Work Text:
Miranda had been working at the garage going on six months now. That was a long time. It might just be the longest she'd ever held down a job. And she was grateful, don't get her wrong, that Shannon gave her a chance. He'd seen her hanging around his shop, eyeing the cars with a desperate hunger. Approached her with a coffee and sandwich every couple of days–not often enough to spook her off, he’d explained, like she was a damn cat–but enough to get to know her. Gauge her interest.
Once she'd spilled that she was a mechanic's daughter, that the cost of the hospital bills and then the funeral had decimated all her savings, stole any assets or investments her dad had tried to leave her, he'd hired her on the spot.
Soft soul that one. Always picking up strays. She was shocked it hadn't backfired yet.
But she was grateful, endlessly so, that he'd picked her up. Steady income and no judgment let her finally get back on her feet. The debt was still there–at this rate she thought it might never vanish–but she had a shitty apartment now. Food she got from the grocery store and not from the pity of people passing by. Coworkers she could almost call friends.
Life was good.
She wasn't the only stray Shannon had picked up though. She was the latest, but the handful of other mechanics at the shop all had similar stories to her and Shannon had nabbed each of them. Gave them a chance at a new life, easy as that.
No one had stuck around as long as the blond kid though. He wasn't even a kid, but no one knew his damn name. Or at least no one called him by his name. It was always “kid”, or “man”, or “blondie” or “hey over here!”. He was quiet. He could take a car apart and put it together in an hour flat. And he scared the shit out of her.
It wasn't really his fault, they’d barely interacted, but quiet types had always creeped her out. Being on the streets as long as she had, she'd learned to read people. See who would be more likely to tolerate some begging, spare some pity and change. Figure out who would beat the shit out of her and who wouldn't. The kid though? She couldn't get a read on him. He didn't talk. He didn't react to anything. He did nothing but fix up the cars. He was a complete blank slate–she'd only seen his face move around Shannon. Freaky shit.
“Hey Mandy!”
“Don't call me that,” she snapped, without any real heat, while knee deep in a fucking Kia. Those assholes never stopped breaking down. They always had at least one in the shop.
“We've got a Mustang in lot 6,” George said with a wicked grin.
Miranda straightened out so fast she slammed her head into the car's hood. George hollered with laughter as she hopped around, cussing up a storm.
“Shut the fuck up,” she said, voice squeaky with pain, holding her head as she walked over to him. She could already feel a nasty bump forming. Fucking Kias. “We seriously got a Mustang? How’d we score that one?”
Much as she liked Shannon, he wasn't known for tuning up luxury cars. They never got anything fancier than Jeeps.
George shrugged. “Kid's got a reputation I guess. The client asked specifically for him.”
Miranda perked up. “They give his name?”
George laughed. “‘Course not. Just asked for Shannon's blondie.”
“Damnit.”
“You should just ask him.”
“And admit I don’t know it after six fucking months? Absolutely not.”
“You wouldn't be the first,” George chuckled. “Most of Shannon's recruits never learn his name.”
“Why don't you just tell me?” She scowled.
“Nope!” he said cheerfully. “Shop tradition. Can't break it I'm afraid.”
“It’s a ridiculous tradition,” she complained. “Gatekeeping someone's name is stupid. How long do I have to call him kid? He's older than me!”
George shrugged with a smartass grin. She really ought to sock him in the face one of these days. He'd deserve it.
“I bet you don't know it either,” she grumbled.
“I can neither confirm nor deny.”
“Kill yourself.”
He laughed.
Shannon's blondie walked past, absentmindedly wiping his hands on a rag. He evidently heard what she'd said given the quick glance he shot them. She couldn't read the expression on his face, if you could call it that, but his brow was just slightly furrowed. Like microscopically. Blink and you miss it. Concern maybe? She'd worry about him reporting her to HR if they had one.
“Hey man,” George greeted when he spotted him. “Shannon tell you about the Mustang?”
Blondie didn't respond, just slightly dipped his head. He was chewing on a toothpick of all things. Couldn't he just smoke like the rest of them? she thought, immediately irritated. Why a toothpick?
“It’s in lot 6,” George added, as though Blondie wouldn't already know that. Miranda rolled her eyes. She returned her gaze to the Kia, hoping to explode it with her glare alone, which is why she didn't realize George slapped her on the back until the force of it sent her stumbling. “Take Mandy with you, won't ya?”
“I told you not to call me that,” she said, but she'd already made the mistake of showing the nickname annoyed her, and none of the guys had let up on it since.
“Yeah, sure,” Blondie said in that soft tone of his.
Miranda eyed him, but his face was as passive as always. Ugh. So annoying.
Blondie stared at her for another moment then turned and headed over to lot 6. She followed, but not before giving George many rude gestures.
