Page 132 of Revv

I lean back over the engine just to double-check, but nothing here is going to magically become fixable because she’s impatient.

“We need a shop.”

The little bit of humor drops right out of her face.

“No. We need to go home.”

“I agree.”

“So fix it.”

I laugh once and look over at her. “You really think if you say it with more attitude, a wrench is gonna appear in my hand?”

“It’s worth trying.”

“Unfortunately, no.”

She blows out a breath and presses both hands to her forehead.

There it is.

Not sass anymore.

Actual stress.

I pull out my phone and call for a tow before she can start threatening the car directly.

The wait is about forty-five minutes, and Cece spends most of it pacing the edge of the parking lot while I sit on the curb.

Every few minutes she comes back, checks the hood like maybe the Civic has reconsidered, then starts listing everything she needs to do once we get home.

“I have work. Guac is probably emotionally filing for emancipation, and my laundry is sitting in the machine from before we left.”

I look up at her. “You left laundry in the machine?”

“No, cabrón. I moved it. That is not the point.”

“Good, because that would’ve been a real emergency.”

She glares at me. “You are enjoying this too much.”

“I’m not enjoying the car being broken. I’m enjoying you trying to personally negotiate with reality.”

“Ay, cállate.”

She walks away again, muttering something under her breath that definitely contains my name and probably an insult.

By the time the tow truck arrives, she has called her mom, checked her email enough times to wear out the refresh button, and threatened to sell the Civic. Twice.

The shop is only fifteen minutes away, which helps.

The mechanic taking one look under the hood and making a face almost identical to mine does not.

Cece catches it immediately.

“Oh, no.”

The guy looks up. “What?”