Page 16 of That Moment
“No, sorry, it’s just really… good,” he repeats, softer this time, tapping the belt with a fingertip. “That’s the right tension. Most people overdo it.”
I smile, feeling confident already. “Guess I’m not most people.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “No, you are definitely not most people.”
Hours pass like minutes. The sun slides lower, shadows stretching across the concrete. My back aches and my feet are killing me, but I couldn’t care less. By the time Scotty checks the clock and tosses his rag aside, I don’t want to leave.
“I should get going, actually,” he says, wiping his hands.
I arch a brow, forcing lightness. “Oh yeah, you’ve got a hot date or something?”
His expression doesn’t shift. Just a shrug, easy, unreadable. “Maybe.”
I force a little laugh, tugging at the wrist of my glove like it’s suddenly too tight.
“Well… lucky girl.”
He doesn’t rise to it. Just drops the rag on the workbench and reaches for a socket he doesn’t need to put away, giving himself something to do.
I pull off my gloves, tucking them neatly into the tray with my name on it. “So… same time next Sunday?”
Something flickers across his face: hesitation, or maybe it’s just the way the light catches his eyes under the brim of his cap. “If you want.”
“If I want?” I tilt my head, trying to keep it playful, even though my chest is tight. “Scotty, I’m the one who asked you in the first place?”
“Just making sure you’re still up for it. Yeah. Next Sunday.”
For a beat, we just stand there in the quiet bay, the Mustang resting between us. His gaze holds mine longer than it should,steady and unreadable. Something hums in the air, low and charged. I feel it in my chest, my pulse, the tips of my fingers.
If I took one step closer, if he reached out, God, I know exactly how it would go.
Then he blinks, breaking the moment. He tugs his hat lower and clears his throat. “I really do need to head out.”
“Right,” I say, a little too bright. “Me too.”
I sling my bag over my shoulder, and he walks me to the edge of the lot. In my car, the air feels charged, too quiet. He stands there, hands shoved into his back pockets, cap pulled low, watching me.
“Let me.” He steps forward when I reach for the handle, his hand darting out to reach around me. We both freeze, his chest softly brushing against my back. He hesitates just long enough that I turn my head slightly, our noses so close they almost touch. Our lips are just a few inches apart.
For one breathless second, I think he’s going to close the distance. That he’ll press me back against the car and kiss me like every almost between us was just foreplay. Like he, too, has spent countless hours over the years imagining what it would be like to kiss again.
Instead, he blinks slowly, like he’s steadying himself, and steps back. “Drive safe.”
The words are plain, nothing special. But the way his eyes hold mine when he says them has my knees weak.
I force a smile, sliding behind the wheel. “See you Sunday.”
He doesn’t move until I’ve pulled away, his silhouette shrinking in the mirror while my heart races like I just dodged or missed the best mistake of my life.
Dinner at my parents'house is always peaceful. Tonight, though, every sound grates. The clink of silverware is too sharp, the laughter too easy, the smell of Mom’s roast too warm against the tightness still lodged in my chest from the garage.
I take my usual seat, smoothing the napkin in my lap more times than necessary. Dad sits at the head of the table, bourbon glass in hand, his expression the same stern-but-soft one it’s always been.
I’ve just finished telling dad about my plans for the Mustang when the front door bangs open, and Axel breezes in like a storm. He’s still got his jacket half on when he kisses Mom’s cheek, then swipes a roll straight off the plate before even sitting down. He drops into the chair across from me, grin cocky, like he knows something I don’t.
“Sorry, damn meeting went long,” he says through a mouthful of bread. “What’d I miss?”
“Only my patience,” Mom deadpans.