The Mustang was a beauty. It was a 1967 Ford Mustang, a deep navy blue with a white stripe running up the hood. Absolutely gorgeous.
“What's wrong with it?” she asked, running her hand reverently up the side, tracing the mirrors. So pretty! she wanted to squeal.
“Underbody corrosion,” Blondie said.
The owner brought it all the way to the shop just for that? Shannon was definitely going to overcharge too.
“Not too bad then.”
Blondie didn't respond, just went to activate the lift and oooh that was some crazy rust. Oh damn. How the hell did it ever get that bad? Did the owner drive it through the ocean? She wouldn't put it past them. Some real dumbasses lived in San Francisco.
“Want some help?” she said, praying he said yes.
“Sure,” he said. His tongue darted out, playing with the toothpick. He was still holding down the lift button. He looked away, but then he paused, like actually paused. His whole body went completely still, she couldn't even see his chest move, and his eyes went faraway. It sent a chill down her spine.
A moment later, his head turned back. He blinked, blue eyes the most alert she'd ever seen them, and he said, ”Thank you, Miranda.” But he said it strangely. It came out stiff, awkward, but also pleased. She was so distracted by the weirdness of it all, she didn't clock that he knew her name until they were two hours into sanding the rust away.
—
A week had passed since the Incident and she still didn't have his name. It was starting to drive her nuts, but guilt was also curdling in her stomach. Blondie evidently knew hers–he'd used it a handful of times as they worked together on the Mustang–but she still had zero idea what his could be. Could she really just ask? After six months of working together, wouldn't he be offended?
The thought of admitting she had no idea what his name was, of potentially seeing a new expression–one of hurt–made her shy away.
Working on the Mustang had softened her to him. He was surprisingly sweet, despite his off-putting exterior. She'd seen him barely smile a grand total of two times now and his voice was so soft, so gentle, that she couldn't help but let her guard down around him.
There had to be another way of finding out his name. The mechanics never let it slip, but there had to be employee records somewhere, right? Shannon was laid back, but you had to have that kind of shit for the government didn't you? She'd just take a quick snoop in his office. There had to be something.
Just her luck, there was jackshit. She very colourfully cursed Shannon out in her head as she rifled through his useless filing cabinet. Why did he even have the damn thing? All it contained were taxes–she was frankly shocked he even bothered paying taxes, knowing Shannon–a client list, and profit reports. The desk contained similarly useless paperwork.
“Goddamnit Shannon,” she groaned. “Be a bit more put together for once in your life! You're a grownass man!”
She slammed the cabinet door shut, cringing slightly at the metal twang! and stalked out of the office.
At this rate, she might just have to bite the bullet and ask him.
The shop was quiet today. The wet months were just coming to a close, so hopefully less accidents would happen on the street. Or maybe not hopefully, if they needed the business. People drove like jackasses all year long anyway.
She, a fella named Julien who just joined, and Blondie were the only mechanics in. She'd seen Shannon earlier, but he'd wandered off yelling into his phone, so he might end up at the liquor store and take awhile to get back.
The Mustang was finally rust free, but Blondie was working on a few tune ups before returning it to the owner. He was hunched over the hood now, his jeans dangerously tight and his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of a skin.
“Hey,” she said. Blondie only offered her a quick glance before returning to whatever he was doing under the hood. Miranda shuffled, feeling awkward, but with the shop so dead it was now or never. “So uh, I-I never caught your name?” It came out like a question and she cringed. “I tried asking the guys for yours, but they refused to give it to me for some reason. My name's Miranda, obviously,” Jesus Christ could she just shut up? “I'm sorry I didn't ask earlier.”
Blondie emerged from the hood. “That's alright,” he said. A pause, then, “Nice to meet you Miranda.”
He didn't seem to care that the introduction was almost seven months too late. Nor did he seem to care or know how normal conversation worked. They stood there, staring at each other, Miranda waiting and Blondie offering nothing.
“Yeah,” she said, when it became clear Blondie wasn't going to keep talking. “What's yours? Your name I mean.”
Blondie hesitated. He grabbed a rag hanging from the side of the car and wiped his hands. His shoulders were curled, almost sheepish. It was endearing and strange and irritating all at once.
“Wait,” she blurted. “Let me guess. Jesse?”
He stared at her before a small, incredulous smile formed on his face.
“No,” he said.
“Carl?”
“No.”
“Timothy!”
He shook his head, the smile brushing his cheeks now.
“Okay, one more guess then you have to tell me.”
She pondered it for a while, tapping her chin. He was a tall guy, handsome, with endearingly soft cheeks and steely blue eyes. A real heartthrob once you got a good look at him.
“Ryan,” she declared.
That earned her a soft huff–practically a laugh!--but he shook his head. “Casey,” he said. His voice was so soft it was almost a whisper.
