The sun was on its way out—low enough to cast that dull, gold filter over everything, like the world was being dipped in amber. Birds chirped absently, traffic buzzed in the distance, and the wind carried that faint hint of summer heat lingering in early fall.
Elena sat sideways in Naomi's dusty grey Honda Civic, her foot tucked under her thigh and the window cracked halfway. Her iced coffee was mostly melted, the straw between her teeth more for stress than thirst.
"Something smells weird," Naomi muttered, tightening her grip on the wheel. "Like… burning?"
"Maybe it's just your AC," Elena offered halfheartedly.
But then the engine made a sharp clicking sound—two stuttering coughs—and died.
They coasted awkwardly to the side of the road, hazard lights flickering against the concrete.
Naomi groaned. "No, no, no. Don't do this to me now."
She slammed her palms against the steering wheel.
Elena exhaled slowly. "Alright. No panic. You've had worse days."
"Yeah, but this one's trying real hard to compete," Naomi muttered, already pulling out her phone. "God, Eli's not answering. And my brother's useless when it comes to cars."
She scrolled through her contacts, frustrated, then paused.
"…Okay, weird idea."
"Go on."
"Alexander. You know him, right? Tattoo guy, drives the black WRX?"
Elena blinked, heart ticking faster—not visibly, just enough to notice. "Yeah, I know of him."
"He's like a mechanic savant. Helped my cousin with her Camry. He doesn't talk much, but he's reliable. And I still have his number from that group project last semester."
Before Elena could really say anything, Naomi was already dialing.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
Alexander was elbow-deep under the hood of his car when the text came through.
Naomi (4:38 PM):
> "Car died. Kenwood & 8th. Prob starter? If you're free pls save us."
He stared at the message for a second, wiped his hands on a towel slung across his shoulder, and tucked his phone back into his pocket.
Didn't take long to grab his kit and head out.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
Ten minutes later, his Subaru pulled up quietly behind the Civic. It looked out of place in this part of the street—lowered, cleaned to perfection, matte black with gold calipers barely visible behind custom wheels. The soft purring of the engine announced his arrival like a whisper instead of a roar.
Naomi waved frantically.
Alexander stepped out, toolbox in hand, hoodie sleeves rolled to his elbows, smudges of oil still faintly on his forearms. His expression was unreadable—focused but not unfriendly. The kind of face you learn not to misinterpret: serious, not cold.
"Starter's dead?" he asked.
Naomi nodded, grateful. "Yeah, just stalled out. Totally unresponsive. I owe you big."
He crouched beside the car, popping the hood with practiced ease. "Battery looks clean. No acid spill. Give it a crank?"
Naomi slid into the driver's seat, turned the key. Nothing but a tired whine.
Alexander nodded to himself. "Starter's shot. Could be internal wiring too. You're lucky it didn't stall in traffic."
That's when he saw her.
Elena.
Standing quietly a few feet back, arms crossed, fingers curled around the strap of her shoulder bag. She wasn't dressed up—just sneakers, jeans, a sweatshirt that said Baywater Dance Co. in faded script. Her hair was up, loosely knotted, and she looked like she hadn't decided if she wanted to stay or disappear into the sidewalk.
Their eyes met.
Something wordless passed between them.
Recognition. Memory. A flicker of that night—not the party, but the moment in the dark, the porchlight, her voice breaking.
Alexander gave a slight nod.
She returned it. Controlled. Careful.
Naomi jumped out of the driver's seat. "So what now?"
"I'll call a tow. Diego's garage isn't far. He won't rip you off."
"You're a damn lifesaver," she said, pulling out her phone to text her ride.
Alexander took a few steps toward his car to place the call. When he returned, Naomi was mid-conversation a few feet away, leaving him and Elena in a quiet pocket of stillness.
She glanced at him. "Thanks. For coming."
He shrugged. "No big deal."
"You didn't have to, though."
"I had tools. You had a problem. Seemed simple enough."
She looked away, a soft huff of a laugh escaping her lips. "You always this straightforward?"
He thought for a moment. "When it counts."
Another pause. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
"You're good at this," she added, nodding toward the car.
"Been fixing things since I was a kid," he said. "Sometimes engines make more sense than people."
That line lingered in the air longer than she expected.
"Yeah," she murmured. "I get that."
Naomi called out from a few feet away, phone still in hand. "My ride's pulling up. Elena, you good to wait with him?"
Elena looked at Alexander. He didn't flinch. Didn't expect anything.
"I'm good," she said simply.
Naomi flashed a grateful smile and jogged off.
The quiet returned.
Alexander leaned against the hood of the car, arms folded. Elena stayed upright, her hands fidgeting with the sleeves of her sweatshirt.
The silence wasn't heavy.
It was just honest.
And in that strange, suspended moment, both of them felt something begin—not loudly, not suddenly. Just… quietly.
A shift.
A small gravity pulling them ever so slightly closer.