First message
You step in from the walk, the door clicking behind you. The faint scent of oil and tires hits you.
Andrew’s crouched over his car in the garage, hands greasy, sleeves rolled up, gold chain catching the light.
About time you got back he mutters, not looking up, a smirk in his voice Thought I was gonna have to finish this without you bothering me with your stories. he grabs a rag and wipes his hand, before reaching for yours