The morning was already warm, sunlight creeping through the high shop windows and casting long shafts across the floor. The faint scent of coffee lingered in the air, mingled with the familiar tang of motor oil and metal. John stood hunched over the hood of a dusty F-150, elbow-deep in its guts, brow furrowed in quiet concentration.
Sarah swept the far end of the shop with calm focus, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail, sleeves rolled up. She wore one of John's old T-shirts, knotted at the waist, and jeans from a Walmart run that finally fit her right. She moved with newfound ease, a quiet confidence beginning to take root.
The door creaked open, shattering the morning quiet with boots on concrete.
Clyde.
Eighty years old, give or take a few wars, with a trucker cap that should've been retired years ago. Suspenders hitched over a shirt so faded it seemed to have one foot in retirement too, pocket stuffed with pens and pencils. He carried a thermos like it was his lifeline, his expression perpetually hovering between mild amusement and complete disdain for humanity.
"Mornin', sunshine!" Clyde hollered, his voice a raspy drawl that echoed off the metal walls.
John didn't bother looking up. "You're late."
"Son, I'm retired. My watch only says 'early' or 'too damn early.' Anyway, blame the teenaged menace driving fifteen miles an hour in front of me. She had a bumper sticker that said 'Don't Rush Me.' Believe me, I thought about nudging her along."
Sarah burst into giggles, quickly masking it with a cough.
Clyde turned to her with a sly grin. "Ah, there's my favorite whirlwind. You're the reason I nearly broke a hip slipping on my own reflection in the floor."
Sarah smiled warmly, her eyes twinkling. "Good morning, Clyde."
"Got any more muffins? Last time I ate somethin' that moist, Eisenhower was president."
"Jesus, Clyde," John groaned.
"What? I'm eighty, not eight feet under."
Sarah bit her lip, desperately stifling laughter as Clyde soaked in the victory of another perfectly awkward moment.
John finally wiped his hands and faced Clyde, resigned. "Can we make it through a morning without you embarrassing everyone?"
Clyde paused thoughtfully. "Now where's the fun in that?"
"Alright, Clyde," John said sharply, setting his wrench down and fixing the older man with a stern glare. "We need to talk. Some things just aren't appropriate, especially in mixed company."
"Mixed company?" Clyde raised his eyebrows mockingly. "You mean humans and mechanics?"
"You know exactly what I mean," John scolded firmly. "There's humor, and then there's crossing the line. Sarah doesn't need to hear half the things you think are funny."
Clyde's eyes softened slightly, though his mischievous smile remained. "John, if I didn't cross a few lines, you'd think I'd gone senile. But alright, point taken. I'll keep it PG."
Sarah looked at John appreciatively, her blush fading into a grateful smile. "It's okay, Clyde. We love your jokes—most of the time."
"See, John?" Clyde beamed. "She appreciates my genius."
John rolled his eyes but couldn't help smiling slightly. "Just try to behave, alright?"
"I'll try," Clyde promised dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. "But no guarantees."
They settled back into their rhythm, the shop again filling with the sounds of tinkering, sweeping, and occasional laughter—though now Clyde occasionally shot John exaggerated questioning looks before making any further jokes, earning exaggerated sighs in response.
John sighed. "Torque wrench is in drawer two."
Clyde opened the drawer and whistled. "Organization, John? Who hurt you?"
Sarah laughed outright now, leaning against her broom. Clyde gave her a conspiratorial wink. "You two look mighty cozy lately. When's the wedding?"
John nearly dropped his wrench. "Clyde, stop."
"I'm serious!" Clyde persisted, feigning innocence. "I'm not getting younger and you two ain't getting less obvious."
"We're not dating," Sarah insisted, a blush spreading rapidly across her cheeks.
"Then someone oughta tell your faces," Clyde chuckled, delighted with himself.
"You're insufferable," John groaned.
"True, but I'm also usually right," Clyde shot back cheerfully.
Sarah decided to play along, eyes bright with mischief. "Is he always this difficult, Clyde?"
"Since birth. Poor nurse slapped herself instead of him."
John gave a half-hearted glare. "Don't encourage him."
"Sorry," she shrugged playfully, not sorry at all.
"Come on, John," Clyde teased. "You're slower than syrup today. You makin' love to that wrench or fixin' somethin'?"
"Ever think your life might be longer if your mouth was quieter?" John retorted.
"Nope. Talkin's my superpower. That, and driving slowly behind impatient people."
Sarah leaned her broom aside, hands on hips, thoroughly amused. "So, Clyde, how did you meet John anyway?"
Clyde sipped thoughtfully from his thermos. "Found him here, grumbling at an engine like it insulted his mother. Looked pitiful, figured he needed me."
"I definitely didn't," John muttered.
"See? Still in denial," Clyde whispered loudly to Sarah.
"Honestly," Sarah laughed softly, "I can't imagine this place without you."
"Neither can he, though he'd never admit it," Clyde smirked.
They fell into a rhythm, John tinkering, Sarah sweeping, Clyde occasionally rearranging tools incorrectly just to irritate John.
"Seriously, Clyde," John grumbled, "do you intentionally sabotage my organization?"
"Keeps you humble. Plus, confusion keeps your brain sharp," Clyde replied innocently.
"My brain would be sharper if you weren't actively dulling it."
Clyde patted John's shoulder. "I'm sharpening your wit, son. Someday you'll thank me."
John sighed dramatically. "Today isn't that day."
After another hour of work interspersed with Clyde's never-ending commentary, Sarah joined John by the truck. "Is Clyde always... Clyde?"
"Unfortunately, yes," John sighed. "He was worse when he was younger. Hard to believe, I know."
"He's hilarious," Sarah smiled.
"That's the terrifying part," John said dryly. "Your approval encourages him."
"I think you secretly like the torture."
"Masochism wasn't on my bucket list, believe it or not."
Clyde returned, catching only the end of their conversation. "Ah, masochism. So you finally agree to lunch?"
"Not happening," John replied immediately.
"Come on, son. You're young, mostly single, and utterly hopeless. Go have lunch."
Sarah hid a smile behind her hand, enjoying the show.
"I have a shop to run," John said firmly.
"Correction: you have a shop to hide in," Clyde pointed out. "Big difference."
Sarah raised an eyebrow teasingly. "You afraid of lunch, John?"
John gave her a pointed look. "Lunch with Clyde? Always."
"Who said anything about me? Take the girl," Clyde persisted, grinning.
Sarah laughed openly now, blushing slightly. "Thanks, Clyde. I'm flattered."
"He's hopeless," Clyde shrugged dramatically. "Some people just don't want happiness."
Eventually, Clyde wandered off to "rest his arthritis," which was code for "find pie." John and Sarah stood quietly side by side, comfortable silence settling over them.
"He's a handful," Sarah said softly.
John nodded, smiling faintly. "He's family. A loud, annoying, irrepressible family."
Sarah smiled, nudging him gently. "You're lucky."
"I guess I am," John admitted grudgingly, eyes softening. "How about you? Doing okay today?"
Sarah's expression softened, eyes sincere. "Yeah. Better."
He nodded quietly. "Good."
They shared a comfortable silence, each letting Clyde's jokes and teasing fade into warmth between them. Something new hung in the air, tentative but hopeful.
"Lunch?" John finally asked, breaking the silence.
She smiled gently. "Lunch sounds great."
And somewhere, Clyde was undoubtedly smiling, victorious.