Ray Gallegos, 52, has restored 37 vintage travel trailers in the seven years since his wife packed a duffel and drove south to Albuquerque without a note. He runs his shop out of a cinder-block barn on 10 acres outside Santa Fe, wears Carhartts covered in Bondo dust and a faded St. Jude medal his abuela gave him when he was 16, and has turned down three separate sets of blind date setups from his regular customers this year alone. His biggest flaw? He’s convinced every friendly smile from a woman within a 20 mile radius is either pity for his failed marriage, or a setup for small town gossip he doesn’t have the patience for.
He’s at the annual summer craft beer and classic vehicle festival on the edge of town when he first spots her, wiping chrome polish off the bumper of a mint 1962 Airstream he just finished for a client in Portland. The sun is low, gilding the pine trees, and the air smells like hops, smoked brisket, and the citrus spray he uses to buff aluminum. He hears a laugh he’d recognize even if he hadn’t heard it a hundred times at family cookouts 20 years prior, and looks up to find Elara Mendez leaning against the folding table he’d set up next to the trailer, holding a pork tamale wrapped in corn husk, her boot propped on the table leg. She’s his ex-wife’s first cousin, moved back to town six months prior after her son left for college in Boulder, and Ray has gone out of his way to avoid her every time he’s spotted her at the grocery store or the gas station since she got back.