Page 16 of Stuck with my Mechanic Daddies

She shook her head, but she didn’t deny it.

When the drinks arrived, we settled into easy conversation. Or as easy as it got when she was still side eyeing me like I was some kind of puzzle she hadn't decided if she wanted to solve.

She took a sip of her whiskey, her gaze thoughtful. “So tell me, Mason, do you flirt with everyone, or am I just special?”

I grinned. “Oh, you're special, babe.”

She huffed a laugh, but I caught the flicker of something behind her eyes, something almost pleased.

Interesting.

She leaned back, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. “This is your big sales pitch for Medford? Liquor and bad pickup lines?”

I shrugged. “It's a start.”

Aurora sighed, looking down at her drink. For a moment, I thought she was about to tell me to cut the act, that she wasn’t here to be entertained.

But instead, she surprised me.

“You ever feel like you're supposed to want something, but deep down, you don’t?”

I tilted my head, caught off guard. “That's vague.”

She exhaled sharply. “Forget it.”

“No, no, hold on.” I sat up, watching her. “You mean, like, expectations? Other people's, or yours?”

She hesitated. “Both, I guess.”

I nodded, letting that settle between us. “Yeah. I get that.”

She studied me like she wasn’t sure whether to believe me.

Then she took another sip, her eyes flicking toward the worn wooden bar and then to the scuffed floors.

“I used to write,” she said suddenly. “When I was younger.”

I raised a brow. “Yeah?”

She nodded, but there was a tightness to her posture now, like she already regretted saying anything. I waited, giving her space.

She exhaled, setting her glass down. “It doesn’t matter.”

Something about the way she said it made me think it did matter—more than she was willing to admit.

I didn’t push, though. Instead, I offered an easy grin and raised my glass.

“To doing what actually makes us happy, then. Whenever we figure out what the hell that is.”

Aurora watched me for a moment, then slowly clinked her glass against mine.

She didn’t say anything, but for the first time since she’d gotten here, she didn’t look like she was already planning her escape.

I’d take that as a win.

One drink turned into two. Then three.

Not enough to cloud my judgment, but enough to make everything a little looser, a little warmer.

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