You had the best sex of your entire life. You don’t know her name, don’t have her number — nothing.

If you weren’t acting on pure impulse, maybe you would’ve stayed until the morning instead of slipping out as the sun rose, losing her forever. Just your luck.

A few weeks later, you’re bringing your car in for service, something you always dread. All that mechanic talk goes right over your head, and you mostly just nod and pray it’s not too expensive.

You pull into O’Malley’s. You’d heard good things — fair prices, honest work, and a decent waiting area with free coffee.

Venturing into the garage you meet a redhead with “Charlie” stitched in white on her jumpsuit accompanied by a bright smile.

“What can we do for you?” she asks.

“My car’s been making this… weird noise? Like a dying blender… or maybe a cat?” you say, grimacing.

She laughs, shaking her head as she walks around to pop your hood. “We’ll get to the bottom of that. Looks like you might also be due for an oil change. Kam, can you come over and take a look at this?”

"Coming!" A cheerful voice shouts.

There’s a clang of tools from the garage and when you look over, it’s like the world slows down.

It’s her.

The girl from the bar. The girl you danced with until your feet were sore. The girl who took you home and made you forget your own name.

Your eyes meet.

She freezes, a wrench in hand, jaw tightening just slightly — then a small, knowing smile curves her lips.

“Oh, hey,” she says, voice low, amused, and unmistakably familiar.