Casey. Not what she'd been expecting, but strangely, it suited him.
“Well, it's very nice to meet you, Casey,” she said and stuck her hand out.
He stared before offering his own. His hand was warm, calloused like hers, and he gave a very firm handshake. She smiled at him and nearly jumped with joy when she earned a small, sweet smile in return.
They became something close to friends after that. At least as close as two coworkers could get. She greeted Casey every morning, and he returned it with a small twitch of his lips. Sometimes, they even sat together and ate lunch, though Casey hardly spoke a word. He always had the same thing: a sandwich made with fancy looking multigrain bread, cold cut meat, tomato and lettuce, and it was always dripping with sauce. As a side, some fruit, typically an apple or two oranges, and what looked to be a homemade cookie. It was a different one every week, but his favourite, or at least what he got most often, was double chocolate, and it always came with a small note that made him smile.
“You like to bake?” she asked when she noticed the cookie was consistent.
Casey paused, sandwich halfway to his mouth, and shrugged. “I don't mind it.”
Miranda frowned, but didn't question it further. Maybe he just really loved cookies. Maybe his mom was an avid baker. Who was she to judge? Food was food, but you took comfort where you could.
Trying to hold a conversation with Casey was like trying to swim to shore during a storm–practically impossible–but he was a damn good listener. He'd sit quietly, not utter a single word, not move a single inch. Like he'd become a hyper-real statue. But he had this way of looking at you. He'd stare, face quiet and impassive. His eyes never glazed over, never darted away, even after you'd been rambling for hours.
It should've been intimidating, being under that intense, attentive gaze, but somehow, Miranda found it comforting. She found herself rambling, spilling her guts about things she thought she'd take to the grave. Casey never offered her pity. Never tried to give advice. He just listened with a calm, quiet focus that warmed her from the inside out.
It was nice. Casey felt like a true friend, someone she could trust completely, who wouldn't spill her secrets under any circumstances. She hadn't felt like that with someone since her dad.
“You drive for the movies?” she gasped. It was a slow, hot day. Her baby hairs clung to her forehead and neck and her jumpsuit was sticky with sweat.
Casey, the bastard, looked pretty as a peach, not a speck of sweat visible. He currently had a Honda Sedan in his lot. The owner had driven too long on a flat and completely fucked the axel.
“Sometimes. I don't do it much anymore.”
“Oh wow. Have you met anyone cool? You must've!”
“I didn't do big productions.”
“Come on.” She nudged him. “After how many years of work you didn't meet a single star? Not even one before they hit it big?”
He hummed, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “You remember Shawn Simmers?”
She snorted. “That fuck up from a few years back? Yeah. He's hard to forget. Heard he's in rehab again.”
“I did stunts for one of his. It never released though.”
She whistled. “Witnessing his decline must've been something.”
Casey didn't respond, frowning and focused as he fought with a particularly stubborn bolt, his arms straining against his shirt.
“My ex used to work in the industry,” she said. “He did sound, I think? Not design or editing or anything, just a technician.”
“Sound technicians are important.”
She laughed. “I guess you can’t really make a movie without audio. He worked long hours though, for terrible pay.”
It was partly why they broke up. Her dad was on the decline, so she was on reduced hours and LA was fucking expensive. The financial strain, his long working hours, her spending every spare moment at the hospital, it all compounded on each other until something finally broke.
She couldn’t even remember what their final argument was about. Only the stark, hollow realization that love was no longer enough.
God it had hurt. She’d been so in love. So in love.
“You wanna come get drinks?” she asked, trying to shake her morose mood off. “The boys and I were gonna head over to Lucky's after work.”
Casey startled like a deer in headlights. She could practically hear the gears turning in his head, methodically picking over her words, carefully balancing his response. She let him think it over, twisting back and forth on her stool, relishing in the very slight breeze she created for herself.
“Sure,” he finally said, soft as always.
“Great!” She beamed. “I'll let the guys know.”
She practically buzzed with excitement as they closed up shop. She waited by the end of the driveway with George, Julien, and Michael, waiting for Casey to make his way down. She watched as he spoke quietly with Shannon near the entrance, a sweet smile that seemed to be reserved for their boss on his face. Shannon suddenly laughed and patted him on the back a few times before shoving him down the road.
“Don't stay out too late!” he hollered as Casey walked over to them.
George snorted. “What is he, your dad?”
They did have a close relationship for a boss and employee, she mused. But that was just how Shannon was. Friendly almost to a fault. Plus, Casey had stuck around the longest. It made sense that they were close.
“He isn't,” Casey said.
“They've known each other a long time,” Michael interjected. “How long have you been at the shop?”
“Eleven years.”
Julien whistled. “That's a long time man! You know his pay is dogshit right? With your skills, you could get work at a fancy garage.”
