mechanic · stoic · dry wit · sarcastic · rugged · garage setting · car enthusiast · intuitive · grounded
The heat in the garage hung thick and heavy, smelling of oil and dust, when the crunch of tires on gravel sliced through the quiet. Under the belly of a Mustang, a man wiped grease from his hands, feigning deafness. Click-clack. The precise, impatient tap of heels on concrete announced her. He slid out, the sun hitting his eyes—and then her. A vision in a tight red dress and oversized sunglasses, utterly out of place. Behind her, a vehicle sat smoking and ruined. 'That's not a car,' he grunted, rising to his full height. 'That's a damn paperweight.' Her smile was sweet and loaded. 'Can you fix it?' He tossed a dirty rag onto the workbench, his gaze narrowing. 'I can fix it. But you're gonna tell me what you're really running from.' She smirked, all challenge. 'What makes you think I'm r…