It was part of why she had her job. You didn’t oversee fifteen repair shops, dozens of managers, and hundreds of employees without learning how to sit quietly and observe what people did when they thought no one important was paying attention.

And so, for the first two weeks, that’s exactly what she did.

She didn’t hover.
She didn’t interrupt.
She didn’t announce her presence more than necessary.

She simply watched.

Jack Morrison worked the same way he always had.

No shortcuts.
No showboating.
No rushing past details that might come back to bite someone later.

He explained repairs to customers without talking down to them, even when they clearly didn’t know the difference between a transmission and a timing belt. He wiped his hands before shaking anyone’s. He trained younger mechanics patiently, never snapping when they made mistakes—just quietly correcting them and letting them try again.

Clare noticed things most managers missed.

Like how customers specifically asked for Jack by name.

Or how he stayed late one evening to help a single mother whose car wouldn’t start—charging her only for the parts, quietly eating the labor cost himself.

“Why didn’t you charge her?” Clare asked afterward, tone neutral.

Jack didn’t look defensive. He didn’t even hesitate.

“Because she needed her car more than I needed another hundred bucks,” he said. “Her kids depend on it.”

Clare raised an eyebrow. “That’s not optimal from a profit standpoint.”

“Maybe not,” Jack replied. “But it’s good human practice.”

He went back to work, unaware he’d just said something that lodged itself deep in her mind.

Jack wasn’t trying to impress her.

That, more than anything, impressed her.

At night, Clare sat alone in her hotel room, reviewing reports and replaying moments from the shop.

She thought about the rain.
About the way Jack hadn’t asked questions.
Hadn’t tried to turn kindness into a performance.

Most people changed when power entered the room.

Jack hadn’t.

At work, he treated her like a manager.
Outside of work, when their paths crossed briefly, he treated her like a person.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

That balance was rare.

And dangerous, if mishandled.

She was careful. Deliberate. Professional to a fault.

Still, something had shifted.

On her final day at the shop, Clare called Jack into the office.

He stood across from her desk, hands loosely clasped, grease still under his nails despite his best efforts.

“I’ve submitted my report,” she said.

Jack nodded, bracing himself.

“We’re keeping this shop open,” she continued. “With some changes.”

He exhaled before he realized he’d been holding his breath.

“And you,” Clare added, “will be promoted to lead mechanic. With a pathway to management, if you want it.”

Jack blinked. “You’re… promoting me?”

She nodded. “You understand something corporate often forgets. We’re not just fixing cars. We’re solving people’s problems. Trust builds long-term value.”

She paused, then softened slightly.

“I also want to thank you. For the wheelchair. For not treating me differently once you knew who I was.”

Jack shrugged, a familiar gesture now.

“You were still the person who needed help in the rain.”

Most people would have suddenly become overly polite. Obsequious. Strategic.

Jack had just stayed Jack.

Clare studied him for a moment longer than strictly professional.

“I’ll be in the city for six months,” she said carefully. “Overseeing restructuring.”

She hesitated. That wasn’t like her.

“Would you like to have dinner sometime? Not as boss and employee. Just… two people who met in the rain.”

Jack let out a breathy laugh. “Is that allowed?”

“I checked with HR,” she said, almost smiling. “As long as you don’t report directly to me.”

He considered the question she hadn’t asked aloud.

“Are you interested,” she added, “because you feel obligated?”

Jack met her eyes.

“I’m interested because I met someone I’d like to know better. The boss part is just… logistics.”

Something warm crossed her face.

“Okay,” she said. “Then okay.”

They took it slow.

Careful. Intentional.

They talked over dinner about work, yes—but also about books, values, the strange ways people defined success. Clare admired Jack’s clarity. Jack admired Clare’s ability to think big without losing sight of individuals.

One night, she asked, “Why do you do this work? You’re smart enough to do anything.”

Jack thought for a moment.

“Because broken things bother me,” he said. “And I’m good at fixing them. Mechanical work is honest. Something’s either working or it’s not.”

He smiled faintly. “Corporate maneuvering never felt as real.”

She nodded. “I like solving problems at scale,” she said. “But meeting you reminded me—the best solutions always come back to people.”

They weren’t rushing.

They were building.

Six months passed faster than either of them expected.

On a quiet evening in the shop garage, Jack asked Clare to close her eyes.

When she opened them, tools and spare parts spelled out three words on the concrete floor.

MARRY ME

He knelt—not dramatically, just steadily—and adjusted a small squeak in her wheelchair wheel before looking up.

“You fixed my wheelchair the day we met,” she said softly. “And you’ve been fixing my perspective ever since.”

Jack swallowed.

“Will you marry me,” he asked, “and let me keep fixing whatever breaks—while you figure out how to make the whole system better?”

She said yes before he finished the sentence.

Say “Part 3” when you’re ready for the final chapter and resolution.