Casey's eyes went cold and everybody winced. Miranda couldn't claim to even begin to understand Casey and Shannon's relationship, but even she knew not to comment on it. They were both protective of each other, but Casey doubly so. She'd seen him have a quiet word with more than one worker before after an ill timed comment or joke and they'd all come back shaking like newborn lambs.
“Why would I work anywhere else," he said. He was staring at Julien, hands deep in his pockets, and holy shit how had she never noticed how tall he was? “Shannon is kind.”
“Very kind!” Miranda hurried to agree. “Honestly, it's a miracle he can afford to pay so many workers. San Francisco is so expensive.”
“It's cause he fleeces our customers,” George laughed. “They can't argue with our work though. Suppose that's why they keep coming back.”
Casey's brow furrowed, but thankfully they arrived at Lucky's before he could open his dumb mouth again. Honestly, had the guy ever seen a social cue? He was a sweetheart underneath, she knew he was, but goddamn sometimes when he opened his mouth she just wanted to shake him a little.
It was a Tuesday evening, so the bar was pretty quiet save for some truckers huddled by the bar, watching whatever sports game was on. It stank of ash and booze and the lighting was so dim she squinted upon entering.
Their little group settled in a booth, ordering a round of beers. Casey, as the tallest, sat on the end, his long legs sticking out slightly and his eyes on the door. His hand rested on the table, but she was surprised to see a phone tucked beneath it. Periodically, he checked it. His expression shifted slightly every time he did.
Miranda was pleasantly tipsy now, veering on properly drunk, and feeling particularly bold. Music hummed beneath her skin, her fingers tapping the rhythm on the table. She found herself swaying back and forth, loose, relaxed, giggling at things that weren't even funny.
She wasn't a sleepy drunk. She was simply louder. Bold.
“Casey!” she said, giddy. He shot her an amused look, lips just barely curled and his eyes light and dare she say happy. She was so happy she could actually read those tiny little micro expressions of his! “How’d you ‘n Shannon meet? I always wanted to know.”
“I asked him for a job,” Casey said, barely audible over the music. “And he hired me.”
“That's it?” said Michael, far too put together to be fair. He'd drunk the most out of all of them. “No sob story like the rest of us?”
Casey mulled the words over. He had another toothpick in his mouth–another weird quirk of his–and he played with it, shifting it back and forth before settling it in the corner of his mouth. He took a sip of his beer. What an excellent idea, Miranda thought, and followed suit, chugging the last of hers.
“I was new to town,” Casey said. “I needed some work and Shannon provided.”
“Oh yeah? Where you from?”
Casey's eyes flickered. He looked cagey suddenly, uncomfortable. Miranda straightened, some of the happy haze of drunkenness fading, ready to change the pushy subject, but to her surprise he answered.
“Arizona.”
“No shit?” Michael said, gleeful. “My girlfriend's from there.”
“Fuck off, no way a loser like you has a girlfriend,” George snickered. “What's her name?”
“I fuckin’ hate Arizona,” Julien slurred. “Way too fucking hot and there's jackshit to do there. Fucking waste of a state.”
“Mirabelle jackass,” Michael said haughtily. “And she's the most gorgeous girl you've ever seen.”
“Whipped!” Julien whopped and slid further down the bench.
“We live in Cali you dumb fuck,” George said. “No way an Arizona girl is hotter than the chicks here.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “This is San Fran, not LA.”
“How ‘bout you Mandy?” George said, tilting dangerously, almost putting all his weight on her. “Dating anyone?”
“Nope,” she said, popping the p. “And you can fuck right off with your questions. My love life isn't your business.”
George grinned. God, she thought, not for the first nor the last time, she really needed to punch him in the fucking face.
“You got anyone?” Michael said before George could open his fat fucking mouth.
Casey stared for a moment. He fiddled with the bottle, twirling it, condensation dripping down the side, pooling at his fingertips. “Yeah.”
Miranda's eyes nearly jumped out of her damn skull. Seriously?! Three weeks into a friendship with this guy and he hadn't once mentioned a girlfriend?!
She felt kinda bad. Now that she thought about it, she knew nothing of Casey's life outside the shop. Did he have siblings? Friends? Hobbies outside of cars? Shit, she didn't even know how old he was!”
“No shit?” George exclaimed, leaning forward. “What’s her name? How long you been together?”
Casey finished off his beer.
“Grace,” he said, softly, sweetly, and oh. A smile she'd never seen before began to bloom on his face, so wide his teeth flashed in the dim light and smile lines she'd never seen emerged, deep and lovely. His eyes gentle and absolutely besotted. “Two years.”
To her mortification, she felt her eyes begin to get a bit glassy. It was just, beautiful, to see a look of absolute adoration, of total love on someone's face. It made her heart swell and ache in equal measure.
