Jake leaned against a crate just a few feet away, pretending to check the holotape in his Pip-Boy while his eyes kept flicking back to you. The generator hummed, sputtered, then sparked again as you worked on it, sleeves rolled up, grease streaked across your forearms.

You muttered under your breath about the wiring, brow furrowed in concentration and all he could think about was how damn magnetic you were.

He’d told himself it was just respect at first, admiration for how you led, how you could fix just about anything, how people listened when you spoke. But it wasn’t that simple. Not anymore. Not when his heart kicked up a little every time you glanced his way or called his name over the radio.

The way the light from the setting sun hit you didn’t help, either. You wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist, and Jake quickly averted his gaze, pretending to focus on the wires near the wall. He swallowed hard.

Get it together, man.

“Generator’s lookin’ good,” he said finally, voice a little rougher than he meant. “You, uh… really know your way around this stuff.” He chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to hide the warmth creeping up his face.