I can’t believe it. That grease stain had been bothering me so much, and I just wanted to see Sam face when he realized he’d had it on his cheek this whole time.

  He looks me up and down, taking a wary step back, judging me in uncomfortable disbelief.

  Without realizing it, I must have come off as ridiculously corny. How embarrassing.

  I step back when his knuckles turn white.

  Then he huffs in irritation, his piercing eyes rolling in disgust. He turns his face away, shutting down, doing everything he can to stay as far from me as possible.

  I barely know him. I don’t have that kind of freedom. My actions could be seriously misinterpreted. No, scratch that; they already have it.

  Why? We have zero familiarity, and he’s already given me countless signs that he hates me.

  Only the truth will get me out of this.

  “You have a grease stain on your cheek,” I say, keeping my distance, only pointing with my finger, afraid of annoying him even more.

  He wipes at his cheek, confirms it, and rushes to the bathroom.

  When he returns, he marches stiffly past me, ignoring my existence, and making the atmosphere even worse. Before, it was uncomfortable. Now, it’s suffocating.

  In silence, he focuses on his work, clearly trying to get it done as fast as possible.

  The whole time, he’s sulking, his face red, teeth clenched, fists tight every time he pauses — like a warning in case I dare say something.

  I keep my distance, sitting on the couch, wondering if I should just stay in the car — or better yet, put even more distance between us by walking a few miles into the forest. Far, far away from here.

  Just a few more hours, and I’ll never have to see him again. I stare at my phone, trying to focus on it, but I can’t.

  Then Sam puts something in the oven and disappears into his office, locking the door with a keypad — only making my embarrassment worse.

  But I’m actually grateful for his retreat. At least now, I don’t have to stay in this constant state of fight-or-flight.

  Sometime later, he comes out and crouches down to check the oven. He coughs.

  “Not going to sleep?” he asks from behind the table.

  “No. Why?” It’s tense, but somehow still a relief from the heavy silence.

  “Work.”

  He heads back to the office and returns with a box, walking past me again like I don’t exist. Honestly? I’m relieved I don’t have to look at him.

  Then Sam presses a button under the step, and the soft morning light slowly floods the room as the entire side wall behind me turns into a massive glass panel. The outer metal shifts, becoming a balcony.

  Stunned, I watch him step onto the new balcony, walk over to the front of the truck, and sit down.

  He pulls out a board, turns it into a table, opens the box, and gets to work.

  After a moment, he reaches into the setup he just built, pulls out a blowtorch, and starts welding.

  I realize I’ve been staring at his back for way too long. He’s already uncomfortable with me — if he catches me watching him, it’ll only get worse.

  The oven timer goes off. I jump up and take the food out. He glances at me. I nod. He goes back to work.

  With the sound of welding giving away his exact location — and the reassurance that he’s busy — I finally relax on the couch, scrolling through the scripts of projects I’m considering auditioning for.

  Way better than sitting here, not knowing when he’ll suddenly burst out of his office with those condemning eyes.

  “Wow, it’s even more impressive than I thought,” Ella says, stepping out of the bedroom in her pajamas, and admiring the open view.

  “Do you think the other side is like this too, and he just doesn’t open it because people would see it and get curious?” She pauses. “What’s that noise?”

  “Sam. Working outside,” I say, pointing. “Oh, and he already fixed your car too.”

  “Now I feel bad,” Wally mutters, running his fingers through his hair. “He was being productive while we were sleeping.”

  “Not more than I did. I saw everything, and he wouldn’t let me help with anything.”

  “Good morning.” Ella steps forward to speak to the man. “I heard you fixed our car, thank you. I’m going to make a big breakfast — you must be hungry after all that work. We also have some things we brought for the trip. And I won’t take no for an answer.” She says quickly, maintaining an enthusiastic yet almost dictatorial smile.

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  “Okay.” He stands up.

  “You can stay there. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.”

  “You can use the kitchen. There are rolls.”

  “So that’s the delicious smell. Cinnamon?”

  “I made some chocolate ones too.”

  “My daughter loves both.”

  The man smiles in agreement, and Ella walks off, still excited.

  ***

  Squeezing in at the already full table, I watch as the family instinctively takes the same seats they sat in yesterday — just to add to my discomfort.

  The moment Sam realizes the only available seat is between Zoe and me, he inches his chair away from mine.

  I clench my teeth. What I did wasn’t that bad. I just pointed out that he was dirty… in a weird way, sure, but it was well-intentioned.

  But my embarrassment only deepens when he sits at the very edge of his chair, as far away from me as possible, ready to bolt at any moment.

  The others keep the conversation going, complimenting the food and talking about the truck. Meanwhile, the man and I sit quietly, pretending to enjoy the chatter.

