The sun had dipped low by the time the shop lights flicked on. The Mustang was still in pieces, but Elena had stopped working.
She stood with one hand on her hip and the other gripping the edge of the workbench, watching the phone on the counter like it might ring from just pressure alone.
Mack hadn't called back. And Mack was not the type to forget.
She'd tried to distract herself—took inventory, organized the socket sets, even changed the oil on a customer's Civic she didn't care about. But the weight of that car in Bay Two hadn't lifted.
Not since the call.
Not since him.
The air in the garage felt charged now, like the kind of silence that came right before a storm—not loud yet, but restless. Static crawling along her spine.
"Elena?"
Carmen's voice came from the office, softer than usual.
"Yeah?" she called back.
"You good?"
"Fine."
"You're lying."
Elena smirked faintly. "Then stop asking."
Carmen appeared in the doorway, arms folded, ponytail high. "Want me to hang out a while? Just until your mystery man comes back."
"He's not my mystery anything."
"Mmhmm," Carmen said, flicking toward the Mustang. "Tell that to the way you keep staring at the car like it owes you answers."
Elena didn't respond. Just turned back to her tools, hands moving on instinct—wiping, sorting, adjusting.
A low breeze stirred through the open door, warm and quiet.
And then—
Footsteps.
Slow. Confident. Familiar in a way she didn't want to admit.
Elena looked up just as he stepped into the light of the shop. Same black shirt. Same calm presence. Same face that gave away absolutely nothing. No sunglasses this time.
His eyes—deep brown threaded with grey—met hers without hesitation. The kind of color that didn't settle on one thing. Like shadows shifting beneath warm light—impossible to pin down, and dangerous to try.
And this time, she really saw them. Not across a club. Not through smoke. Not passing.
Direct.
Clear.
Too steady.
He didn't say a word at first. Just glanced at the Mustang—still opened up and half-dismantled—and then at her. Like it was exactly what he expected.
"You're back," She said, straighter now, a little steel in her voice.
He shrugged, casual. "Told you i would be."
The tension between them stretched, soft and electric.
Carmen lingered near the counter, eyes flicking between the two of them. Then she stepped forward, voice low and neutral:
"I'll give you some space."
No smile. No smirk. Just a glance toward Elena—a quiet question she didn't ask out loud—before she turned and walked back into the office.
The door clicked softly behind her. And just like that, the quiet grew heavier.
Elena didn't move. Neither did he.
The Mustang ticked softly behind them. Cooling metal. Waiting.
The silence settled for a few seconds longer. Then he spoke—calm, low, voice steady like the moment didn't weigh a thing.
"You get a look at it?"
Elena nodded once. "Yeah."
"And?"
"Tensioner pulley's shot. Needs replacing." She paused. "Couldn't finish the job."
He didn't react. Didn't flinch. Just nodded like that was fine. Like nothing urgent ever touched him.
"I'm waiting on the part," she added.
"Where from?"
"I've got someone looking into it."
Another beat passed. No pressure. No questions.
Then, finally, he said, "Take your time."
It wasn't a suggestion. It sounded almost like... permission. And that bothered her more than it should've.
Elena's jaw flexed. She turned to face him fully now, rag still in her hand, voice even but laced with something harder underneath.
"People usually say that when they're trying not to look like they're waiting."
That made something flicker in his eyes. Not surprise—he was too composed for that.
But it landed. He didn't deny it. Didn't explain. Just held her gaze like he was used to being read—and didn't mind it.
She tossed the rag onto the workbench and leaned back against it, arms crossed.
"Most people don't leave their car in pieces and come back this calm," she said. "You've either got a lot of faith... or nothing to lose."
That made the space between them feel tighter. He didn't move. But something about the air shifted.
"I've never been big on panic," he said.
Before Elena could respond—before she could decide whether to press him or to let it sit—the sharp buzz of her phone cut though the moment.
It lit up on the workbench beside her.
Mack.
Her eyes flicked to the screen. She didn't move. The ringtone hummed one...twice...
Then he spoke—low, casual.
"You gonna take that?"
She didn't answer immediately. Didn't even look at him. Just stared at the screen as it buzzed a third time. Then she reached out, silenced it with one tap, and let it go dark again.
"No," she said simply.
He didn't react. Didn't press. But the look in his eyes—that deep brown and grey storm—shifted. Not surprise. Not interest.
Just awareness. Like he'd clocked something. And now he was waiting to see what she'd do next.
The silence settled again, this time heavier.
The phone sat dark on the bench. Neither of them looked at it.
Elena turned back toward the Mustang. She didn't say anything—just walked to the front of the car. wiping her hand on a rag, steady and quiet.
Behind her, she heard the soft shift of movement.
Footsteps.
Not right behind her. Just close enough.
She didn't look, but she felt it—the way the air changed when he stepped a little closer. Like heat that didn't touch her skin, but made it tighten.
He didn't speak. didn't crowd. Just stood near the open hood, his gaze following the shape of the engine like hers. And for a moment, they were both looking at the same thing. The same tangle of metal and fault lines.
Then, finally, he said, "Let me know when it's ready."
Elena didn't glance his way. "You'll get a call."
No goodbye. He didn't offer one. He stepped back, boots soft on concrete, and walked out like he hadn't left a single thing behind.
But the garage felt different the second the door closed. Only then did she reach for her phone.
The screen lit up.
Mack (1).
1 New Voicemail.
She didn't press play. Just stared. And felt something shift that had nothing to do with the car.