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I wipe my hands on a rag and head toward the front. The woman standing near the counter looks like one of those rich housewives on the reality show Soph forced everyone to watch last year. Huge sunglasses rest on top of perfectly styled dark hair and her cream-colored dress probably costs more than Gio makes in a month.

She smiles the second I walk over. “Hi there.”

“What can we help you with?” I ask, putting on a polite smile.

“My Range Rover’s making a strange noise.”

“Alright.” I grab the clipboard from the counter beside Heather. “What kind of noise?”

“A very concerning one.”

Behind me, Boone coughs into his fist. Ignoring him, I jot down the car information while she explains the problem or at least tries to. Honestly, half her answers barely make sense.

“The steering also feels weird,” she says, not giving me any helpful information on the issue.

“Weird how?”

The woman shrugs and acts clueless. “It’s hard to explain, but you came highly recommended, so I thought I would stop by.”

“That so?” I ask, already seeing where this is going.

“Mhm. A friend told me the owner was ridiculously attractive and honest, which is a rare combination in Brooklyn.”

Behind me, Heather lowers her crossword puzzle, waiting for what comes next. The woman leans one elbow against the counter, studying me. “Honestly, I thought she was exaggerating a little, but no. You truly are wonderful.”

There was a time when I probably would’ve flirted back. Now all I can think about is the unfinished transmission sitting in bay two and whether Tilly’s eaten yet upstairs.

I clear my throat and move the clipboard in my hands. “Sorry, but I don’t date clients.”

Boone bursts into laughter so loud the sound echoes through the garage while Heather pinches the bridge of her nose like she cannot believe this conversation is happening before noon. Instead of looking embarrassed, the woman laughs too. “What a shame. A man like you shouldn’t spend all his time working.”

Heat crawls up the back of my neck. “We can run diagnostics and call you later this afternoon.”

“Perfect. Maybe you can personally explain the results to me, Oliver.”

The use of my full name throws me off almost more than the flirting itself. Nobody calls me Oliver. Not unless it’s my therapist trying to force me into discussing emotions I’m actively avoiding, or Eli and Jax using it deliberately because they exactly know how to annoy me.

“Right,” I say, clearing my throat again. “Heather will get your contact information and we’ll let you know what we find.”

“Sounds good.” She flashes another smile before extending a perfectly manicured hand toward me. “I’m Wendy, by the way.”

I shake it automatically. “Ollie.”

“Oh, I know who you are. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

“Have a good afternoon,” I manage.

The bell above the door jingles as she leaves, and the second the front door closes behind her, the shop erupts.

“You didn’t know she was flirting with you?” Dennis shouts from across the shop.

“I thought she was talking about the car at first.”

“Jesus Christ,” Boone says, rolling himself out from beneath the Mustang. “You are the least observant attractive person I’ve ever met.”

Heather points her pen toward me from behind the desk. “That woman practically offered to climb you like a tree.”

“Can everybody relax?”