“Honestly? I missed this more than I thought I would.” I gestured around the diner, taking in the mismatched salt shakers and the handwritten specials board that looked like it hadn't been updated since the Clinton administration. “There's something to be said for a place that doesn't pretend to be anything other than what it is.”
“Careful,” Evan said, and there was something warm in his voice that made my stomach flutter like a teenager with his first crush. “Keep talking like that and people might think you're planning to stick around.”
The comment was casual, teasing, but underneath it I caught something that might have been hope. Like the idea of me staying wasn't entirely unwelcome, even if he was too careful to say so directly.
“Maybe I am,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “Thinking about it, anyway.”
The silence that followed was pregnant with possibility, broken only by Cal's dramatic gasp.
“Did you hear that, boys? We might have ourselves a permanent member of the brotherhood.”
“Don't scare him off,” Mason said dryly. “We just got him inducted.”
Before I could figure out how to respond to that—or whether the flutter in my chest was panic or excitement—our waitress materialized beside the table.
“Afternoon, boys,” she said, coffee pot already in hand like some sort of caffeine-wielding fairy godmother. “What can I get you started with?”
Twenty minutes later, we were working our way through burgers that probably violated several health regulations but tasted like they'd been blessed by whatever gods watched over small-town diners. The conversation flowed easily, touching on everything from the town council's latest bureaucratic disasters to Cal's theory that all car problems could be solved with the right combination of WD-40 and creative cursing.
“I'm telling you,” Cal said around a mouthful of fries, “that Chevy's not making that noise because the transmission's going bad. It's making that noise because it's lonely.”
“Cars don't get lonely,” Mason pointed out with the patience of someone who'd had this conversation before.
“How do you know? Have you ever asked one?”
“I don't speak car.”
“Well, there's your problem right there.”
I caught Evan's eye across the table, and the shared amusement that passed between us felt like stepping into warm sunlight after months of winter. This was what I'd been missing in Chicago—not just Evan, but this. The easy camaraderie, the sense of belonging somewhere, the feeling that I was part of something larger than my own ambitions and failures.
“I'll be right back,” Evan said, sliding out of the booth. “Don't eat my fries.”
“No promises,” Cal called after him, already eyeing Evan's plate with predatory interest.
I watched Evan disappear around the corner toward the restrooms, then turned back to find Gideon studying me with those sharp blue-gray eyes that seemed to catalog everything they saw.
“You’re settling in well,” Gideon observed, and it took me a moment to realize he was talking about me, not Evan.
“It's easier than I thought it would be,” I admitted. “Coming back, I mean. I expected everything to feel... smaller. More confining.”
“And does it?”
I considered the question, glancing around the table at Cal (who was now systematically stealing Mason's pickle), Mason (who was pretending not to notice), and Gideon (who was watching this entire interaction with barely concealed amusement).
“No,” I said slowly. “It feels like breathing again.”
“Good,” Gideon said simply. “That boy of ours has been holding his breath for six years, waiting for something he was too afraid to name. Maybe you both can finally exhale.”
The casual way he said 'our boy' made something warm and fierce settle in my chest. Like I wasn't just being welcomed back into Evan's life, but into this strange little family of mechanics and misfits who'd apparently adopted him in my absence.
“Speaking of which,” Cal said, having successfully claimed Mason's pickle with the stealth of a master thief, “you should know that subtlety isn't exactly your strong suit.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
Cal gestured vaguely between where I sat and where Evan had been moments before. “You two. The longing looks. The careful not-touching that somehow feels more intimate than actual touching. It's like watching the world's most polite mating dance.”
My face went nuclear. “We're not?—”
