wondering at the impulse that had driven him to make this unplanned visit to Tuck’s. “I can’t believe you’re here. You look… amazing.”
    “Thank you.” Despite herself, she could feel the blood in her cheeks. “How did you know I’d be here?”
    “I didn’t,” he said. “I had the urge to swing by and I saw the car out front. I came around back and…”
    When he trailed off, Amanda finished for him. “And here I was.”
    “Yeah.” He nodded, meeting her eyes for the first time. “And there you were.”
    The intensity of his gaze hadn’t changed, and she took another step backward, hoping the space would make things easier. Hoping he wouldn’t get the wrong impression. She motioned toward the house. “Were you planning to stay here?”
    He squinted at the house before turning back to her. “No, I have a room at the bed-and-breakfast downtown. You?”
    “I’m staying with my mom.” When she noticed his quizzical expression, she explained, “My dad passed away eleven years ago.”
    “I’m sorry,” he said.
    She nodded, saying nothing further, and he remembered that, in the past, it was how she’d usually closed a subject. When she glanced toward the garage, Dawson took a step toward it. “Do you mind?” he asked. “I haven’t seen the place in years.”
    “No, of course not,” she said. “Go ahead.”
    She watched him move past her and felt her shoulders relax, unaware that she’d been tensing them. He peeked into the small cluttered office before trailing his hand along the workbench and over a rusting tire iron. Wandering slowly, he took in the plank walls, the open beamed ceiling, the steel barrel in the corner where Tuck disposed of excess oil. A hydraulic jack and snap-on tool chest stood along the back wall, fronted by a pile of tires. An electronic sander and welding equipment occupied the side opposite the workbench. A dusty fan was propped in the corner near the paint sprayer, electric lights dangled from wires, and parts lay strewn on every available surface.
    “It looks exactly the same,” he commented.
    She followed him deeper into the garage, still feeling a little shaky, trying to keep a comfortable distance between them.
    “It probably is the same. He was meticulous about where he put his tools, especially in the last few years. I think he knew he was beginning to forget things.”
    “Considering his age, I can’t believe he was still working on cars at all.”
    “He’d slowed way down. One or two a year, and then only when he knew he could do the work. No major restorations or anything like that. This is the first car I’ve seen here in a while.”
    “You sound like you spent a lot of time with him.”
    “Not really. I saw him every few months or so. But we were out of touch for a long time.”
    “He never mentioned you in his letters,” Dawson mused.
    She shrugged. “He didn’t mention you, either.”
    He nodded before turning his attention back to the workbench again. Folded neatly on the end was one of Tuck’s bandannas, and lifting it up, he tapped his finger on the bench. “The initials I carved are still here. Yours, too.”
    “I know,” she said. Below them, she also knew, was the word
forever
. She crossed her arms, trying not to stare at his hands. They were weathered and strong, a workingman’s hands, yet tapered and graceful at the same time.
    “I can’t believe he’s gone,” he said.
    “I know.”
    “You said he was forgetting things?”
    “Just little things. Considering his age and how much he smoked, he was in pretty good health the last time I saw him.”
    “When was that?”
    “Late February, maybe?”
    He motioned toward the Stingray. “Do you know anything about this?”
    She shook her head. “Just that Tuck was working on it. There’s a work order on the clipboard with Tuck’s notes about the car, but other than