Chapter 45: The Surprise Visit
The bag of Mexican food was warm in her hands, a greasy, promising heat that seeped through the paper. Aurora stood across the street from Rhys’s auto shop, watching the wide bay doors yawn open to the afternoon light. The rumble of an air wrench echoed, a sudden jackhammer burst that made her jump. She couldn’t see him from here, just the hulking shadow of a pickup on the lift.
She’d told him she was coming, but the text felt flimsy now, a poor shield against the reality of just showing up at his workplace. What if he’s busy?What if I’m a bother? The thoughts buzzed in her head, a familiar swarm. Rina’s voice cut through them, a memory of her stern, loving face.“Just go, Aurora.Bring the man a burrito. It’s not a marriage proposal.”
Taking a deep breath that did little to steady her, she crossed the street. The scent hit her first—hot metal, fresh oil, a faint, clean hint of gasoline.It was so inherently him that some of her nerves unwound.
She slipped through the open customer entrance into a small, cluttered office area. A woman with kind eyes and gray-streaked hair piled in a bun was frowning at a computer screen, her fingers pecking slowly at a keyboard.A beta, her scent neutral and office-dusty.
Aurora hovered by the doorway, the bag crinkling softly in her grip. “Um, excuse me?”
The woman looked up, and her gaze was immediate, assessing. It swept over Aurora—her delicate frame, the hesitant posture, the way she held the food like a peace offering. The woman’s initial expression was unreadable, a hard, studying look that made Aurora want to shrink into the wall.Then, something clicked. The woman’s eyes softened, and a wide, genuine smile broke across her face.“Oh.You must be Aurora.”
Aurora blinked. “How did you…?”
“Rhys mentioned you might stop by. Said to send you right back.” She leaned forward, conspiratorial.“And he doesn’t mention anyone. I’m Marcie. I keep this place from falling apart.” She thumbed toward a second door that led into the main garage. “He’s in the back, fighting with a stubborn fuel line.Go on in, honey. Just watch your step.”
“Thank you,” Aurora breathed, relief making her limbs feel light.The garage was a cathedral of noise and industry. The air was thicker here, warmer, vibrating with the thrum of machinery and classic rock leaking from a grease-smudged radio.Light streamed in through the high windows, cutting through the dust motes.
And there he was.
Bent over the engine bay of an old Chevy, his back a broad tapestry of stretched cotton and swirling ink.His arms were deep in the machine, muscles corded with effort. A soft curse, fond and frustrated, floated from under the hood.
She walked slowly, navigating around tool carts and coiled hoses.She stopped a few feet away, not wanting to startle him. She just watched for a moment, captivated by the focused, physical grace of him. The way his hands, so large and scarred, moved with absolute certainty.
He must have sensed her presence, a shift in the air, or perhaps her subtle, honeyed scent cutting through the petroleum. He straightened up, turning, a wrench still loose in his grip.
His face was smudged with a dark streak along one cheekbone.His eyes, which had been narrowed in concentration, found hers.And they changed. The hard focus melted, the guardedness he carried like a second skin dissolving into something warm and open.A slow smile touched his lips, gentling his entire rough-hewn face.
“Well,” he said, his voice a low rumble that cut neatly through the radio’s guitar solo. “Hey, sweet girl.”
The simple greeting unspooled the last of her anxiety. She lifted the bag a little. “I brought lunch.”
“I see that.” He tossed the wrench onto a nearby cart with a metallic clatter and reached for a red rag, wiping his hands. “You find the place okay?”
“Marcie helped.”
“Of course she did.” He finished wiping his hands and closed the distance between them in two strides. He didn’t touch her, just stood there, his large presence enveloping her. Up close, she could smell the clean sweat on his skin, the motor oil, and underneath it, his own alpha scent—aged leather and autumn woods. It made her head feel pleasantly fuzzy. “You look nice.”
She’d worn a simple sundress, something soft and floral.She looked down at it, then back up at him. “It’s just a dress.”
“Yeah.” His smile deepened. “It’s nice.” He glanced at the bag.“What’d you bring?”
“Carne asada burritos. And chips.And salsa.The hot kind.” She recalled him mentioning he liked spice.“Perfect. I’m starving.” He led her to a relatively clean workbench by a wall of tinted windows. He cleared a space, moving a distributor cap and a dog-eared manual, and pulled over two rolling stools. “Our five-star dining suite.”
She laughed, unpacking the food, the paper wrappers unfolding like flowers. They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds their chewing and the distant traffic. He took a huge bite, chewed, and let out a satisfied groan.“God, that’s good. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She picked at her own burrito, her appetite smaller. She watched him, the easy way he occupied the space.“Rina told me she came by.”
He nodded, swallowing.“Yeah. She did. We had a… chat.”
“She wasn’t too scary?”
He chuckled, a rich, warm sound.“She was exactly as scary as she needed to be. I liked her.She’s straight.” He took another bite, studying her. “You were worried.”
“A little.” Aurora admitted, tracing a pattern in the condensation on her soda bottle. “I don’t want her to be mad at you. Or you to be mad at her. Or either of you to be mad at me.”
“We’re not mad. Nobody's mad/” He reached over, his thumb brushing a stray strand of hair from her cheek. The calloused pad of his finger was startlingly gentle against her skin.“She loves you. I get it.” His hand dropped back to his food. “And I meant what I told her.”
The air between them shifted, charged with something more than the smell of grilled meat and grease. The radio song faded out, leaving a brief, static-filled silence.Aurora gathered her courage. “What did you mean?”
He looked her directly in the eyes, his gaze holding hers with an intensity that was both thrilling and soothing.“That you’re different. That I’m not using you.” He paused, choosing his words with care.“I like having you here, Aurora. In my space.It feels… right.”
Her heart performed a slow, heavy roll in her chest. She believed him. In the quiet honesty of his workshop, surrounded by the tangible evidence of his life, she believed every word.
She reached out, her small hand covering his large, oil-stained one where it rested on the workbench. He turned his hand over, lacing his fingers through hers, his grip firm and secure.Outside, a car honked. The fluorescent lights above gave their persistent, quiet buzz. Somewhere in the garage, a drop of water hit a metal pan with a singular, ringing ping.
He squeezed her hand once, then let go, returning to his burrito.“So,” he said, his tone shifting back to something lighter, practical. “You finish that book you were telling me about?”
And just like that, the moment settled, not broken, but banked like a fire. They talked of small things, easy things, as the afternoon light lengthened across the concrete floor, painting everything in gold.For now, lunch was enough. His hand had held hers.His space was hers to share. It was more than she’d dared hope for, and it felt like a beginning.