The sharp scent of oil and steel hung in the air, mingling with the faint sweetness of hazelnut coffee still clinging to Sarah's senses. The overhead lights in Harper's Garage buzzed softly above them, casting a pale glow over the open bay. A single car sat on the lift, its hood popped and guts exposed, like a patient mid-surgery.
John crouched beside it, wrench in hand, arms already smeared with grease. The morning was just beginning, but he looked like he'd been here for hours—focused, calm, entirely in his element.
Sarah stood near the workbench, eyeing the scattered tools like they were pieces of a puzzle. John had shown her where everything was: socket wrenches, ratchets, screwdrivers, torque wrenches of various sizes. She didn't know what most of them did, but she was a quick learner—and today, for the first time in a long time, she didn't feel useless.
"Hand me the 12-millimeter," John called, not looking up.
Sarah scanned the tray, spotted the right one (thanks to the little numbers etched into the metal), and passed it over with a hint of pride.
"Got it right," he said with a smirk.
"Don't sound so surprised," she replied, raising an eyebrow.
He chuckled. "Hey, some folks can't tell a wrench from a tire iron. I've seen grown men freeze up around a toolbox."
"Well, lucky for you, I'm exceptional."
"I'm starting to see that," he said, not teasing this time.
A few minutes passed. John worked in steady rhythm, metal clicking and clinking under his hands. Sarah moved toward the broom leaning against the corner, eyeing the floor's dust-streaked surface.
Without asking, she grabbed it and started sweeping.
The bristles whispered across the concrete as she made her way around the lift and workbenches, collecting sawdust, dirt, a few rogue bolts, and enough grime to raise a small dust storm. She paused beside one of the tool chests and lifted her gaze toward John.
"Do you even own a mop?" she asked, arching a brow.
John glanced up, expression unreadable. "Clyde usually takes care of that."
"Right," she said, looking around. "And when was the last time Clyde swept?"
John grinned. "Maybe... a presidential administration ago?"
Sarah smirked, sweeping another pile into a corner. "You run a classy operation."
"I never claimed it was glamorous," he said, tapping the wrench against the side of the lift. "Just effective."
"So who's Clyde?"
John sat back on his heels and wiped his hands on a rag. "Clyde's eighty. Comes in a few times a week, drinks my coffee, gives me life advice whether I want it or not, and occasionally remembers to invoice customers."
Sarah leaned on the broom, amused. "How'd you end up working with an eighty-year-old?"
John stood and walked over to the bench, swapping out tools. "He just… started showing up. When I bought this place, it was falling apart. I spent every day patching leaks, fixing walls, laying in puddles of oil trying to get the lift to work. Clyde wandered in one morning with a mug in hand like he owned the place."
Sarah laughed. "He just walked in?"
"Yup. Looked around, said, 'You got any plans for this dump?' I told him yeah. He said, 'Well, then you need supervision.' Next day, he came back. Did the same thing. And the day after that."
"So you hired him."
John shrugged. "Figured if he was gonna haunt the place, I might as well give him something to do. Turns out he knows more about engines than most guys I trained with. Worked on machines in the Navy, I think. Now he just works on me."
Sarah smiled. "Sounds like he cares about you."
"He does. In his own, cranky way." John paused, then added, "He likes to pretend I'm a complete idiot, which keeps me humble."
"I'm starting to like Clyde already."
John gave her a crooked grin. "Yeah, you'd probably gang up on me."
Sarah swept the last pile of dust into a pan and dumped it into the trash. She dusted off her hands and looked around the space again.
"I like it here," she said, almost to herself.
He glanced at her. "Yeah?"
She nodded. "It smells like oil and old metal. It's loud. Messy. But it feels… steady. Safe."
John's voice was soft. "That's the goal."
Sarah leaned against the wall, arms crossed loosely over her chest. "You really built this whole thing from nothing, huh?"
He looked around the garage, eyes scanning the walls, the tools, the lift, the small fridge in the corner that hummed a little too loudly.
"Yeah," he said. "Took a long time. Had to fall apart before I could build something."
She met his gaze. "Maybe I can learn how to do that."
He didn't smile, not exactly. But there was something in his eyes—gentle, sure. "You already started."
She looked down, suddenly bashful, and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
He clapped his hands. "Alright. Enough of this sappy moment. I've got a radiator to replace, and you've got… what do you want to do?"
She thought for a second. "I don't know. I could hand you tools. Or mop the floor again."
He chuckled. "Deal. But you're not allowed to complain about my music if I turn on the radio."
She gave him a mock glare. "If it's country, I'm walking."
He laughed. "You really are gonna fit in here."
The garage hummed with quiet.
