“Been busy at the Dairy Bar?”he asked, like this was normal.
“Yeah,” I said.“Always.”
“Closing tonight?”
“Yep.”
He nodded slightly, eyes focused on what he was doing.
Silence settled again and I didn’t know what to do with it.
For years, I’d imagined conversations with Jude.
Easy ones.
Flirty ones.
Ones where he finally noticed me.
Now?
Now I had nothing.
Nothing smart.
Nothing clever.
Nothing that didn’t feel forced.
So I stood there and watched him.
He grabbed the wrench next, loosening the bolts on the wheel with controlled, steady movements.His forearms flexed with each turn, veins visible just under the surface of his skin.
I dragged my gaze away, then right back because apparently, I had no self-control.
He worked efficiently, no wasted motion, no hesitation.
He pulled the flat tire off and set it aside, lifting the spare into place like it weighed nothing.
“You good?”he asked without looking at me.
“Yep,” I said quickly.
Too quickly.
He didn’t call me on it.
Just kept working.
Tightening the bolts and then lowering the car.
I stood there feeling like I was watching something I shouldn’t be.Like I was seeing a version of him I hadn’t let myself look at before.
He finished, tossed the tools back into the trunk, and lifted the flat tire in after them.Then he closed it with a solid thud.
For a second, neither of us moved.Then he reached back for his cut, sliding it on.
“Uh,” I said, “just let me know how much I owe you.”
