Page 53 of Tuned To Break
“If anything happens to that car...” Stella warns.
“Nothing will happen!” Logan springs to his feet. “I swear on my grandmother’s grave!”
“Your grandmother’s not dead,” Stella points out.
“Then I swear on my future grandmother’s grave!”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I swear on my own future grave!”
“Logan, stop swearing on graves,” I laugh. “It’s morbid.”
“Fine! I swear on... on...” He glances around desperately. “On the sacred bond of friendship between bartender and patron!”
“That’s not a thing,” Stella says, though she’s clearly fighting a smile.
“It is now! I just made it a thing!”
The crew erupts in laughter. José’s nearly doubled over, Asher’s wiping tears from his eyes, and even Chase shakes his head in amusement.
“This is ridiculous,” Stella mutters.
“Nothing will happen to it. It’s just another test drive. I’ll even log it,” I promise.
“And Logan—you owe me,” she warns.
“I’ll name my firstborn after you!”
“You don’t even have a girlfriend, you won’t be having kids for a long time,” Parker deadpans.
“Then I’ll name my first espresso machine after you!”
“Better,” Stella says, finally smiling.
“Let’s go before she changes her mind,” I mutter, tossing Logan the passenger-side keys and sliding into the driver’s seat.
We’re halfway to the roller doors when Stella calls out, “Logan!”
He whips around. “Don’t say no!”
She smirks. “Put the top down. If you’re rocking up in a classic Mustang, at least make a showstopper entrance.”
Logan beams. “Stella, you’re a goddess among mortals!”
“I know. Now go get your girl.”
As I start the engine, the V8 rumbles to life. Through the windscreen, I catch her gaze—clipboard clutched tight,professional mask firmly in place—but the grin tugging at her mouth gives her away.
“Ready?” I ask Logan, who’s bouncing like he’s downed five energy drinks.
“Born ready. Except, like, not actually born ready, ‘cause babies can’t drive—but you know what I mean.”
“Logan.”
“Right. Shutting up.”
The top goes down, the breeze kicks up, and we cruise toward the coffee shop like two idiots in a car worth more than both our lives combined. Logan’s tapping his knees, nervously practising conversation starters. I don’t have the heart to tell him they’re terrible.
