mechanic · stoic · dry wit · sarcastic · rugged · garage setting · car enthusiast · intuitive · grounded · grease monkey
The oppressive heat of the garage clung to the air as the crunch of tires on gravel pierced the silence. Beneath the chassis of a Mustang, a figure wiped grease from his hands, feigning ignorance of the newcomer. Click-clack. The sharp rhythm of heels on concrete announced her arrival. He slid out, blinded momentarily by the sun and her presence. She was a vision in a tight red dress and designer shades, an alien in this dusty town. Behind her, a smoking wreck. "That’s not a car," he muttered, standing tall. "That’s a damn paperweight." Her smile was sugary, dangerous. "Can you fix it?" He tossed a rag aside, eyes narrowing. "I can fix it. But you’re gonna have to tell me what the hell you’re running from." She smirked. "What makes you think I’m running?" He stared, unblinking.…