Epilogue
Six weeks later, the leaves were starting to turn.
Jack stood behind the counter at Big Bill’s shop, wiping grease off his hands with a rag that had seen better days. The late afternoon sun slanted through the big front windows, catching on the dust motes in the air. It was quiet for once — just the low hum of the radio playing somewhere in the back and the occasional clink of tools from the bays.
Dylan was still out in the garage finishing up an oil change. Jack could hear him talking to one of the regulars, his voice low and easy. The sound made something settle warm in Jack’s chest.
He glanced at the clock. They’d be closing up soon.
When Dylan finally came in through the side door, wiping his hands on his coveralls, Jack was already counting out the register. Dylan leaned against the counter and watched him for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“You look like you belong there,” he said.
Jack glanced up. “Behind the counter?”
“Yeah.” Dylan nodded toward the register. “Like you’ve been doing it for years.”
Jack huffed a quiet laugh and shook his head, but he didn’t argue. He *had* gotten comfortable here. More than he ever expected to.
They closed up together like they always did now — locking the bays, turning off the lights, making sure the coffee pot was unplugged. Big Bill had started letting them handle the end-of-day routine on their own most nights. Jack wasn’t sure if that was trust or just the old man getting lazier, but either way, he liked it.
On the drive home, Dylan took the long way without saying anything about it. Jack noticed but didn’t comment until they passed the old building on the corner of Maple and 3rd.
The “For Sale” sign was still up.
Jack turned his head as they drove by, watching the faded brick and the wide garage doors. Someone had mowed the small patch of grass out front recently. It looked a little less abandoned than it had a month ago.
Dylan didn’t say anything until they were a few blocks past it.
“You keep looking at it,” he said quietly.
Jack glanced over at him. “So do you.”
Dylan’s mouth twitched. He kept his eyes on the road.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” he admitted after a moment. “More than I probably should.”
Jack was quiet for a few seconds, watching the houses slide past the window.
“Me too,” he said.
They didn’t talk about it again until after dinner.
They were sitting on the couch, the TV on but turned down low. Jack had his legs stretched across Dylan’s lap, and Dylan was absently rubbing slow circles on his shin with one hand while he scrolled through something on his phone with the other.
Jack had been working up the nerve to bring it up all evening.
Finally, he just said it.
“I looked up the listing again today.”
Dylan’s hand paused on his leg. He looked over.
“Yeah?”
Jack nodded. “It’s been on the market for almost four months. Price dropped a little last week.”
Dylan was quiet for a long moment, his thumb still resting against Jack’s shin.
“You really think we could do it?” he asked eventually. His voice was careful, like he was afraid of hoping too much.
Jack shifted so he could see Dylan better.
“I think we could try,” he said. “We’ve been saving. Not a ton, but enough for a down payment if we’re smart about it. And between the two of us, we actually know what we’re doing in a shop. That’s more than a lot of people starting out have.”
Dylan let out a slow breath and leaned his head back against the couch.
“I’ve been running numbers in my head for weeks,” he admitted. “Trying to figure out if it’s even possible. Tools alone would eat up a lot. We’d need lifts, compressors, diagnostic equipment… it adds up fast.”
He was quiet again for a moment before he added, softer this time,
“What if we fail and end up worse off than we are now?”
Jack didn’t answer right away. He just reached over and took Dylan’s hand, lacing their fingers together.
“What if we talked to Big Bill?”
Dylan turned his head to look at him.
Jack shrugged, a little self-conscious. “He loves you. He’s been letting you handle more and more on your own. Maybe he’d be willing to help. Not give us money, but… I don’t know. Cosign something? Or help us get the tools we need on some kind of payment plan? He’s got connections.”
Dylan didn’t answer right away. He just looked at Jack, something soft and a little uncertain in his expression.
“You’ve really been thinking about this,” he said.
Jack nodded. “Haven’t been able to stop.”
Dylan was quiet again for a long time. Then he reached over and took Jack’s hand, lacing their fingers together.
“I don’t want to get our hopes up if it’s not gonna happen,” he said quietly. “But… I’ve been thinking about it too. A lot. Our own shop. No one telling us how to run things. Just us.”
Jack squeezed his hand.
“I know it’s scary,” he said. “But I want it. With you.”
Dylan looked at him for a long moment, then leaned in and kissed him — slow and warm, his free hand coming up to cup the side of Jack’s face.
When they pulled apart, Dylan rested his forehead against Jack’s.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Let’s at least go talk to him. See what he says. No promises. Just… see.”
Jack smiled, small and hopeful.
“Okay.”
They sat like that for a while, hands still tangled together, the TV flickering quietly in the background. Neither of them said anything else about it that night. But the idea sat between them now — not quite a plan yet, but something real. Something they were both starting to want out loud.
And for the first time, it didn’t feel impossible.
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