He's just there. I didn't hear him approach, didn't see him move. One second he was thirty feet away, the next he's standing close enough that I can see the flecks of grease on his forearms.
"Bag gave out," he says.
His voice is lower than I expected. Rougher. The kind of voice that doesn't waste words.
"I — yeah. Thank you." I'm clutching the other bags like they might try to escape too. "You didn't have to?—"
"Eggs are shot." He's looking at the mess on the ground, then back at me. "Sauce is fine."
"Great. That's — great." I'm aware that I'm standing here like an idiot while he holds my pasta sauce. "I can take that."
He doesn't hand it over. Instead, he reaches out and takes two of the bags from my arms — the heaviest ones — and starts walking toward my porch.
I follow him, Amelia trailing behind us with her single small bag clutched to her chest. He sets the bags down by the door, places the sauce jar on top, and turns to face me.
This close, I can see his eyes are a dark hazel. The lines around them are deeper than I thought. He's definitely in his forties. And he's looking at me with an expression I can't quite read — not unfriendly, not friendly either. Just... assessing.
"Diesel," he says.
"What?"
"My name. Diesel." A pause. "Nickname."
"Oh." I shift the remaining bags in my arms. "Gracie. And this is Amelia."
He nods at my daughter. "Hey."
"You're really tall," Amelia says.
"Yep."
"Are you taller than my dad?"
My stomach drops, but Diesel just shrugs. "Don't know your dad."
"He's pretty tall," Amelia says, like she's giving him fair warning. Then, apparently done with the conversation, she turns to me. "Mom, can I go play now?"
"Put your bag inside first. And stay in the yard."
She disappears through the door. I turn back to Diesel, suddenly very aware that we're standing close together on my porch and I still haven't thanked him properly.
"Thank you," I manage. "For the save. And the carrying."
"No problem." He's already stepping back, creating distance. "You need help with the eggs?"
"What? No — no, I'll clean it up. It's fine."
"Hose it down before it bakes. Sun's brutal this time of year."
"Right. Yeah. I'll do that."
He nods. Turns to go.
"She watches you, you know," Amelia's voice pipes up from the doorway. I didn't hear her come back. "From the kitchen window. Like, a lot."
The ground can open up and swallow me now. That would be fine.
I close my eyes. Count to three. When I open them, Diesel is still standing there, but there's something at the corner of his mouth that might be amusement.
