Page 3 of Egg Me On
I nodded, watching a woman in her fifties meticulously polishing chrome while a skinny guy with a full beard nearby struggled with something on his bike's engine while another guy stood by, pointing something out to him. The atmosphere wasn't what I'd expected—no aggressive music, no posturing, just people focused on their tasks with occasional conversation floating between them.
We moved past the co-op area to a more organized section with professional-looking service bays.
"This is our pro shop. I’m sure you’ll get to know them. Customers pay us to do the work that’s beyond their skill level, or the stuff they don’t have time for," Silas said. "Professional repairs, customization, the whole nine yards. Down the road, we’re hoping to add a few more staff for custom fabrication and painting, too."
My attention was caught by movement in the first bay, separated slightly from the others. A tall Black man worked alone, his back to us, broad shoulders moving with controlled precision as he manipulated something on the engine in front of him. Even from behind, there was something magnetic about his focus—the way his hands moved with absolute certainty, the flex of muscle under his dark skin as he reached for a tool without looking.
Silas noticed my gaze and changed our course to head toward this solitary figure. "That's Cash Upton, one of our best mechanics. He’s got a skill for rebuilding engines that’s just… perfection."
As we approached, I got a better look. He was tall, at least as tall as Silas, with close-cropped dark hair and the kind of build that suggested intimidating strength. His arms were covered in intricate tattoos—geometric patterns flowing into mechanical designs, the details too fine to make out from a distance.
"Cash," Silas called. "Got a minute?"
Cash didn't startle or rush. He finished whatever adjustment he was making, then straightened slowly, wiping his hands on a rag before turning to face us. His expression remained neutral, light brown eyes flicking from Silas to me and back without revealing anything.
Jesus. His face was like something carved by a sculptor who really understood the concept of "ruggedly handsome"—strong jawline, full lips, stubble that looked deliberate rather than lazy. And he was just... staring at me. Not hostile, not friendly, just observing.
"This is Aiden Lockhart," Silas continued. "Owns the 'Egg Me On' food truck. Considering moving to our lot."
Cash grunted, gave me a terse nod, then turned back to his work without a word.
Okay then. Mr. Personality he was not.
"Cash doesn't waste words," Silas said as we walked away, his tone apologetic. "But he's a good guy."
"I'm sure he's very impressive once you get to know him," I replied, unable to keep the hint of sarcasm from my voice.
Silas chuckled. "He grows on you. He’s a very talented mechanic, and he has a good heart. You just don’t always know what he’s thinking. Or ever."
We approached the other bay, where two mechanics were working on the same bike, and looked up as we neared. Unlike Cash, they both broke into immediate smiles.
"Guys, this is Aiden. He runs 'Egg Me On' food truck. Might be joining us out back."
"Holy shit, really?" The first mechanic was a handsome Asian man about my age. He stepped forward, wiping a hand on his pants before extending it. "I'm Dylan. Please tell me you still make those chorizo breakfast burritos that Silas brought us the other day. Because I would kill a man for more of those."
His enthusiasm was infectious, his smile dimpling his cheeks and softening his angular features. I shook his hand, feeling my first genuine smile since arriving.
"The chorizo is our bestseller, yeah. Along with the Nutella French toast."
"Oh my god," the other mechanic groaned, setting down her socket wrench and joining our conversation. Her asymmetrical dark hair framed sharp features and intelligent eyes. "I'm Liv. I'm going to get so fat if you park here, but I don't even care."
"Liv's our electrical genius," Silas explained. "And lead mechanic. Dylan teaches our riding classes when he's not fixing bikes, and focuses on customization."
"So you'd really set up here?" Liv asked, eyeing me with open curiosity. "That would be awesome. We've been dying for foodoptions. I hate to drive somewhere when I’m deep in the zone. I come back and I can’t remember what I was doing.”
“And she gets hangry,” Dylan said in a stage whisper, earning a playful punch in the shoulder.
“Better than you. You just skip eating until you’re woozy and start making mistakes!”
"Silas! There you are!" A new voice called from across the shop. "Tess called about the parts order and—oh, hello!"
The man who approached moved with the kind of energy that filled a room. He was shorter than Silas but carried himself with effortless confidence, his fade haircut immaculate, his clothes stylish despite the shop environment. The moment our eyes met, I felt the instantaneous gay radar ping—a subtle, wordless recognition. There were queer people here.
"Aiden, this is Marcus Bautista, my business partner," Silas said. “Marcus, this is the chef I told you about.”
Marcus's handshake was accompanied by a brilliant smile. "The food truck guy! Finally! I've been begging Silas to get someone in here before we all starve to death. What's your specialty?"
"Brunch all day," I replied, relaxing further. "Sandwiches, burritos, some sweet options."
