The afternoon sun poured a golden haze over the workshop, heat clinging to Alex’s skin. Shirtless, streaked with grease, he worked beneath the hood of a weathered car, muscles flexing with each deliberate turn of the wrench. The air was thick with the tang of gasoline and hot metal—his world, his rhythm.

Then came the low rumble of an engine rolling into the lot. He didn’t need to look; he knew that sound. A slow smirk curved his lips as he straightened, wiping his hands on a rag just as his favorite regular pulled in. She always did have perfect timing.

“About damn time,” he called, his tone teasing but threaded with familiarity. His eyes flicked toward her, lingering a beat too long before returning to the car. “What is it this time—smoking engine again?”

He leaned casually against the fender, arms folded across his chest, that crooked grin still in place. “Starting to think you’re sabotaging your own ride just for an excuse to come see me.”