God, how sappy. She needed another drink.
“You meet at the garage?” Michael asked. “She bring in her car and swoon over all your-” At this, he made a vague gesture at Casey, grinning sloppily.
Casey’s brow furrowed. Miranda snickered softly. The man had no idea how hot he was despite the amount of customers that hit on him. So many lonely wives had shot their shot and been completely ignored by the oblivious idiot. It was kind of impressive.
“We were neighbours,” Casey said.
Michael’s eyebrows shot up. “Were?”
That soft, adoring smile reappeared. “We live together now.”
He said it reverently, like he couldn’t believe that his girlfriend had deigned to give him the time of day, much less move in with him. Miranda’s already mushy heart mushed further. It was just so sweet!
She had to meet this girl. Anyone who could melt someone as passive and stoic as Casey, make him so dopey with love even a stranger could recognize it, was worth knowing. And she needed to make sure she was just as in love with Casey as he obviously was with her!
How to go about it though… She played with her bottle, spinning and rocking it back and forth, the dull, rhythmic thud pleasant in her ears. Would Casey bring her in if she asked? Maybe she could score an invite to his place and Grace would just happen to be there.
Casey's phone buzzed and he immediately looked at it. His whole face softened at whatever he saw.
“I've gotta go” he said, standing.
“The missus calling you home?” George said and was promptly ignored.
“See you tomorrow!” Miranda called to his retreating back. Casey glanced back with his trademark tiny smile and gave her a two fingered wave.
“So,” George started, the second he was out of earshot. “You think the girl's real?”
Michael scoffed. “You think he'd lie?”
“I'm just saying man! Bit weird how it's never come up before."
“Yeah, because he barely ever talks.”
“She's real,” Miranda interrupted. “Didn't you see the look on his face?”
All three boys stared at her.
“What look?” Michael asked.
“Yeah, what look?” Julien said. “His face barely moved."
“Wha- barely moved?! I've never seen him smile so widely! He even had smile lines!”
George laughed. “Only you and Shannon can read him, Mandy.”
She gaped at them. “You’re all fucking blind.”
That earned her a round of vehement protests.
How could they not see it? The love was so blatant, so earnest. It was written all over his face–hell his eyes sparkled like the sea at sunset.
She took a long drink of her beer. Men. They were all so fucking blind. What did they know about love?
—
She began to wonder about Grace. Even after revealing her to the group, Casey didn't share much about her. Whenever girlfriends came up–and they did frequently because Michael was so obsessed with his Mirabelle it was a bit gross–he clammed up. Would only share a handful of words before fading away from the conversation. Sometimes he flat out left.
It made her a little worried he was so reluctant to talk about her, especially because she knew he was deeply in love. Nothing else could explain the gentle, adoring look in his eye.
Was he worried they'd pressure him somehow? Or that one of the boys would hit on her? But for as insufferable and clumsy as Julien and especially George were, she knew they would never. They'd rib him and tease, but they would never cross that line.
She churned in the worry for days; watching as Casey stepped in and out of conversations. How his back tensed, his eyes unable to rest on any single point whenever Grace came up.
Surely… surely he wasn't in a bad relationship, was he? The way he talked about Grace, utterly devoted and soft, it couldn’t be anything but love, right? She looked over at Shannon, who was examining a car with Casey, giving him the rundown on what the owner wanted.
If something were wrong, Shannon would know. Wouldn't he?
Shannon patted Casey on the arm and broke away. “Alright everyone!” he called, clapping his hands. “Break time!”
It was custom for him to call a smoke break when he was in and for them all to meander out. Even Casey did, though he typically stayed near the garage, back against the cool brick and far away from the smoke as he chewed on a toothpick.
It was a sticky afternoon. The sun pierced through hazy, pale clouds with a blazing, uncomfortable heat. None of them were wearing their jumpsuits correctly; even Casey had his hanging at his waist so he could get a breeze on his bare arms and he was almost always fully covered, temperature be damned. Miranda was tempted to shuck hers entirely off. Her legs felt like they were sitting in an oven.
“You met her?” Miranda asked, exhaling as she did, watching the smoke lazily float off. Julien and Michael were fucking around near the edge of the property like a couple of teenage boys. She eyed them dubiously. They were such children.
Shannon hummed, cupping his hands to light his smoke. The acrid smell of ash flooded her nose, tickling the sensitive nerves and dripping down her throat. She swallowed the urge to cough.
“Who?” he asked, voice raspy.
“Casey's girlfriend.”
He stared at her, a little blank, and Miranda panicked briefly. Had she spilt something Casey would've rather kept quiet? But he told their whole group so casually–he wouldn't have done that if Shannon couldn't know, right?
“Girlfriend,” he said, testing the word, tasting it, salting it with deep amusement. Miranda squinted at him suspiciously.
