Scout's smiling. Actually smiling. "It's not a problem. The system's the only thing keeping that shop from burning down."
"Right?" Grant's grin widens. "I tried to explain to my boss that 'throw it in a drawer and hope' isn't actually a system, but—"
"But they never listen," Scout finishes.
"Exactly."
They're still smiling at each other. I'm still standing here like an idiot, watching it happen, and the bad coffee I had an hour ago is sitting wrong in my stomach.
Finn clears his throat. "Hey, man, where's the coffee?"
Grant points toward the back corner, reluctantly breaking eye contact with Scout. We sign in, find seats, and the presentation starts—hydraulics, pressure systems, safety protocols. I'm supposed to be paying attention but I can't stop tracking Grant's position in the room. He's up near the front, occasionally pointing at slides, occasionally looking back toward where Scout's sitting a few rows ahead of me.
Sweat's already rolling down my spine, soaking into my shirt, and the folding chair's digging into my bad leg. I shift, trying to find a position that doesn't make everything ache.
Grant's explaining torque specifications. Scout's taking notes. I'm staring at the back of her head and hating every second of this.
Coffee break hits at nine-thirty. I'm refilling my cup—burnt, bitter, somehow worse hot—when I see him find her. She's standing by the parts display, studying some new gasket design, and Grant appears at her elbow.
"Hey," he says. "You looked like you were actually interested in that pressure valve section. Most people zone out by slide thirty."
She laughs, and it's that full, bright sound I haven't heard since—
Since before.
"I was trying to figure out if we could retrofit our hydraulic lift with the new system," she says. "Pretty sure the answer's no, but I was doing the math anyway."
"That's—" He leans against the display table, and there's something disarming about the way he does it. Not smooth. A little awkward, actually, like he's not quite sure where to put his hands. "Okay, that's actually impressive. Most people at these things are just here for the free certification."
"I mean, I'm also here for the free certification." Scout's opening up, that defensive edge she's been carrying all weeksoftening. "But if I'm gonna sit through hours of this, might as well learn something useful."
"You got a point." Grant takes a sip of his coffee, makes a face. "God, this is terrible."
"Yeah, it really is."
"But we keep drinking it."
"Nowhere else to get caffeine."
They're laughing together now, easy and comfortable, and I'm standing ten feet away pretending to be very interested in a hydraulic pressure chart. The coffee tastes like metal in my mouth. My jaw aches from clenching it.
"You working the counter or in the garage?" Grant asks.
"Both. Wherever they need me."
"They're lucky to have you."
She shrugs, but something in her face shifts. Softens. That defensive tension she's been carrying all week just... drops. Her shoulders ease. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
And it's for him. For Grant with his hand-gestures and his appreciation for filing systems and his complete lack of baggage.
I turn back to the coffee station and pour a cup I don't want.
The presentation resumes—more slides, more specifications—and Grant occasionally glances back at Scout. She occasionally glances back at him. I watch it happen and taste metal every time I swallow.
Lunch is catered sandwiches and chips in the parking lot, the sun absolutely brutal. Heat radiates off the asphalt in waves that make everything shimmer, and the air smells like hot tar and dust, that specific scent of Arizona summer that sticks in your throat. We find a spot of shade against the building that does fuck-all to help, concrete wall already baking at our backs.
Grant gravitates straight to Scout like she's magnetic north. Finn and I end up at the same table because the alternative is sitting alone like the pathetic disaster I am.
