“Eight hundred jobs.”
Jake set down the keys.
Claire sat.
“I can save both.”
“How?”
“Move production.”
“Take lower margins.”
“Delay another project.”
“Then why aren't you?”
“Shareholder pressure.”
Jake leaned against the Mustang.
“What do you want?”
“I don't know.”
He stared.
Claire laughed tiredly.
“What?”
“You always know.”
“Not tonight.”
Jake walked closer.
She looked up.
He rested both hands on the bench beside her.
“Then don't decide tonight.”
“Board meets at eight.”
“That’s ten hours.”
“Sleep.”
She laughed.
“You think sleep solves corporate restructuring?”
“It solves stupidity caused by exhaustion.”
Claire leaned forward.
Rested her forehead against his chest.
Jake stopped.
Then placed one hand gently on her hair.
She whispered:
“I hate being responsible for people I don't know.”
“That sounds like you care.”
“It sounds exhausting.”
“Both.”
Claire stayed there.
Quiet.
Jake kissed the top of her head.
She looked up.
“Can I stay?”
“At the garage?”
“With you.”
His expression softened.
“Yes.”
No questions.
No assumptions.
They went home.
Lily was at a friend’s house.
Claire stood inside Jake’s small apartment above the garage for the first time.
She looked around.
Couch older than both of them.
Books.
Tools.
Photographs.
A half-finished school model covering the dining table.
Jake suddenly became self-conscious.
“It's not the Grand Harmon.”
Claire set her bag down.
“Thank God.”
She walked toward him.
Jake looked at her.
“Claire.”
“Yes?”
“You don't have to pretend this is romantic.”
“I’m not.”
She touched his chest.
“I've spent the entire day in rooms where everybody wanted something from me.”
“You asked if you could stay.”
“You said yes.”
“That's romantic enough.”
Jake smiled.
She kissed him.
Slow.
Warm.
Nothing hurried.
Later, rain tapped the windows above the garage while the city quieted below.
Claire lay beside him listening to the occasional cooling tick from metal downstairs.
She smiled.
“What?”
Jake asked.
“You smell like motor oil.”
“Compliment?”
“Strangely.”
Jake laughed.
Claire traced one finger along a scar near his wrist.
“You never told me how this happened.”
“Engine mount.”
“Dangerous?”
“Only if you're stupid.”
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
She smiled.
Jake looked at her.
No blazer.
No CEO.
No mechanic.
Just Claire.
He kissed her forehead.
She whispered:
“Do you ever wish I wasn't…”
“What?”
“All of it.”