“What's so funny?”
Shannon's laugh quickly devolved into a wheezing cough. “Nothing nothing,” he managed. “But yes, I've ah, I've met Grace. Gentle soul that one, perfectly suited for the kid.”
“I wanna meet her,” Miranda said. “He ever bring her around?”
The grin on Shannon's face was irritating. What the hell was so funny?
“No,” he said. “Grace doesn't drive a car and the kid does all the maintenance on his own. Plus, they work the same hours. No opportunities to pop by.”
Miranda clicked her tongue. “Damn.”
“You should ask the kid,” Shannon said. “If you ever need to get him talking, just ask about Grace. It's the most words you'll ever hear out of his mouth.”
She smiled at that. “Yeah, he seems pretty smitten. It's sweet.”
Shannon barked a laugh. “You should've seen him when they first met!”
“Love at first sight?”
“Oh, yes,” Shannon said wistfully. “Kid deserves it though. Grace is perfect for him.”
Miranda was very glad to hear it. She’d been friends with Casey for almost a month now and found herself growing deeply fond of him and maybe a little protective. It was a bit ridiculous, considering she was all of 5’5 and he was a towering 6’2. But he had such a caring air about him that she couldn’t help but long to preserve. Despite his stature, despite the obvious strength in his build, he seemed very… fragile. As though a single gentle touch could shatter him completely.
“Not so rough!” Shannon suddenly shouted, making Miranda flinch. Julien and Michael were dangerously close to some of the signage stuck in the lawn, the idiots. “Bunch of toddlers,” he grumbled, limping over to them.
Miranda chuckled, watching him leave. She took another drag of her cig, feeling the smoke wash down her throat and settle in her lungs, the nicotine giving her a nice headrush, before softly exhaling. She flicked her cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out. Fuck, the sun was bright. It was giving her a migraine.
“Alright everyone,” Shannon yelled, ushering the boys back up the driveway. “Break’s over!”
Casey’s nose wrinkled just the slightest bit as she passed by.
“You don’t like smoke?” Miranda asked, holding the door open.
His eyes darted to her. “No,” he said. “I don’t understand why you all do. It smells and tastes horrible.”
Miranda laughed. “The nicotine is worth it!”
Casey's nose wrinkled the slightest bit, his mouth twisting with such disgust his toothpick pointed straight up. “No, it isn't.”
“Did you ever smoke?” she asked, gesturing to her mouth. “Or do you just have an oral fixation?”
She'd always wondered. Most ex smokers gnawed on gum or candy but Casey was consistent. Always had a little pack of toothpicks on him like they all had packs of cigs.
Casey stopped walking and stared at her. She grinned back. Oh, how she loved bewildering the man. He always looked like a baby owl.
“No,” he said. “I don't smoke.”
“So, oral fixation?”
His eyes flickered, his equivalent of rolling his eyes, and she laughed.
“How about Grace? She smoke?”
Abruptly, the air shifted, stiffened. His jaw tensed slightly, mouth twitching, his eyes hard and distant. He didn't look at her and unease began to unfurl in her stomach. “No.”
There was a finality to it, an anger she hadn't heard before.
Cautious of the landmine she might’ve just tripped on, she asked, “She doesn’t like it?”
“No. Shannon has to change clothes when he visits. Smoking is,” He paused, searching for the words. “Grace hates the smell,” he decided on and Miranda's unease grew, but for an entirely different reason. Smoking wasn't healthy, and Casey did say he didn't smoke, but was that because of Grace? “It brings up bad memories.”
And wasn't it just so him that he made Shannon--practically a father figure to him--change clothes just because the smell upset his girlfriend? He was so quietly sweet it almost made her sick. She just hoped he wasn't being taken advantage of.
She nodded and let the topic drop.
—
Summer began to settle in, raising the temperature a whole five unforgiving degrees. The air in the shop, normally saturated with oil and tangy metal, thickened and the absolute stink of grown men was introduced. The smell was so heavy it practically sat on her tongue. The garage doors stayed open the entire day in the hopes a breeze might pass through, but they offered little relief in reality. Miranda chugged at least six water bottles every shift and smoked twice that amount.
Fuck, she needed a break before she lost her sense of smell.
“I'll be back,” she called. Julien gave her a cheerful kick of acknowledgement since he was currently rolled under a car.
She grabbed her water, wandering deeper into the shop to fill it up, lighting her eighth cigarette of the day as she went.
She heard Shannon before she saw him.
“You ever gonna tell them, kid?”
She looked up and there he was, hobbling towards his office while Casey wandered after him like a lost lamb. Long and all gangly limbs.
“Tell them what?” Casey said softly.
Miranda shuffled a bit, pressing against the wall, unobtrusive.
“About Grace.”
