The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was easy, companionable—as if we both knew we weren’t quite ready for the next thing, and that was okay.
“You like cars?” he asked after the pause.
“Some,” I lied. As long as a car started, ran, and wasn’t registered to me, so no one tracked me down, then I liked cars just fine.
“That one’s a Dodge Charger SRT Hellcat, Supercharged 6.2L HEMI,” he said, nodding to the silver beast parked closest to the rolling shutter that Enzo had his hands in. “Rare. Worth a lot.”
I blinked at him. “You know cars?”
He huffed a small laugh. “The guys tell me stuff, y’know, and I remember things.” He tapped his head and quirked a smile. Rio cursed loudly, and Robbie chuckled. “He’s pissed off because someone tried to hot-wire it with a fucking spoon. A spoon.” He shook his head, as if he still couldn’t believe it. “He’s beengrumbling about it all morning. Said the wiring looks as if someone took a blender to it. He growled for a long time.”
“Rio growls,” I said, and wished I’d kept my mouth shut when Robbie side-eyed me.
“Well, thecaryou can’t take your eyes off,” he began and smirked as he pointed at the black muscle car… Rio’s job. “That’s a 1977 Pontiac Firebird Trans Am—black, original trim, even the gold decal on the hood. Exact model fromSmokey and the Bandit.It’s a collector’s wet dream, or it was, until some wannabe mechanic got his hands on it,” Robbie said, shaking his head. “Rio’s been cursing in three languages. Says whoever maintained it should be banned from touching anything more complex than a toaster. Wiring’s fried, ignition barrel’s cracked, and he found melted candy in the fuse box.”
He didn’t ask why I’d come down or what I’d seen or if I was going to cause trouble. He just sat with me in the quiet, the hum of tools and the occasionalclankfrom Enzo underlining the stillness between us.
“I like it down there,” I said, surprising even myself.
Robbie didn’t look at me, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch. “So do I.”
We sat in silence for another moment, and then Robbie tilted his head toward the Firebird. “I hadn’t even seenSmokey and the Bandituntil last month,” he admitted. “They all found out and made it movie night. Popcorn, soda, the whole deal. Rio knew half the lines.” I smiled despite myself. “Do you have a favorite movie? I loveThe Lord of the Rings. Big Sam fan. He’s the real hero.”
“Same. Samwise is the best of all of them, Strider in second.”
Robbie held out a fist, and I bumped it without thinking. “I knew I liked you,” he said.
After a quiet beat, I added, “But some of my favorite movies are probablyThe Matrixtrilogy.”
Robbie frowned. “I haven’t seen them.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Jamie tried once, but he and Killian got distracted kissing, and we never finished.”
Before I could tell him how criminal that was, Enzo let out another sharp string of profanities that echoed off the walls.
“Motherfucking asshole shit-fucking mess!” Enzo barked, loud enough to make Robbie wince and, then, grin at me as Enzo shut the hood of the Charger and leaned against it, arms braced, face thunderous.
“He needs some Robbie time for lunch,” Robbiesaid, already up, waggling his eyebrows. “And I need some Enzo time,” he said with a bright smile and rushed downstairs to drag his man through that door, which they closed behind them.
Leaving me alone so I could stare at Rio without being disturbed.
Rio emerged from under the hood, wiping his hands on a rag, and as he turned, he caught sight of me on the stairs. Our eyes locked. His hair was sweat-damp, and his brows rose when he realized I’d been watching him.
“Hey,” he said, voice rough.
“Hey yourself,” I murmured back.
He leaned on the fender, rag slung over his shoulder, and I stared.
“You shouldn’t be down here,” he finally said.
“Probably not.”
He sighed, then backed over to the only open rolling shutter and pulled it down. “Lunch?” he asked, indicating the kitchen.
“Not upstairs in that room, please.”
