I nod, satisfied with his answer. "Thank you. That car means a lot to me, even if it is a piece of junk."
The corner of his mouth quirks up. "Good to know you're not completely delusional about its condition."
"I may be sentimental, but I'm not stupid." I drain the last of my coffee. "The guy who sold it to me, on the other hand..."
"Let me guess. Slick salesman, promised it was fully restored, conveniently avoided letting you look under the hood?" Diesel's tone is knowing.
"Something like that." I smile ruefully. "In my defense, I don't know much about cars beyond the basics. Grandpa taught me how to change a tire and check my oil, but that's about it."
"Most people don't." He shrugs. "That's why mechanics stay in business."
"Is that why you became one? Job security?"
Something flickers across his face, too quick to identify. "I've always been good with my hands. Fixing things makes sense to me in a way people don't."
The simple honesty of his statement surprises me. "That's... actually pretty profound."
He rolls his eyes. "Don't make it more than it is."
"Too late." I grin at him. "I caught a glimpse of the real Diesel Torres beneath all that grouchiness."
"Don't get used to it." He drains his coffee and stands. "I should get back to the garage. Still have work to finish before closing."
I glance at my watch, surprised to see we've been talking for nearly an hour. "Thanks for the company."
He nods, reaching for his wallet, but I wave him off.
"My treat," I say. "Consider it a thank you for the ride earlier."
He looks like he wants to argue but just nods instead. "See you tomorrow. Nine thirty."
"Nine thirty," I confirm.
As he walks away, I watch the confident way he moves, the breadth of his shoulders beneath his jacket. Several other patrons call out goodbyes as he leaves, which he acknowledges with that same economy of movement.
Sage approaches my table, coffee pot in hand. "Refill?"
"Please." I hold out my mug, noting the speculative look in her eyes. "What?"
"Nothing." She fills my cup. "Just don't often see Diesel willingly engaging in conversation with strangers."
"We're not strangers. I'm his customer."
Sage's smile is knowing. "He has lots of customers. Doesn't sit and chat with most of them."
I'm not sure how to respond to that, so I change the subject. "The sandwich was delicious. Do you make them yourself?"
"Everything's made in-house. Been running this place for five years now." She glances around the café with obvious pride. "It's home."
"That's what I'm hoping to find here," I admit. "A place that feels like home."
Sage's expression softens. "Old Man Joe's cabin, right? I heard you're his granddaughter."
I nod, no longer surprised that she knows. "News really does travel fast around here."
"Faster than light," she confirms with a laugh. "Especially when you are talking in a crowded café. But that's not always a bad thing. Means people look out for each other."
I finish my coffee and pay my bill, but my mind is stuck on Diesel Torres and the way he looked at me across the table. Like he was trying to figure me out just as much as I was trying to figure him out.
