Free All of It by Kim Holden

directly across from me and holds my gaze. His eyes run through a range of emotions, carrying on a one sided conversation: apologetic, then playful, then morphing into a look that’s downright enchanting.
    He’s broken me again. If he could bottle this and sell it, whatever it is that so overpowers me, he would be a gazillionaire. I smile in defeat. He returns the smile.
    “When are you going to change Jezebel’s oil, Ronnie?” my dad asks. “You ready now? I’ve got some time before the basketball game starts if you need help.”
    “I need to pick up some oil first. Do you want to ride with me, Dimitri, or would you rather stay here? You two seem pretty cozy.” I smile mockingly at him.
    He concedes with a smile. “I’ll go with you. I’ve taken too much of your dad’s time already this morning. I’m sure he has work to do.” He turns to my dad and extends his hand and chuckles, “It was so nice to … um … to meet you, Will. Thanks for being so welcoming and sharing your garage with me. It’s amazing, and the Spyder is incredible.”
    My dad shakes his hand and pats his shoulder with the other. “I’m glad you stopped by, Dimitri. Let me know when you’re ready to get some paint on that Volkswagen, I’d love to help.”
    I wait until we’re outside to start with the questions, but Dimitri beats me to it.
    “Why don’t you let me drive?” he offers politely.
    Drive. Wait a minute—the Porsche out front. I’d completely forgotten about it. Could it be his?
    “That is
not
your car,” I say incredulously.
    “That depends on which car you’re talking about,” he says quietly, a half-smile on his face.
    We’re nearing the end of the driveway, just past the house and the street is in full view. “That car.” I point to the Porsche.
    The smile turns up in both corners of his mouth now, “Oh yeah…
that
one’s mine.” I don’t know how he does it, but there is a surprise around every corner with this guy.
    “You’re kidding me, right?”
    The headlights flash as he clicks the remote on his keychain. “Afraid not, Miss Smith.” He opens the passenger door for me.
    I’m still in shock as I slip into the charcoal leather seat. It smells so good, like his cologne. I inhale quickly a second time before he gets in to sit beside me.
    “Where to, Ronnie?” he asks as the engine roars to life.
    “There’s an auto parts store on the corner of Federal and 107th Street.” I answer and then go quiet. We drive a few blocks before I realize how shallow and judgmental I’ve been acting about this car. I’m certainly impressed, but how does a guy my age have a car like this? I can’t decide which direction my mind’s going with it. I decide it’s best for both us to drop it for now.
    “So, what’s this about a Volkswagen?” I ask, remembering my dad’s comment in the garage.
    “I’m restoring an old Volkswagen bug. I have everything finished except the paint. I was telling your dad about it and he offered to help.”
    “A bug? Really? That’s actually pretty cool, you don’t see them around very often.”
    My interest brings him relief and he opens up. “Yeah, I’ve always liked them. Maybe its nostalgia, I don’t know. Anyway, I bought this one for next to nothing two years ago, and have been working on it ever since. It was supposed to be my first car, but it’s taking a little longer than expected to put on the finishing touches—”
    I interrupt, “Please tell me you’re not one of those horrid perfectionists who dwells on even the smallest of details, details your average novice, or better yet even an expert, would likely overlook?”
    He smiles, nonchalant and unoffended. “Guilty as charged.”
    I roll my eyes.
    He smirks. “But I save it only for the important stuff.”
    “Ah, selective perfectionism.” I shake my head emphatically. “Not horrid at all.”
    “I like to think of myself as perpetually patient. Good things come to those who wait, et cetera, et