Phew! I was worried for a second there that the girl who always wears the sweater-vest in front of you was hitting on me.

I read his message and giggle. The girl he’s talking about is an older student, maybe in her late 40s, and she’s about as straight-laced looking as they come—bun, glasses chain, pocketbook planner…the whole package. I lean into him with a poke of my elbow to his side, and he reaches around to hug me sideways instinctively, but he actually leaves his arm around me while we continue walking. I know I should wiggle my way out, but I don’t. I leave it there. I leave it there because I like it there. And even though I know it’s not okay, I decide to move the line I’ve barely drawn…just a little.

I’m different with Cody. I’d never send a playful text like that to Trevor. Sure, I could be cute, even a little sexy—but silly? That wasn’t really Trevor’s thing. And I didn’t think it was mine, either. But being around Cody seemed to force me to cut loose, actually relax, and let down some of the EVERYTHING that I was always trying to hold up, carry on my shoulders.

We keep walking to the main parking lot. I see Cody’s truck parked close, and I’m reminded of his disability. He hasn’t been using his chair since that first time I saw him, but I’ve noticed his distinct limp. Sometimes, I think he tries hard to mask it when he’s with me.

When we get closer to his truck, I feel his arm slide from around me, and I’m suddenly cold. I don’t want him to go.

“So, I’m serious about tutoring. Think you’ve got time?” I ask, hoping he’ll offer to get together soon.

He pulls the passenger side door open and tosses his bag in the front seat. He hangs his arms from the top of the truck door while he thinks, and I notice his fingers grip tightly around it, his muscles tensing while he looks off into the distance. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly as he turns to square up with me, like he’s waging the same inner battle I am.

“I’ve got a little time today. But you’ll have to come to the shop with me. That okay with you?” he asks. I’ve honestly been dying to see his shop, ever since the night Gabe told me about it. It feels like it’s some sort of key into Cody’s past.

“Sounds good. I’ve got nothing going on. I’ll just follow you?” I say, starting to walk backward before he stops me, reaching out his arm for my bag and portfolio.

“I’ll just drive. I’ve got some things to do tonight, so I’ll bring you back for your car when we’re done. It’s the opposite direction from home anyhow,” he says, not really asking. I shrug and climb in while he pulls the door completely open for me, and I’m both thrilled and nervous about being stuck with Cody for the next however-many-hours.

Cody walks slowly around the front of the truck, sliding his hand along the hood as he does. His limp is more pronounced, and I can tell he’s hurting. I must be making a face of concern, because he smiles big, unusually so, when he gets in next to me.

“Everything okay?” he asks.

I nod once and smile.

“Good,” he says, patting his hand once on my knee. Even through my jeans, I can feel the warmth of his touch. While we drive the few miles to his shop, I keep looking at the place where his hand was on my leg, thinking about how high he was on my thigh. Was he above the “friendship” zone? I snicker to myself over my own girlish ridiculousness before Cody catches me and raises an eyebrow. Thankfully, we’re close to his shop, and my embarrassment is short-lived.

I see the old tire sign first, peering out from some trees along a neighborhood road. The place looks straight from the fifties—with hints of neon and glass-paned roll-up garage bays. The building’s weathered, beat-up, and could use a lot of attention—some paint, for sure—but the bones are special. I get why Cody’s fighting so hard to keep this place alive, but even if I didn’t know the backstory, I’d hate to see a place like this close.

The side of the building has painted signage boasting Jake’s Brakes, Oil & Lube. There’s an old, cream-colored car nestled up next to the bathrooms, and it looks like it’s been parked there for a decade, the grass around it almost as tall as the windows.

“Whose is that?” I ask as we pull up in front of one of the bays.

Cody shuts off the engine and closes his hand around his keys before putting both of his arms on top of his steering wheel. Leaning forward, he hesitates before his mouth slides into a smile. It’s a new kind of smile on him—this one is definitely affection.