Page 71 of Matchmaking On The Menu

“Okay,” I say, quieter now.

I focus on what he’s shown me, on the small piece of metal under my fingers, holding it exactly where he needs it. It’s simple. I know how to do it. But my hand feels… different. Like I’m suddenly too aware of it. You know, like you are suddenly aware you might fail the job at hand.

“Like this?” I ask, just to make sure.

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s perfect. Keep it steady.”

I nod, even though he can’t see me from where he is, focusing on the pressure under my fingers, the slight resistance of whatever I’m holding in place. It feels important, which is ridiculous, because I have no idea what it actually does. Still, I don’t move. The familiarity of it catches me off guard for a second. Not because it’s strange, but because some part of me forgot how easy it is to be around Luke. I’m suddenly very aware of how long it’s been since we’ve done this. We hang out together, sure, but it’s always great to get back to basics.

“Good. Don’t move.”

As soon as he says that, I get a cramp. Shit. My finger twitches.

“You moved.”

I pause. “I adjusted.”

“That’s moving.”

I bite back a smile. There’s no anger in his tone. No frustration like he knew I would fail because I’m just a girl.

For a moment, it’s just the sound of tools shifting, the radio humming somewhere between stations, Luke singing off-key. I take a deep breath as the word hit me. Safe.

A few seconds later, he exhales. “Okay, got it.”

I feel it before I see it, the change, the release of pressure under my fingers, the way the resistance gives and suddenly there’s nothing holding me there anymore. My hand hovers for a second, like it doesn’t quite know what to do without the task anchoring it, then I pull it back. Time to get on with it.

“That’s it,” he says.

I’m not ready. Ridiculous, because I knew this part was coming. But knowing and being prepared are not the same thing.

Luke slides out from under the car and sits up, dragging a hand over the back of his neck before standing. There’s a smear of grease along his jaw I don’t think he knows is there, and his hair is doing that slightly messy thing it always does when he’s been working.

And now he’s looking at me properly.

“Hey,” he says, like this is just another normal day in his garage and not me about to manipulate him. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, a little too quickly because maybe this isn’t a good idea. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Silence stretches between us. He tilts his head, studying me in that quiet way of his that always makes me feel like he’s seeing more than I’m saying. “You didn’t come all the way out here just to hand me tools.”

It’s not a question. I press my lips together, then let them part again before I can overthink it.

Say it. Keep it simple.

He doesn’t move away. Just watches me for a second, like he’s waiting for the rest of it.

I press my lips together, then let out a small breath before I can stop myself. “They called me the baby again.”

There it is. It sounds smaller out loud than it did in my head.

Luke’s expression changes just enough that I can see he’s paying attention now.

“At the diner,” I add, because apparently I feel the need to clarify my own statement. “It was just… a joke. I know it was. It’s always a joke.”

“But,” he prompts gently.

I shrug, trying to make it look like it doesn’t matter. “But it sticks.”