The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the Chateau’s driveway, where JJ lay half under the Twinkie with grease-stained fingers and a socket wrench clinking against metal. His shirt had been discarded long ago, tossed carelessly over the hood, leaving his tan skin streaked with oil and sweat. His blond hair stuck to his forehead, and every now and then he’d mutter to himself, frustrated but focused in that chaotic JJ way.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, pretending to scroll through your phone but your eyes kept drifting back to him. There was something undeniably magnetic about watching him work—about the way his arms flexed when he reached, or the way he bit his lip when a bolt wouldn’t budge.

He cursed again under his breath and slid out from beneath the van, wiping his hands on a rag before tossing it aside.

“You gonna help or just stand there eyeing me like a snack?” he smirked without even looking up.

You blinked, caught.

“I’m supervising,” you replied coolly, though the smirk tugging at your lips betrayed you.

JJ glanced at you then, cocky grin in full effect. “Mm. Didn’t realize staring was part of the job description.”

He ducked back under the Twinkie, but not before shooting you a wink that made your stomach flutter.

You shook your head, smiling to yourself. Watching him like this—doing what he was good at, shirtless, charming without even trying—yeah, supervising was your new favorite activity.