Page 68 of Speed Crush

I grin. "Maybe. Or maybe I’m just here to see someone who knows her way around an engine better than I do."

They hoot. One guy elbows another. Someone mutters, "He means Kennedy, right?"

"Damn right I do."

I don’t say more than that. Don’t need to. I let my eyes land on June—still flushed, still pretending she’s unfazed.

And then a screen door creaks open.

“Thought I heard extra voices out here,” comes Vicky’s voice. She’s got a dish towel slung over her shoulder and flour on her sweater.

Mack steps out behind her, adjusting his flannel. They both take one look at me, then at the coffee carrier I’m still holding.

“Well,” Mack says, sticking out a hand, “you must be the reason our girl’s been humming in tune this morning.”

I shake his hand. “Noah Verelli. Thanks for letting me barge in.”

Vicky doesn’t hesitate. She walks straight up, wraps me in a hug like I’ve known her my whole life, then hooks an arm around June.

“Enough of this garage chat. Let the boys focus on their work. Breakfast is hot. Both of you—inside."

Mack jerks a thumb toward the house. “And wipe your boots before Vicky throws something. Last guy tracked oil into her kitchen and she threatened to bake his phone into a muffin.”

June hides a smile.

I follow them into the kitchen, where everything smells like butter and cinnamon and something vaguely nutty I can’t name but want more of.

They don’t know. Not yet. They think I’m just here because of the camp. Because June and I volunteered together. Because I’m the famous outsider Levi brought into town.

And they’re kind.

Mack pours coffee like he’s done it for decades. Vicky sets the box of pastry I bought on the table, next to her stack of pancakes like she’s feeding an army. June hands me a fork like she doesn’t already know my pulse is a mess.

They ask questions—normal, easy ones. About the off-season. About what’s next.

"Any big plans before things ramp up again?" Vicky asks.

"Few things lined up," I say, glancing at June. "Might try something new. Like camping. If I can find someone patient enough to show me how."

June chokes on her orange juice.

Mack grins. "You’re asking her to take you camping? Son, you know she hasn’t lit a fire since Girl Scouts, right?"

Vicky snorts. "And she got lost at the zoo once. With a map."

June groans. "Why are we like this?"

But she’s laughing. They’re laughing. And I feel like I’m sitting inside a memory I want to keep. This warmth. This ease.

I look around the table, soaking it all in—the banter, the pancakes, the way June teases and gets teased right back.

I’ve never sat at a table like this. Not once in my life.

And before I can second-guess myself— before I can talk myself out of it—I do something reckless. Something I've been thinking about since the look on her face last night on the porch, when she kissed me like she already knew where this was headed.

Since I stood in her world and wanted to stay.

This isn’t about strategy. Or timing. Or what makes sense.

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