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The truck had been giving him trouble again, and Price wasn’t one to ignore problems until they got worse. He liked things in working order, functioning the way they were meant to. Maybe that was why he still held onto this old thing despite it giving him grief every few months. Sentimentality wasn’t something he’d ever claim to have, but the truck had been with him long enough that letting go wasn’t something he entertained. Some things were worth fixing.
That was how he found himself pulling into a small, locally owned garage on the outskirts of town, the kind of place that still had hand-painted signage and a cluttered front desk with paperwork scattered across it. No polished floors or corporate branding, just the raw smell of motor oil and the distant sound of an old radio playing classic rock from the back of the shop. It was a proper mechanic’s garage, the kind run by people who actually knew their way around an engine.
Price stepped out of his truck, glancing around, but it didn’t take long before he caught sight of someone working under the hood of another car. He expected the usual sort—an older mechanic, someone with a permanent grease stain on their hands and a wrench in their back pocket—but instead, he saw you.
You were younger than he expected, too young to be running a shop like this, but the way you moved around the vehicle with familiarity made it clear you belonged here. Your sleeves were shoved up to your elbows, hands already smudged with grease, and the slight furrow in your brow showed that whatever you were working on had your full attention. He wasn’t sure if you’d noticed him yet, so he cleared his throat, drawing your gaze.
“You the one who’s going to take a look at my truck?” Price asked, voice even, testing the waters.
You wiped your hands on a rag tucked into your pocket, giving him a once-over before nodding. "That depends. You the guy who thinks duct tape works on everything, or did someone rat you out?"
Price smirked slightly, not denying it. “It was a temporary solution.”
You let out a short chuckle, shaking your head as you made your way over to his truck. "Yeah, well, a quick fix isn’t always the best fix. Ignore it too long, and you’re just making the problem worse."
That caught his attention. There was something about the way you said it, casual, easy, like you were used to being around men who understood exactly what you meant. Price narrowed his eyes slightly, but he didn’t question it, instead stepping aside to let you work.
As you lifted the hood, Price leaned in slightly, watching as you scanned the engine with a focused gaze. You ran a hand over the hoses, fingers lightly pressing along the lines before stopping at the idle air control valve. With a small frown, you twisted it slightly, then glanced at the throttle body. "Looks like you’ve got a clogged idle control valve," you muttered, reaching for a socket wrench. "Happens when too much carbon builds up—causes rough idling and stalling. Bet it’s been shuddering at stoplights, yeah?"
Price raised a brow, impressed. "That obvious?" You smirked.
"Only if you know what you’re looking for." You loosened the bolts, pulling the valve free and giving it a once-over. "Not too bad, just needs a proper cleaning. Five-minute fix." He had to admit, despite your age, you had the presence of someone who knew their trade well.
“Didn’t think kids your age ran shops like this,” Price said, leaning against the side of the truck.
You didn’t look up, just shrugged. “My dad owns the place. He lets me handle things for college credit—on-hands training.”
Silence stretched between the two of you, save for the occasional clank of a wrench against metal and the distant hum of the radio. You worked with a steady rhythm, hands moving with practiced ease as you dismantled the idle air control valve. Price watched as you examined the piece, tapping a finger against a buildup of carbon inside. With a quiet huff, you grabbed a can of cleaner, shaking it before spraying down the valve, scrubbing at it with a wire brush. The sharp scent of solvent filled the air, mixing with the ever-present smell of motor oil. You gave it another once-over, nodding to yourself before setting it aside to dry. "Should be good in a few minutes," you murmured, more to yourself than to him, before moving on to check the throttle body. Price didn’t mind the quiet. In fact, he preferred it. It let him watch, observe. You worked with a quiet kind of confidence, methodical and sure, and he could respect that.
After a while, you straightened up, wiping your hands on your coveralls before nodding toward the truck. “Try it now.”
Price slid back into the driver’s seat, turning the key, and the engine came to life—smooth, steady, none of the rough coughing it had been doing earlier. He let it idle for a moment, listening, before shutting it off and stepping out.
“Didn’t think it’d sound that good again,” he admitted.
You smirked, crossing your arms. “You doubting my skills?”
“Never.”
You wiped your hands on your rag again, the hint of satisfaction on your face not lost on him. Price pulled out his wallet, flipping it open, but before he could so much as pull out a bill, you waved him off.
“First-time fix is on the house, plus it wasn't that much of fix” you said easily. “Call it a favor.”
Price raised a brow, not a fan of owing people anything, even something as small as this. But the way you said it, casual, like it wasn’t even a question, made him hesitate. He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. “Then let me buy your old man a drink. Call it even.”
You let out a short laugh. “Yeah, not happening. He doesn’t drink anymore.”
Price tilted his head slightly, considering. “Then how about you?”
You hesitated for just a moment, realizing he has no idea how old you were, lips pressing into a thin line before you exhaled. "Sure... but only if I get to pick where."
Price smirked, recognizing the flicker of something guarded in your expression. "Fair enough. Where's your spot?"
You wiped your hands off on your coveralls, thinking for a moment before shrugging. "I know a spot—good music, decent crowd, little bit rundown. My dad's uh buddy runs the joint. You alright with that?"
Price let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Can’t say I expected that answer, but I’ll roll with it, see you at..."
"Oh, I'm off at 6 tonight." You supply.
"Perfect, see you at 6."