She blanched, nearly dropping her cigarette. Had they broken up?!
Casey fiddled with the rag, moving it up and down, between his fingers. “Eventually,” he said. “If it comes up.”
Shannon sighed. “You just gotta rip the bandaid off.”
Miranda's stomach dropped. Fuck, they definitely broke up.
Casey didn’t reply, just stared down at his hands.
“This is San Francisco, kid! I guarantee all the boys have fucked a man at least once. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Oh.
OH.
Oh my god, she thought. Grace wasn’t a woman. Grace was a man. Casey was gay. He was gay and worked in a mechanic shop.
Her face flushed with mortification. She couldn’t believe she had just assumed Casey was straight. She couldn't believe she thought Grace might be abusive! Casey was just, just so tall and quiet and sweet. Not at all like the gay men she’d known back in Hollywood, who were all self-proclaimed ‘divas’. But what did that say about her, that she just assumed all gay men behaved the same? And that her mind jumped to abuse of all fucking things?!
She buried her face in her hands. After the whole name debacle, she should've known to just talk to Casey.
So lost in her own embarrassment and self-flagellation, she almost missed Casey’s quiet, “I’m not worried.”
Shannon didn’t look like he believed him for a second. “Why don’t you bring Grace around?” he said. “It’s almost summer break. If anyone gives you trouble, I’ll fire them.”
Casey huffed, ducking his head with a shy, sweet smile. “I’ll ask him,” he murmured.
And that confirmed it. God, Miranda was a terrible friend wasn't she? Her stomach churned. It took everything in her to keep her face neutral and not run over, grab Casey by the shoulders, and yell that she supported him and he shouldn't be afraid to tell her anything and oh my god she felt so terrible.
“Great!” Shannon slapped him on the back, a wide grin stretched across his face. “Tell him to bring some of those cookies too!”
“Don’t,” Casey said, but it was fond and light. Happy.
It didn't matter to her that Casey was gay. Not when Grace made him lit up like some damn headlights. She only wished she'd made him feel safe enough to tell her.
Well, it didn't matter now, she thought, turning and heading back to the lots. When Grace visited she'd be so unbelievably supportive and chill that Casey would never doubt her care for him again.
And if any of the boys gave him trouble? Shannon wouldn't even have a chance to fire them before she was through with them.
Then she realized. She'd have to stop smoking for when Grace came. Cigarette smoke clung to everything and she knew damn well she reeked of it. Fuck. She didn't want him to be holding his breath the entire time he talked to her.
She stared forlornly at her cigarette before taking one last drag and dumping the whole box.
—
Something was up. Casey was bright today. Walked around with a pep in his step, a tiny smile on his face–practically beaming with joy by his standards–and he kept glancing at the door.
In hindsight, she should've realized what he'd been looking for immediately.
“Hello!” A cheery voice broke through the tinkering and blasting music. (Rock today; George's choice. He had terrible taste in music. They were all suffering.)
“Grace,” Shannon called. “You made it!” and she heard the tap tap tap of his cane as he walked over.
OH MY GOD. Miranda internally squealed and almost dropped her wrench on her face. He was here, he was here! She scrambled out from underneath the Mazda, scratching her arm and yelping as she did.
She bounced upright, frantically looked around until her eyes landed on him.
He was partially blocked from view, courtesy of Shannon who'd yanked him into a hug, so she could only see his hair and arms, but wow, he was tall. Only a couple inches shorter than Casey. His arms were nearly as big too. What the hell did he do for work to have arms that huge?
When Shannon stepped back and she finally got a good look at the mysterious Grace, it was like staring at sunshine personified.
He had a kind face was her first thought. The type where you’d know just from a glance that they were kind, safe. Full cheeks, gentle blue eyes that were calm like a lake on a spring day and framed by thin-wire glasses. His hair was a dirty blond, but brighter on top from sun-damage and so fluffy she wanted to reach out and run her hand through it. He wore light wash jeans, showing off his criminally long legs, and a black t-shirt that read “I had potential” with a curve line and a ball at the end.
He looked like the world's most huggable person.
“Grace,” Casey said, achingly tender, smile sweet as sugar as he reached for his boyfriend's hand. “You came.”
Grace's face lit up even further. “Casey!” he said happily, automatically reaching back. Their fingers tangled. Grace didn't even flinch at the grease and oil. “‘Course I did. You asked.”
“This is Grace?” asked Michael, wide-eyed and not even trying to hide his shock. “Your Grace?”
Casey turned pink and Grace looked delighted. “Have you been talking about me?” he teased, pressing against Casey.
“Yes,” he replied, his smile turning a bit shy. “Of course.”
Now Grace was blushing. Ugh love was so gross.
“I brought cookies,” Grace said and held out his hand. “I figured you could all use a pick-me-up.”
