His expression softens. “My grandpa was at CalTech in the 60s,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “He was oneof the first scientists to hypothesize about Europa’s subsurface ocean.” It should be illegal for anyone to look this good doing community service talking about science data. His dark hair falls in his eyes as he leans on his hand, his jaw clenched in concentration. The sleeves of his black shirt are rolled up, showing forearms corded with muscle.
He catches me staring and raises an eyebrow, and suddenly the air is ten degrees hotter. “What did you think about their methodology for detecting chemical signatures?”
I blink.
Right.
Science chat.
“Uh, I mean, it was ok. It would probably be more accurate if they used an SEM machine as well as XRF data. But I understand that it’s an expensive machine to run so they probably got some good info. And I did wonder…anyway, it’s not my area of expertise.”
“No, go on. What did you wonder about?”
My aching arms remind me we’re supposed to be working. “Maybe we should finish this first? Before Janine finds us debating space ocean chemistry instead of actually building anything?”
“Right.” He grabs another pole, but doesn’t break eye contact. “Though we’re definitely continuing this conversation later.”
“Is that a threat or a promise, Spencer?” The words come out more flirtatious than intended.
“Both.” His voice drops lower, rough in a way that makes heat pool in my stomach. “I like hearing your thoughts about my research.”
“Oh.” I check my phone, trying to ignore how close he’s standing. “I should go soon. Got orientation at Luzia.”
I brace myself for his raised eyebrows, the careful suggestions that maybe a bar job isn’t the best idea.
But Alfie just nods. “Good experience. Hospitality work teaches you a lot about people.”
I stare at him, thrown by the lack of protest. “That’s... not what everyone else thinks.”
“What do they usually think?”
“Oh, you know. That it’s dangerous, or beneath me, or how I should focus on my studies instead.”
“You’re an adult. Pretty sure you can handle pouring drinks without a committee voting on it.”
A laugh escapes me. “Try telling that to Troy.”
“Troy is just being a big brother.”
“I know.” I sigh. “He means well.”
“I work late at the lab most nights,” he says after a moment. “I can give you rides after your shifts if you need them. Mountain Springs isn’t great for late-night transport.”
My first instinct is to refuse. I don’t needanyone’shelp. But then I remember the twenty-minute wait for an Uber when I was out last weekend, and how the closest bus stop to Luzia is a fifteen-minute walk.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.” He starts gathering his things, not looking at me. “Just an option. It’s basically on the way anyway.”
I bite my lip, considering. “Maybe sometimes. If it’s really not out of your way.”
He nods like it’s settled. “Text me your schedule when you get it.”
And somehow, that’s that. No lectures about safety, nosuggestions that I’m making a mistake. Just a practical solution offered without fanfare.
It’s kind of nice, actually.
“Thanks,” I say, then add because I can’t help myself, “But I’m not helpless, you know.”
