Elena didn't react right away.
She let the silence hang, thick and unbothered, before finally turning toward the Mustang. Her boots crunched softly on the gravel.
She could feel his eyes on her back. Not searching. Just...there.
Watching.
Like he had nothing to hide—and everything to hold back.
She stopped in front of the car and ran a hand along the hood. Still warm. The engine ticked beneath her palm, too hot for how short that drive must have been.
"You been pushing her?" She asked over her shoulder.
"Little bit," he replied, casual. "Didn't like the way she sounded. Thought i should be smart about it."
"Most people don't bring a car like this to a place like this."
She heard the edge in her own voice and regretted it instantly.
But he didn't bite. Instead, he said, "I go where things get fixed"
Elena didn't respond right away. She popped the hood, let it lift on its own—slow, deliberate. Steam curled up in lazy ribbons from the engine, the heat already clinging to the air between them.
She leaned in. Focused.
The smell of oil, rubber, and something faintly metallic filled her nose. Familiar. Safe.
But the way he stood behind her—just far enough to give space, just close enough to feel—was anything but.
"You driving her daily?" She asked, inspecting the belt system. "Or just showing off on weekends?"
"Daily."
"Bold move for a sixty-nine."
He shrugged "I like old things."
She paused for half a second, the wrench in her hand tightening slightly. The silence after that was thin but stretched—like a wire pulled tight.
She ducked her head lower into the engine.
"The knocking's not your pistons—it's your timing chain," she said. "It's off. Either stretched or slipping. Could be worse if you keep running it."
"Doesn't sound cheap"
"It isn't," she replied, flat. "But cheaper than rebuilding the engine if you wait."
He didn't respond right away. She heard the quiet shift of his weight on the gravel, the soft crunch of boots as he moves—just enough to get a better look. Not hovering. Just present.
"How long to fix it?" he asked.
"Depends." She pulled back slightly, wiping sweat and grease from her temple. "If it's just the chain, maybe a few hours. If it's worse, I'll need a day."
Still, he said nothing. Just watched her. Eyes unreadable. Like he was gathering information—about the car, or maybe about her.
"Elena!" Carmen's voice called from somewhere behind the shop. "You want me to grab food?"
"I'm good!" Elena called back. Her eyes flicked up, locking with his.
"You planning to leave it or hang around?"
He tilted his head slightly, considering her.
"You trust people with cars like this?" He asked.
"Not really," she said, dropping the hood halfway. "That's why i do it myself".
"I'll come back"
Before she could respond, he was already walking away with his hands in his pockets. Calm. Smooth. Like he hadn't just stood ten feet from the woman he'd watched all night less than twenty-four hours ago.
Elena blinked. Just once. It caught her off guard—not his tone, but the words. Guys with vintage Mustangs didn't usually leave them behind. Not with strangers. Not in neighborhoods like this.
She just stood there, rag still in her hand, as the engine clicked softly—cooling off. She didn't look back until she heard footsteps approaching.
"Damn," Carmen said, appearing at her side with her coffee. "Who was that?"
Elena blinked, shook herself back into the moment. "Customer."
Carmen gave her a look. "That wasn't just a customer. That was tall, dark, and hot-as-hell in a vintage Mustang. I saw you two talking."
Elena shrugged, turning back toward the bay. "He's got a timing issue."
"Yeah, i bet he does," Carmen muttered, sipping her drink.
Elena shot her a look, but said nothing.
Carmen leaned against the frame of the bay door. "You want me to run a background check or should we wait for him to propose?"
Elena gave her a flat look—and then smacked her lightly on the arm with the grease rag.
"Hey!" Carmen yelped, laughing as she stepped back. "I'm just saying. You don't exactly let guys park that close."
"You know i don't trust that kind of smooth."
"I know," Carmen said, rubbing her arm with an exaggerated pout. "But it's fun to watch it make you blink for once."
Elena didn't answer. Just turned back toward the car like it might give her something more concrete to focus on.
Carmen softened. "You okay?"
"I'm fine."
And she was. Mostly. Just not used to the echo someone could leave behind after walking away so quietly.
Carmen wandered off, still muttering about "Jawlines that should be licensed," and Elena was left with the Mustang and the soft tick of the cooling engine.
She stood there for a moment, hand resting lightly on the hood, the warmth sinking into her palm.
It wasn't like her to feel... unsettled. Not by a guy. Not by a customer.
But there was something about the way he spoke. The way he didn't smile. The way he looked at her like they were already in the middle of a conversation she hadn't agreed to start.
And the car—
He left that behind like it was no big deal. Like he didn't care. Or like he knew she'd take care of it.
Elena pulled her gloves back on, twisted her hair tighter at the nape of her neck, and ducked beneath the hood again.
Engines, at least, didn't lie.
But that didn't stop the thought from curling in her mind like smoke:
He left the keys, the car, and something else she couldn't name.