"Elowen's closer," Raff says.
I look at the tool chest, then at the underside of the car where Perrin's legs are sticking out. "I don't know what a three-eighths is," I say honestly.
"It's the socket wrench," Perrin says. "Third drawer. Silver handle."
I find it, hop off the bench, and crouch down to pass it under the car. Perrin's hand finds it in the dark, his fingers brushing mine in the process, and I hear a quiet "thank you" from somewhere near the exhaust pipe.
I straighten up and turn, catching Raff staring directly at my ass. His eyes shoot up to my face, and he winks, completely shameless.
"She's infinitely more useful than you," Perrin calls out to Raff.
"I'm supervising," Raff says, completely unruffled.
“You’re staring at Elle and you know it,” Perrin snips, but there’s no real heat in it.
Raff smiles, watching me as I climb back onto the workbench, his gray eyes warm and a little wicked. "You look good up there."
"I'm just sitting on a workbench."
"Yeah," he says simply, like that's a complete answer. “Real good.” His gaze lingers on my exposed thighs, and I look down, trying to hide my smile.
The morning passes like that.
Easy and unhurried, the radio playing something classicfrom a speaker mounted near the office door. I listen to the sound of metal on metal and Perrin's occasional commentary drifting up from under the car. Raff moves between “supervising”, grabbing Perrin’s ass, and actually working.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt this normal.
Around midday, Odette walks in through the open bay.
She's wearing dark jeans and a rich plum-colored silk blouse, her silver hair immaculate, and a designer bag over one shoulder. She takes in the shop as she steps inside. Her eyes find me on the workbench and they light up.
"There she is," she says, strolling over. She stops in front of me and looks me over once, top to bottom, then nods like I've passed some kind of inspection. "You look much better, omega.”
"I feel better," I say.
"Good." She sets her bag on the bench beside me and leans against it, crossing her long legs at the ankle. "Scoot over."
I scoot.
"So." Odette picks up my mug, takes a sip of my coffee without asking, and sets it back down. "How are you settling in?"
"Better than expected," I say, which seems to be my answer to everything lately, but it’s true.
"Good." She looks toward the shop, where Raff is now actually working, his head bent over the transmission, tattooed forearms deep in the engine bay. Perrin has rolled out from under the car and is wiping his hands on a shop towel, stealing glances at me when he thinks I'm not looking.
"They're good men," Odette says quietly. "All of them."
"I'm starting to believe that," I say.
She looks at me sideways. "Starting to?"
"I mean it as a compliment," I say quickly. "I guess—" I wrap both hands around my mug. "I'm not used to people being good to me without wanting something back."
Odette is quiet for a moment, watching Raff hand Perrin a socket wrench without being asked. "Sal was like that," she says. "When I first met him. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop." The corner of her mouth lifts. "It never did."
I look at her. "Raff's father?"
"Mm." She picks up my coffee again. "The love of my life."
