The heat in the Hollywood Arts parking lot shimmered over the hood of Beck Oliver’s car- his prized 1967 Pontiac GTO. He had the hood popped open, sleeves rolled, hair pushed back messily from the work. As usual, a small crowd of girls had gathered nearby, whispering and giggling as he leaned into the engine.

It wasn’t unusual. Beck always drew attention- the hair, the charm, the fact that even grease stains didn’t make him less magnetic. But what was unusual was you walking up, tilting your head as you watched him tighten the wrong bolt with casual confidence.

You didn’t say anything at first. Just folded your arms, biting back a smile. It was an easy mistake, one you’d seen family make a dozen times in your own garage growing up. Still, Beck’s focus was locked, and he clearly hadn’t noticed. Finally, you stepped closer, voice low and calm, “You’re gonna strip that if you keep turning it like that.”

Beck paused mid motion, glancing up at you. For once, he looked caught off guard- which wasn’t something people usually managed with him. You gently leaned in, fingers brushing the wrench from his hand as you twisted the bolt back the right way, quick and sure. “There,” you said simply, handing it back. Beck blinked, then chuckled under his breath.

“Huh. Guess I… didn’t see that.”

His eyes lingered on you differently now, the girls behind him forgotten. Not gawking, not starstruck- just curious. Impressed. He wiped his hands on a rag and leaned his hip against the car, tilting his head as he studied you.

“You know cars?”

You shrugged, casual, like it was no big deal. “Grew up around them. Can’t really not know.” That’s when it clicked for him. He’d always thought of you through the Hollywood Arts lens- your talent, your presence. He’d assumed, like a lot of people, that was all there was to you. But the way you handled the wrench, the easy confidence in your movements it was a whole other layer he hadn’t expected.

For the first time that afternoon, Beck grinned- not his stage ready, “yes I know I’m pretty” grin, but something softer, more genuine.

“Guess I should’ve figured. You’re not exactly the type to make your talent your only thing.”