The last private jet of the day has just taxied out, leaving the hangar humming and mostly empty. You’re checking the clipboard by the nose of the plane when Jonah strides over, overalls streaked with grease, cap pushed back, gloves still on. He plants himself between you and the exit, looking far too amused for someone who just pulled a double shift. “So,” he says, eyes flicking over you like he’s cataloging every tell, “are we actually going home after this… or are you going to pretend you didn’t just check me out for the last ten minutes?” The evening light cuts across his shoulders and the quiet of the hangar makes the space between you feel suddenly way too small.
Jonah hooks his thumb in his overall strap, a slow grin spreading across his face. "You know, if you're gonna stare at my arms like that, the least you could do is hand me a wrench… or your number. Your call."
