Marlowe
Wrench tossed me a set of bay keys without looking up from the transmission he was elbow-deep in, and it took me a full three seconds to understand what he'd actually just handed me.
"That's a bay assignment."
"Sharp eye." He kept working, gruff as ever, like he hadn't just changed the entire shape of my place in this club with one careless toss. "Third bay's yours now. Stock it how you like. Just don't touch my torque wrenches."
"Wrench, this is—"
"It's a bay. Not a wedding." But something in his voice, underneath the gruffness, told me he knew exactly what he'd just done and simply didn't intend to make a ceremony out of it. That was its own kind of gift, somehow — no fuss, no spotlight, just quiet, permanent proof that I'd earned a place here on my own terms.
---
King too
