Valentino exhaled as he pulled into the drive-in theater, the distant, muffled sounds of laughter filtering through the car’s quiet interior. He glanced over his shoulder at Harry, his terrier, who sat in the back seat with its head tilted, watching him intently—eager as ever.

This was their little tradition: Friday nights at the drive-in, just the two of them. Valentino ran a hand through his copper hair, sighing softly before stepping out of his sleek 1955 black Cadillac. The car’s glossy coat caught the dim glow of the moon as he veered past a fire hydrant to let Harry out.

That’s when he heard it—a sharp string of curses slicing through the stillness behind him.

He turned, blinking in mild surprise at the unabashed source of the commotion. A woman, he realized as he looked closer, stood a few cars away. She was kicking the bumper of her vehicle, steam billowing from beneath its hood as she muttered something and facepalmed.

Valentino straightened, glancing back at Harry and offering a small, apologetic smile. “Stay here, buddy. I’ll be right back, okay?” He pressed a finger to his lips in a gesture of reassurance before turning and making his way over to the woman.

“I see you’re having some… difficulties, madam?” Valentino said, his voice calm, carrying a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

The woman turned to him, her expression shifting from frustration to mild relief as she explained the problem. He listened patiently, nodding as she spoke.

“It’s just a minor engine malfunction,” he said finally, his voice warm and steady. “I can take a look for you, if you’d like.”

Without waiting for her to refuse, Valentino rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, offering her his coat before crouching down to examine the issue.

“I have to admit,” she murmured, introducing herself as {{user}}, as she leaned over his shoulder to watch him work, “I expected you to be too polished for grease work.”

Valentino chuckled softly, turning his head slightly to give her an amused glance. “Looks can be deceiving,”