"Gremlin! You're gonna want to see this."
"Busy," I call back, not looking up. The middle drawer's stuck again—my nemesis, my white whale, the bane of my organizational existence. I've got one hand braced against the frame, the other yanking the handle, and I'm pretty sure I'm about to dislocate something. "This drawer and I are having a moment. A very personal, very violent moment."
"It's about your coffee situation."
That gets my attention. I abandon the drawer—it can win this round—and look over. Finn's grinning at me from across the shop, holding something behind his back. It's Tuesday morning, barely eight, and the heat's already climbing toward unbearable. My tank top's stuck to my back. My hair's escaping its ponytail in approximately seventeen different directions. I've been here an hour and already feel like I've been through a war.
"My coffee situation?" I walk over, suspicious. "What's wrong with my coffee situation?"
"Nothing. That's the problem." He produces a bottle from behind his back with a flourish. Caramel creamer. The good kind. The expensive kind I buy at the gas station when I'm feeling reckless with my nonexistent budget. Brand new. Unopened. "Someone noticed you've been dumping half the sugar container into your coffee every morning and decided to intervene."
I stare at the bottle. At Finn's knowing grin. At Holt across the garage, very deliberately not looking at either of us, focused on the transmission he's rebuilding. "Who—"
"Take a wild guess."
"Finn, did you—"
"Wasn't me." He's clearly enjoying this. "Our fearless leader went to the store last night. Specifically for this. Came back, put it in the fridge, said absolutely nothing about it."
My throat goes tight. "He went to the store."
"Yep."
"For creamer."
"For you."
"Because I put too much sugar in my coffee."
"Because he's paying attention." Finn hands me the bottle. "You gonna stand there looking shocked or are you gonna actually use it?"
I grab the bottle and walk to the mini fridge, hyperaware of Holt still not looking at me. My hands shake slightly as I pour coffee—the shop pot's already going because Finn's convinced he'll die without constant caffeine access—and add the creamer. A generous amount. Maybe too much. I don't care. I take a sip and—
It's perfect. Sweet and smooth and exactly what I didn't know I needed. I close my eyes and make a sound that's probably too close to inappropriate for eight in the morning but I can't help it.
"Jesus, Scout." Finn's laughing. "You're gonna kill him."
I open my eyes. Across the garage, Holt's gone completely still. Wrench in hand, shoulders tense, not moving. Not breathing, maybe.
My face goes hot. "I was just—it's good coffee—"
"It's great coffee, apparently." Finn's grin is wicked. "Holt, you okay over there? You look like you're having a stroke."
Holt sets down the wrench not looking at either of us. "Get back to work."
"We are working. We're appreciating your thoughtful gesture. Scout, make the sound again—"
"I'm going to murder you," I say.
"Promises, promises." But Finn's moving back to his truck, still grinning. "Enjoy your fancy coffee, Gremlin."
I stand there with my mug, face burning, and catch Holt's eyes for just a second. There's something in his expression—heat, maybe, or awareness, or frustration that I'm affecting him this much over coffee creamer. Then he looks away.
I retreat to my desk before I can make this weirder.
The morning flows into the kind of rhythm I'm starting to recognize—phones ringing, customers coming and going, invoices getting filed while Finn provides running commentary on everything. Mrs. Jareltson drops off her car for an oil change and asks if I'm "settling in okay" with a look that suggests the entire town knows where I'm living. Mr. Rafe needs new brake pads and spends ten minutes telling me about his daughter's wedding. I'm learning that customer service here is fifty percent car repair and fifty percent therapy session.
Around ten, I realize I actually want to understand what they're doing. Not just file the invoices, but know what the words mean. What a "coolant system flush" actually involves. Why brake pads matter. How any of this works.