The car on the lift had been lowered. The tools had been put away. The shop radio played softly from an old speaker on a shelf—some mellow blues tune that seemed to fit the steady rhythm of the rain outside.
Sarah sat on a stool near the workbench, her sleeves rolled up, a smudge of grease on her wrist she hadn't noticed. Her hair was pulled back messily again, and her face—though still pale, still worn—had a softness it hadn't had the night before.
John was across from her, sipping on a bottle of water, his hands resting on his knees. The workday hadn't really started yet, but it felt like they'd earned the break anyway.
He glanced at her, noting the quiet way she was staring at the tools on the wall, like they were pieces of some larger story.
"You alright?" he asked.
She nodded slowly. "Yeah. Just… thinking."
He didn't press. He let the silence stretch—he knew sometimes silence gave people room to breathe.
Then, after a few minutes, she said, "He wasn't always like that."
John looked up from the bottle. "Your boyfriend?"
She nodded again, but slower this time. "In the beginning, he was... charming. Funny. Made me feel seen, you know? I felt like I mattered. He always listened. Always asked me questions. It was like—like I could finally exhale."
John leaned forward a little. "That's how they start."
Sarah gave a tight smile. "Yeah. I didn't know that. Not back then."
She toyed with the hem of her shirt.
"It was little things at first," she continued. "He didn't like my friends. Said they were 'bad influences.' Said they didn't respect me. Said they were jealous. And I believed him. I stopped hanging out with them."
John's brow creased. "He isolated you."
She nodded. "Then it was the clothes. The way I talked. How I laughed too loud. How I embarrassed him in public. I started to shrink around him. Started to measure my words."
Her voice cracked a little, but she pushed through it. "But he never yelled. Not at first. He didn't need to. He'd just go quiet. Ice cold. Wouldn't touch me. Wouldn't look at me. And I'd panic—start apologizing for things I didn't even understand."
John didn't interrupt. He just listened.
"I thought if I was better, he'd stop pulling away," she said. "I thought I was the problem."
She wiped her hands on her jeans, smudging the grease further, but didn't seem to care.
"I didn't realize it was abuse until the first time he shoved me. And even then, I thought… maybe I deserved it."
John's jaw clenched, but his voice was calm when he said, "You didn't."
She looked at him, eyes glassy but clear. "You'd be surprised how good they are at making you forget who you are. He used to tell me I was nothing without him. That I wasn't strong. That I'd never survive on my own."
"And now you're here," John said softly.
She looked around the garage. "Yeah. And for the first time in a long time… I don't feel trapped."
There was a pause. Not heavy—just full.
She added, "It's weird. Just being able to talk without watching every word. Without wondering if what I say will set someone off."
John nodded. "It's not weird. It's called freedom."
She gave a small laugh. "I forgot what it felt like."
They sat in that quiet for a bit longer before Sarah looked over at him.
"You always this good at listening?"
John smirked. "Nope. Normally I avoid talking like the plague."
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
He nodded. "I've spent years saying less than necessary. Folks around here think I'm antisocial. Some think I'm just an asshole."
"I haven't decided yet," she teased.
He chuckled. "Fair enough."
She studied him for a moment. "You ever been in love?"
John took a breath, the question catching him off guard. "Not in the way you're thinking. I've had someone. But it didn't stick."
"Why not?"
"I wasn't ready," he said honestly. "I thought I was. But back then I was still angry. Still grieving. And I didn't know how to let someone close without feeling like I was letting someone else go."
"Your sister?"
He nodded. "Lilly."
Sarah was quiet for a moment. "She must've been amazing."
"She was," he said. "Loud. Bossy. Always right. Drove me insane. But she lit up every room."
"Sounds familiar," Sarah murmured with a soft smile.
John tilted his head. "You've got that spark too, you know."
She looked down, unsure how to respond. The compliment landed somewhere unfamiliar inside her, but it didn't feel unwelcome.
"I don't know who I am anymore," she said.
"That's alright," he replied. "You've got time to figure it out."
She looked up. "And what if I never find her again?"
John leaned forward, meeting her eyes. "Then you build someone stronger. Someone who remembers everything she's been through and still gets up."
Sarah's eyes welled with tears, but she didn't look away this time. She just nodded.
"Thanks for not treating me like I'm broken."
"You're not," John said. "You're healing. Big difference."
The radio crackled in the background, the blues song fading into something softer. The rain had stopped. Sunlight was starting to push through the garage windows.
Sarah wiped her eyes. "So… do I get a raise yet?"
John grinned. "You sweep one floor and now you want benefits?"
"I've got ambition."
He stood and offered her a hand. "Come on, let's pretend to be useful. We'll confuse the hell out of anyone watching."