Jake looked at her.
Claire looked back.
He pulled her closer.
She smiled.
“Garage cameras?”
“Broken.”
“Convenient.”
Jake kissed her.
No gala balcony.
No billionaire audience.
Just metal, motor oil, and sunlight.
It suited them better.
Months passed.
Claire learned to stop arriving with assistants.
Jake learned that her schedule was impossible.
They fought.
Sometimes badly.
Jake hated being rescheduled.
Claire hated that he assumed wealth made every problem easier.
He discovered that enormous companies could trap their leaders as effectively as debt trapped everyone else.
Claire discovered that independence could become pride if Jake refused help simply because accepting it frightened him.
Neither was easy.
That helped.
Easy relationships often depend on avoiding truth.
Jake had built his life around the opposite.
One night Claire arrived at the garage after nine.
Jake was closing.
She walked in wearing a black suit.
No makeup.
Hair tied back.
Exhausted.
“Bad day?”
“The board wants me to close two facilities.”
“Why?”
“Margins.”
“People?”
“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.