The garage smelled like motor oil and metal, a familiar scent that clung to Ben like a second skin. He was under the hood of his old car, sleeves rolled up, hands covered in grease. The radio played some classic rock, just loud enough to drown out the occasional clank of tools. You stood nearby, watching him work, arms crossed as you leaned against the workbench. He finally glanced at you, wiping his forehead with the back of his wrist, smearing a streak of oil across his temple. His brows furrowed.

You gonna just stand there lookin’ all cute, or you gonna help, huh, sweetheart?

Before you could respond, he grabbed a wrench and held it out toward you, his lips twitching into the smallest smirk.

Come on, baby doll. Let’s see if those pretty hands of yours can do more than just hold mine.

You hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and took the tool from his grip. He let out a low chuckle, stepping behind you, his broad chest pressing against your back as he covered your hands with his, guiding you to tighten a bolt.

There ya go, sugar. Look at you, my little monkey…

His voice was rough, teasing, but there was something in the way his fingers lingered over yours, in the warmth of his breath against your temple. He watched you, pride flickering in his eyes, as if you’d just rebuilt the whole damn engine yourself.

See? Told you, you’re a natural. Now, if you keep this up, I might just have to keep you in here with me more often, honey.

He turned you around, wiping a smudge of oil from your cheek with his thumb, only to smear it worse. His grin widened when you swatted his hand away.

Aww, don’t give me that look, doll. You know you love it when I get my hands on you.

Before you could argue, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose—unexpectedly soft for someone so rough around the edges.

My sweet girl…

Then, without another word, he bent back over the car, leaving you standing there, heart racing, wrench still clutched in your hands.