“You're an angel, kid,” said Shannon, already reaching to grab one. “What do you put in these?”
“The secret ingredient is love,” Grace said automatically and immediately turned bright red. Casey snorted.
“Oh gosh, sorry, sorry,” he said, covering his flushed face with one hand and flapping the other at Casey. “Please ignore that I said that.”
It was then she noticed the ring. There, on Grace’s left hand, on his ring finger, was a simple golden band with some sort of design carved on it that she couldn’t quite make out. It caught the sunlight very prettily, glittering and shiny and obvious and what the fuck.
“Casey,” she said slowly. “Are you two fucking married?!”
The man in question went so still he could be a statue. That motherfucker! She thought incredulously. Why the fuck didn’t he tell them?!
Grace blinked at them all then tilted his head up to Casey. “Did you not tell them?” he asked.
“Dude,” Julien said, dead serious. “I didn’t even know you were a man until like two seconds ago.”
Shannon snorted.
Casey's eyes darted away. “They asked me how long we have been together, not if I was married,” he said as though that were a valid defense. Miranda thought she might've felt her eye twitch.
Grace laughed. “Marriage status is usually included in the answer.”
Casey shrugged and had the audacity to look unbothered.
No wonder she knew jackshit about him, she fumed. He never offered any information!
“Where's your ring?” Julien asked.
Casey dug a chain out from beneath his collar, showing off the gold band hanging from it before tucking it away.
“I don't want it to get dirty,” he said. “Or break.”
“Gold is one of the softest metals,” Grace said. “It's super easy to scratch if you're not careful. Fun- fun fact.”
“When'd you get married?” Michael asked.
“We got married last year,” Grace said with a wide, dreamy smile.
Well, at least he was as in love with Casey as Casey was with him.
“You didn't invite me?” George whined, but it was playful. “I thought we were close, man!”
“We didn't have a ceremony,” Casey said.
Miranda blinked, but the more she thought about it the more it made sense. She couldn't imagine Casey ever professing his love in front of a ton of people, no matter how sweet on Grace he was.
“You eloped?” she asked.
Grace nodded. “Weddings are crazy expensive! Shannon and my brother were our witnesses and that's all we needed.”
That was so stupidly romantic she could cry.
“How the fuck did you even bag him Casey?” she asked. “Did you just stare at him longingly enough that he took pity on you and gave you a chance?”
Grace laughed. “It was more like the other way around. We kept running into each other in the laundry room. Silence is probably my number one enemy, right after lips in the sidewalk, so I kept chattering away at him every time I saw him.”
“I liked it,” Casey said. “Your voice is nice.”
Grace let out a flustered little giggle. Oh my god, what were they, high schoolers?
“Maybe that's why the kids listen to me,” Grace said and Miranda's heart fell promptly to her ass.
“Please tell me you don't also have kids you never told us about,” she said weakly.
“Oh, no,” Grace said, smiling. Fuck, how was he like literal sunshine? Next to Casey's quiet passivity, it was almost jarring. “I'm a teacher. I teach middle schoolers.”
“I might've actually killed you,” she said. She would've really earned first place for ‘worst friend in the world’ if she'd somehow missed Casey being a fucking dad.
School teacher suited Grace. As he chatted with the boys–all of whom recovered from the unexpected gender reveal remarkably well–he gestured wildly and articulated himself far better than any of them. Doubly better than Casey. She could easily picture him in a classroom, bright in front of a bunch of angsty, hormonal teenagers, and somehow through sheer willpower and excitement alone get them to perk up at eight in the morning and pay attention. He was the type of teacher you'd reminiscent on for years to come, filled with nostalgia for a simpler time. A kinder time. The type that inspired kids to push themselves, to go down career paths they never otherwise would've considered because he believed in them so strongly they had no choice but to believe in themselves. He was the kind of teacher she would've killed for.
Shannon was right. Grace was perfect for Casey. His brightness and ease naturally pulled the same out of those around him. Casey stood taller, no longer fading away into the background and content to be ignored. He was present. Alert and expressive. There in a way he hadn't been before.
It was sweet how he couldn't seem to keep his eyes off his husband (and oh my god she couldn't believe he was married). He watched Grace with such pure adoration, a small smile on his lips, his eyes soft and in love. A dwarf planet circling its star. Eclipsed and happy for it.
He'd never looked so settled into his own skin.
They stayed pressed together the entire time, hands clasped; Casey's hand moved with Grace's as he talked and he occasionally pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles. Grace smiled, flushing sweetly every time.
Eventually, Shannon shooed them all back to work, Casey ducking out to drive Grace home, who gave a cheery wave and a promise to return.
She spent the rest of her day in high spirits. After all, if a tender, easy love like Casey's and Grace's existed, then maybe love was enough.