"I have a say in this!" My voice goes up. "I'm an actual person with agency and decision-making abilities!"
"Do you, though?" Finn's grinning now.
"Yes! I do! And I'm not dancing."
"We'll see."
"I'm serious. I don't dance. I have never danced. I will not be dancing at any festival now or in the future."
"Noted." But he's still grinning and I realize with sudden clarity that now I'm absolutely going to dance at this festival just so Finn wins twenty dollars off Holt. Just to prove—what? That I'm on Finn's side? When did I start picking sides? When did I become the kind of person who cares about their stupid bets?
But I do care. I care about Finn winning. About being part of their dynamic. About being someone they bet on, someone they include in their ridiculous competitions.
I'm in too deep. I've been absorbed. I'm one of them now.
"Great," I mutter. "I've been infected by the bet disease. This is how it starts."
"Welcome to the family," Finn says cheerfully.
The afternoon brings more work—inventory to finish, customers to help, phone calls to answer. But my brain keeps circling back to the festival. To dancing. To the idea of being there with them, part of the town, part of something bigger than myself.
By five-thirty I'm finishing up the last of the inventory I can handle before my brain melts. I'm covered in dust from three hours of crawling around the back room reorganizing parts that haven't been touched since the shop opened. My knees hurt. My back hurts. Everything hurts in that good accomplished way.
I'm sitting on the floor, clipboard in my lap covered in notes that probably only make sense to me, when I realize I need one more thing to complete this section. A specific socket set that I know exists but can't find in any logical location.
I head back into the main garage. "Has anyone seen the 3/8 drive socket set? The one that should be in the back but definitely isn't?"
"Top shelf," Holt says, not looking up. "Left side."
Of course it's on the top shelf. Everything I need is always on the goddamn top shelf.
I walk over and just... look at it. Up there. Mocking me. Then I turn to look at Finn and Holt. They're both working, both aware I'm standing here, both completely ignoring my predicament.
"Seriously?" I say to the garage at large.
"What?" Finn doesn't look over.
"You're both just going to stand there?"
Holt glances up. Meets my eyes. "You're resourceful. Figure it out."
"I'm five-three!"
"We know," Finn says. "We're very aware. It's adorable."
I grab a shop rag and throw it at him. He dodges, laughing. I throw another one at Holt. He catches it without even looking up, which is somehow more infuriating.
"Assholes," I announce. "You're both assholes."
Finn's laughing now, finally getting up to retrieve the socket set for me. But before he hands it over, I hear Holt's voice—quiet, almost under his breath, but I catch it.
"Tall assholes."
I can't help it. I grin. He just called himself tall. Made the joke himself. Acknowledged this stupid running bit we have and participated in it voluntarily. That's—that's progress. That's him letting me in. That's him being playful in his own careful, measured way.
"Thank you," I say to Finn, taking the socket set. Then to Holt: "And thank you. For your contribution."
His mouth curves slightly. Not quite a smile but close enough that I'm counting it.
