"We should probably get back to work," she suggests, though her eyes still hold heat. "These parts won't clean themselves."
"Right." I pick up a wire brush, trying to refocus. "Where were we?"
"You were teaching me about rocker arms," she says innocently. "Very... thoroughly."
I can't help the laugh that escapes me. "You're trouble, Sandra Hemmings."
"So you've mentioned." She picks up another part, examining it with exaggerated seriousness. "But admit it. You like trouble."
Looking at her standing in my garage, cheeks still flushed from my kiss, eyes bright with humor and desire, I can't deny it. "Yeah," I admit. "I think I do."
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of stolen glances, lingering touches, and shared smiles. We get work done, surprisingly—all the valve train components cleaned and inspected, ready for reassembly once the replacement parts arrive. But there's a new undercurrent to our interactions, a simmering awareness that makes even the most mundane tasks feel electric.
By closing time, I'm equal parts frustrated and exhilarated. The kiss we shared has only stoked my appetite for more, but I'm determined to take things slow. Sandra deserves better than a rushed fling, and I'm still not entirely sure what I'm offering her.
"Walk you home?" I ask as she gathers her things.
She smiles, that bright, genuine smile that does funny things to my insides. "I'd like that."
Outside, the evening air is crisp and clear, stars beginning to appear in the darkening sky. I take her hand without hesitation this time, our fingers intertwining naturally.
"So," she says as we walk. "That happened."
"It did," I agree, squeezing her hand gently. "Any regrets?"
She looks up at me, her expression soft in the fading light. "Not a single one. You?"
I shake my head. "No. But I'm still not sure where this is going. You're only here temporarily..."
"Let's not worry about that right now," she interrupts, stopping to face me. "I haven’t even gone to see the cabin yet. Can we just enjoy whatever this is without putting labels on it or trying to predict the future?"
It goes against my nature—I like plans, structure, knowing exactly what's coming next. But looking into her hopeful eyes, I nod.
"Yeah," I say, reaching up to trace the curve of her cheek. "We can do that."
Her smile is worth the uncertainty. She rises on tiptoes to press a soft kiss to my lips, brief but full of promise. "Good. Because I really like kissing you, Diesel Torres. And I'd like to do a lot more of it before I have to worry about what comes next."
"That can definitely be arranged," I murmur, pulling her closer for another kiss, deeper this time, pouring all the confused, conflicting emotions swirling inside me into the press of my lips against hers.
When we break apart, she's breathless, eyes slightly unfocused. "Wow. You're good at that."
Pride surges through me. "Natural talent."
She laughs, shoving at my shoulder playfully. "And so humble too."
We continue walking, her hand warm in mine, the night wrapping around us like a blanket. For the first time in years, Ifeel something like peace settling over me. Whatever this thing with Sandra turns out to be—temporary fling or something more—right now, in this moment, it feels right.
And for tonight at least, that's enough.
CHAPTER SIX
SANDRA
"Tighten it just a quarter turn more," Diesel instructs, his voice a warm rumble against my ear as he stands behind me. His chest presses against my back, strong arms caging me as his hands guide mine on the wrench. "Feel that resistance? That's where you want to stop."
I nod, hyperaware of every point where our bodies connect. We've been working on my Mustang's engine for over a week now, and these "lessons" have become increasingly tactile. Not that I'm complaining.
"Like this?" I apply slightly more pressure, feeling the bolt reach its perfect tension point.
