"So," I say after swallowing, "what do normal people do around here when they're not fixing classic cars?"
"Define normal," he counters.
"Fair point. What do you do when you're not at the garage?"
He seems surprised by the personal question. "Work on my own projects. Read. Hike sometimes."
"What kind of projects?"
"Building things. I've got a workshop behind my place." He takes a bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. "Currently making a custom motorcycle from scratch."
"Really?" I lean forward, genuinely interested. "From scratch? Like, every part?"
"Not every part. Engine's from an old Indian. Frame I built myself." The way his eyes light up when he talks about his project transforms his face, softening the hard edges. "It's taking forever, but that's part of the point."
"The journey, not the destination," I say, and immediately feel silly for spouting such a cliché.
But Diesel nods. "Exactly. The building is the enjoyable part."
"I'd love to see it sometime," I say before I can stop myself. "The motorcycle, I mean."
He looks at me for a long moment, as if weighing something. "Maybe. When it's further along."
It's not a no, which feels like a win.
"What about you?" he asks, surprising me. "What do you do when you're not stranded in small towns with broken cars?"
I laugh. "Well, until recently, I was in marketing. Corporate drone in Chicago, eighty-hour work weeks, the whole nightmare."
"And now?"
"Now..." I trail off, considering. "Now I'm not sure. I quit my job, broke off my engagement, and decided to start over. Grandpa's cabin seemed like a sign, you know? A place to figure things out."
"Engagement?" His eyebrows rise.
"To Martin. Nice guy, decent job, completely wrong for me." I wave a hand dismissively. "Classic case of settling because it seemed like the right thing to do."
"What changed?"
I meet his gaze. "I did. Or maybe I remembered who I was beneath all the compromises."
Diesel nods like he understands completely, and I suspect he might. There's a depth to him that belies his gruff exterior.
"You know," I continue, "Grandpa used to tell me that most people live their whole lives on autopilot. Going through the motions because it's easier than making conscious choices. I think I was on autopilot for a long time."
"And now?"
"Now I'm definitely in manual mode. For better or worse." I take a sip of coffee. "Terrifying but exhilarating."
"Freedom usually is." There's something in his voice that makes me think he's speaking from experience.
I want to ask about his past, about what brought him to Crimson Hollow five years ago, but something tells me he's not ready to share that story yet. Instead, I change the subject.
"So, if my car's going to take a month to fix, what should I do around here besides bug you at the garage?"
He chuckles. "There's hiking if you're into that. Lake's too cold for swimming this time of year, but the views are nice. Bean& Bloom hosts game nights on Thursdays. The Velvet Antler does wine tastings on weekends."
"Any Christmas events coming up? The town seems pretty decked out for the holidays."
