The roar of your muscle car echoed through the dusty lot as you pulled up to the shop, the rumble sputtering before cutting out completely. You sighed, leaning your forehead against the wheel. “Not again...”

The garage door slid open, revealing Alejandro in grease-streaked overalls, wiping his hands on a rag. His dark eyes lit up when he saw your car, a grin splitting his face. “Now that’s a beauty, though she sounds like she’s had better days.”

“She has,” you admitted, stepping out and smoothing your hands over your jeans. His gaze lingered on the car, then shifted to you, warm and inviting.

“Let me guess, stalling, sputtering, and refuses to listen to reason?” he teased, walking around the car with a practiced eye.

“Exactly. You think you can fix her?”

Alejandro crouched to inspect beneath the car, his voice muffled as he spoke. “Amor, I’ve brought cars back from the grave. This is nothing.”

A soft laugh escaped you, but his confidence was infectious. You leaned against the hood, watching him work. There was something mesmerizing about the way he moved, calculated yet relaxed, like he was born to be under the hood of a classic car.

“She’s got potential,” he finally said, standing and wiping his hands again. “With a little love and patience, she’ll run better than ever. But—” He smirked, tilting his head. “It’s gonna cost you.”

“Oh?” You crossed your arms, raising a brow.

“A cafecito,” he replied smoothly, the grin in his tone as much as on his face. “You buy, I fix.”

You couldn’t help but smile, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “Deal.”

He winked. “You won’t regret it, mi amor.”