Page 70 of Matchmaking On The Menu

It was harmless.

It was harmless… but it works.

It’s something I’ve leaned into with Luke for as long as we’ve been friends.

My dad is a complete control freak. My parents had me later in life, and when he retired from the military, we moved to Boudica Springs to be closer to his brother—Quadri’s dad—which is how we ended up close with that whole side of the family, including Shelly. But leaving the military didn’t mean it ever really left him. He trusts no one. He’s always treated me like I’m seconds away from being kidnapped and used against the government.

His whole mindset has always been that I should be seen and not heard. So even though the girls don’t treat me that way, it’s not exactly a stretch for me to play it up with Luke since people don’t take me seriously.

My gaze drifts back to him. “Luke?” I keep my voice soft so I don’t break his focus.

“Hang on,” he calls from under the car. “Just—one sec.”

A metallic clink echoes through the space, followed by a low, frustrated exhale that I feel more than hear.

I pause where I am, watching the slight shift of his boots, and how his heel taps once against the concrete, like he’s arguing with the problem instead of solving it.

He doesn’t rush. That’s something I’ve always noticed about him. Even when something isn’t working, he stays with it. Completely focused as if the answer is already there, and he just has to find the right angle.

“Okay, that’s not…” Another pause. “That’s really not⁠—”

I bite back a smile. Some things never change. I take a small step forward, then another, my flats sounding louder than they should against the concrete. I consider waiting him out and staying right here, where things are easy and familiar and I don’t have to say anything at all. But that’s not why I’m here.

“Do you… need a hand?” I ask, softer than I meant to.

He doesn’t answer right away. I don’t take it personally. He’s likely still locked in, arguing with whatever part refuses to cooperate.

A soft huff of amusement comes from under the car. “You offering or just being polite?”

“Offering,” I say quickly, before I can overthink it. “I mean, I can grab tools or hold something or… not be in the way.” I wince slightly. “I’m very good at that last one.”

Another small shift. The scrape of metal against metal.

“You’ve never been in the way,” he says, like it’s obvious. Like it always has been. And that, more than anything, loosens something in my chest.

I’ve always helped him. Passed him spanners that were slightly too big for my hands when I was ten. Held flashlights at angles I didn’t understand while he tried to explain what he was doing in words that made no sense to me at the time. Sat on the edge of the driveway while he worked, asking questions just to hear him answer them. He never made me feel like I was hovering. Never made me feel like I was too much. Or too little. No, he made me feel seen and heard. Useful and wanted.

“Okay,” he adds after a second. “Grab me the twelve-mil? Should be on the bench behind you.”

“Got it.”

I turn, scanning the cluttered workbench until I find the wrench. I pick it up, the metal cool against my fingers, and step back toward him. For a second, I hesitate because this part is easy. This… standing just outside his line of sight, passing him what he needs, existing on the periphery of his focus… this is where I’ve always fit. Safe, quiet and useful.

I crouch slightly and place the tool in his waiting hand. Our fingers don’t touch. I don’t know why I notice that.

“Thanks,” he says, already back to it.

I stay there a moment longer than I need to.

Because the second he rolls out from under that car, the second he actually looks at me, I have to stop being the girl who hands him tools and start being the girl who asks for something. This wasn’t part of the plan. I was supposed to walk in, say his name, and guide the conversation exactly where I needed it to go. I wasn’t supposed to stall.

“Hey, hold this for me?”

I blink, a little slow to catch up. “Oh… okay.”

A moment passes, then his hand appears from under the car, reaching without looking. I move closer, crouching slightly, trying to figure out where he means.

“Here,” he murmurs, gently nudging my hand into place. “Just keep it steady.”