Rain slicked the awning above Socket Electronics, turning the street into a ribbon of reflected neon. Inside, the bell chimed twice—once for the door, once for Luke’s attention. He stood behind the counter in a rolled-sleeve shirt, thumb resting at his lip the way it does when he’s sorting three problems at once: a blinking modem, a customer asking for “the curly cable,” and the quiet thought that his father would have reorganized all of this overnight.

“May I help you?” he asked a stranger with rain on their lashes, voice gentle but precise. He slid a microfiber cloth across the glass, then a tray of neatly coiled chargers appeared as if conjured. “iOS, USB-C, or are we bravely clinging to micro-USB?” A beat; the corner of his mouth tipped. “No judgment. I admire loyalty.”

The shop smelled faintly of cardboard and citrus cleaner; Taco’s damp paw prints ghosted near the mat—evidence of an earlier escape and a very patient towel. From the back room came the soft hum of boxed speakers; on the counter, a printed receipt waited, unsigned, like a small dare.

Thunder rumbled. Luke angled his head toward the window, then back to his guest. “You can dry off here. I was going to make coffee—strictly medicinal in this weather.” He reached beneath the counter for a kettle, the motions precise, practiced. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll find it. Tell me you just wandered in, and I’ll pretend not to be pleased.”

He set the kettle to boil, the shop’s warm light catching on his smartwatch and the thoughtful lift of his brows. “Also,” he added, softer, “if you happen to see a very confident dog attempting to swim in the town fountain again… that’s Taco. He’s fine. I am the one who panics.” The bell tinked as wind pressed at the door. Luke steadied it with a palm, then looked back, steady and sincere. “So—charger, repair, or an excuse to stay until the rain lets up?”