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The sound of metal clanging brings my attention back to Sly, who’s rummaging around the cart. After grabbing something, he walks back over and stops in front of me and Eddie.

He looks down into my eyes before he extends a hand. “You know what this is?”

Breaking his intense eye contact, I look at the oily piece of metal in his open hand. “I’m going to assume that’s my transmission’s magnetic drain plug.” I recognize the piece of metal, which is comically small in his hand, from all the times he worked on cars growing up. “Don’t think I forgot Eddie’s lesson on not over-tightening those.”

His dad laughs, but I don’t look away this time. There’s no mistaking it—Sly does, in fact, smile. “Correct. This is what was attached to it when I pulled it out.”

He holds out his other hand and uncurls his fingers, revealing a handful of tiny shards of metal. I consider myself fortunate that I’m car savvy—thanks almost entirely to the two men I’m standing with now—but my knowledge is still limited. Even then, I know that those seemingly inconsequential bits of metal are absolutely not supposed to be in my transmission’s fluid unless something has gone catastrophically wrong.

Dammit. I throw my head back and groan because, as usual, Sly is right.

While giving the dealer who did my last service an earful is going to be high on my to-do list, finding out how long this is going to take to fix just moved straight to the top.

“Since it’s ‘beyond repair’,” I say, adding air quotes, prompting a curt nod from Sly and a huff of laughter from Eddie, “I’m assuming we’re going to need to find a new transmission?”

Sly rocks his head side to side, again drawing my eyes to his muscular neck. He was always imposing with his height, but standing this close, I feel like he must have grown at least a few inches since high school. Chalk one up to Grandma Sterling’s home cooking and diner food, I guess.

“Ehh. Dad’s good at finding parts, but a whole new transmission’s not going to be the easiest. Ever since the pandemic and the boom in outdoor recreation, there’s been a waitlist for buying these vans and spare parts. We might get lucky and find a new one at a parts warehouse, or maybe look for a good, reconditioned used one and save a little⁠—”

“No. Let’s do it right. Find a new one. I don’t want this to happen again.” I cut him off.

His lips twitch with that barely-there hint of a smile. “Good call. In that case, Dad will start calling around on Monday when the parts warehouses open. But Josie, this won’t be a quick fix. Even if—big if—we find one soon, it won’t arrive until late next week. Worst case, we have to get on a list to get one from the manufacturer, and that could be a three or four week wait.”

Shit. Weeks? That’s going to be tight with the festival. It might keep me from meeting up with Grace, unless I want to tag along in her van if mine isn’t ready.

My jaw tenses, and I feel my lips tighten into a line. I shake my head, exhaling through my nose.

“It is what it is, I guess.”

“I’ll do my best. Who knows, maybe I can work a miracle,” Eddie adds, offering me an optimistic smile that oddly seems to put me at ease, just a bit.

Sly shifts on his feet, and when I look back at him, I’m caught off guard. Instead of that cool indifference or barely-there smile, his eyes have softened and the corner of his mouth lifts into an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Wish I had better news.”

I shrug. “It’s not your fault.”

“Still, I’m sure you’d rather be stuck anywhere but here.” The look he gives me and the tone of his voice are not the ones I expect. I think he’s upset for me, not about me being here. That is an idea that I don’t know what to do with. “Sisi’s got you set up at the motel, right?”

“Oh, she’s more than set up.” Eddie stands, and before I realize what’s happening, he’s at my side, wrapping an arm around my shoulder, bringing me in for a sideways hug. He still towers over me—not quite like Sly, but awfully close—which means I sort of just awkwardly headbutt his shoulder. “I made sure Sisi gave her the family discount after running into them at the diner this morning.”

“The what now?” I ask, looking up at Eddie.

“He means your room is free,” Sly says dryly.

I shake my head, craning my neck to look back at Eddie. “No, I can’t let you do that.”

I flash a pleading smile, but I know it’s pointless.

“Nonsense. Why own a motel if we can’t take care of friends and family when they come to town,” he says, letting go of me. Something about the way he lumps me into those two categories stirs a sense of warmth in my heart that I’ve only felt a handful of times over the years. I have to remind myself that while most of their family might feel that way, the rest of the town doesn’t.

Eddie turns and starts heading back to the office, but not before pulling at my heartstrings one last time. “Sisi’s going to love having you around, however long it is. She won’t admit it, but she’s been in a funk and needed something like this. Anyway, I’m going to close up the office and head home. I know it might be a lot, but I know the missus would love to see you, too. Stop by for dinner or come to the pool sometime if you’re up for it? It’s only open a couple more weeks before we close it for the year.”

He points a pleased grin at Sly and me, then simply turns and walks into the office. He shuts the door behind him like this was just a normal, everyday exchange, leaving us standing in the garage like two clueless idiots who don’t really know what to do with any of this.

“He’s right, you know.” Sly’s voice is a low rumble from beside me. He stays focused on the closed door, and from here, I get a good look at his profile once I crook my neck to look up at him. Last night and earlier in the diner, I was so caught off guard that I didn’t really take in all his subtle features. I know he’s twenty-eight, like me, and by all accounts would be considered young, but I can see just how much older he looks. Nicks and little scars line his beard, probably from all the time spent working under cars, and the faintest of creases have started to form at the corners of his eyes. I don’t quite know how to describe it, but it looks like he’s been through hell.

The part of me I’ve tried to bury deep and lock away wants to know why that is. I ignore that part because I don’t want to care.

“He’s right about what?”