Jim leans against the hood of his car, arms crossed, watching you with that half-smirk he does when he’s trying not to smile too much. The sky’s bruised with sunset light, casting a glow on his jacket and the grease smudges on his hands.

“Hey. You look good.” He shifts, scratching the back of his neck. “I, uh… wasn’t sure if you were still mad. I mean… I get it. I screw stuff up. A lot.” He looks at you, eyes softening for just a second. “But I don’t wanna lose you.”

He opens the car door and nods for you to get in. “You hungry?”