  “That was delicious.” Sam helps clear the table.

  “What are you doing today?” Ella asks, clearly hoping to invite him to join us for something.

  I just want to get out of here and as far away from him as possible. No more humiliating myself in front of this guy.

  “I have a meeting with my boss.”

  I don’t know if it’s true or just an excuse to stay away from me. Either way, I don’t care. Safe travels! May we never meet again.

  “What time?”

  “Three p.m.”

  “Aren’t you the owner of some mechanic shop? I thought….”

  “No, and I have to finish a car before that, so I should get going soon.”

  “Ah… we’re holding you up. You should’ve said something.”

  “I still have time.” He reassures Ella. “But I’ll have to leave in about fifteen minutes, okay?”

  “Of course. Thank you so much for helping us. We’ll grab our things so you can go — we don’t want to delay you.”

  “The oil filter was punctured. I replaced it and installed a full underbody shield for protection. You shouldn’t have any more problems on the road.”

  “Thank you. Could I get a way to contact you again?”

  No. And I hope Sam never replies so I never have to see him again.

  Ella hands him her phone, and he types something in. May that phone be destroyed. I’ll buy her another one.

  “How much do we owe you?” I ask, not wanting to be in his debt. “The protection and the filter couldn’t have been free.”

  “If you ever see someone who needs help, help them.” He deliberately avoids looking at me, offering a polite smile to the others instead. “I really have to go.”

  Then, finally, he looks at me — just for a second — with that terrible side-eye.

  I feel Wally’s hand on my shoulder from behind, a questioning look in his eyes. He saw it too. I’m not imagining things. I shrug slightly. I’ll tell him later — once that man is far, far away from my life.

  ***

  Standing outside, holding our things, we watch Sam press a button, making the entire truck fold inward, reducing it to just a simple box again. He pushes the workbench to the back, stores the motorcycle in the kitchen area, and tucks the cart away in the living room space.

  With a quick wave, he walks to the driver’s seat — once that man is completely out of my life.

  I finally feel my shoulders relax. Relief. Thank God. I’m free of him.

  “What happened?” Wally asks, and I feel the tension creeping back in — not fear this time, just pure embarrassment.

  “Uh… ” I grunt, struggling to put it into words. “I just wanted to help, and… it was just a joke, you know? Like, playful teasing…”

  “With Sam? The serious guy you already thought hated you? Are you insane?”

  “But… but… he was making rolls, and I made juice. We were talking. He was reluctantly admitting that the smoothie was good. It didn’t seem wrong to push him a little to get him to admit it… but that wasn’t even the worst part.”

  “Let me ask you something.” I step closer, just like I did with Sam, lightly running my fingers over Wally’s cheek. He grabs my hand instantly.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “You know I’m not gay, but other people might think so, right?”

  “Why the hell would you do that to him?”

  “He got grease on his face while fixing the car. I tried to tell him, but he cut me off, kept telling me to back off.”

  “And your solution was… this?”

  “It was bothering me! He kept puffing out his cheek, and the grease smudged and moved with it — it was funny! And then it got worse when I annoyed him, and he made it more obvious by pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek, making it bulge on the outside. It looked even more like one of those slide-to-unlock buttons on a phone. I had to touch it.”

  Wally stares at me, his disbelief obvious. Then, he bursts into uncontrollable laughter.

  “It’s not funny! Not after the look he gave me. A dead stare.”

  “A dead stare?” Wally asks, barely holding back more laughter.

  “Death, daggers, grenades, bombastic glares — pick one. Every single one screamed that he wanted me dead. He probably thinks I was… hitting on him. And I couldn’t exactly explain myself without making it sound even worse.”

  “He’s young, but clearly one of those old-school macho guys who pound their chest and say, ‘I got this.’” Ella mimics a tough guy stance, puffing out her chest as she moves closer, curious about the conversation. “At least he’s not completely like them, or you’d have been cussed out already. Like, ‘What’s your problem?’.” She shoves my chest in mock aggression. “Then you’d have gotten your ass kicked. If he just looked pissed, that’s not so bad.”

  “What were you even thinking? I doubt even a guy who was super into him would try that after being warned.”

  “But it was innocent! I didn’t mean anything by it. I don’t even like him. Or guys. It was just instinct — I had to slide it! It looked like a 3D button!”

  Ella twirls a finger near her temple. “Crazy.” Then she starts laughing. And now even Zoe joins in, copying her.

  How low have I fallen to be mocked by a child?

  “He looked like he wanted to kill you, and you decided to stroke his cheek?” Wally raises an eyebrow, making my lack of logic even more obvious. But to me, it made perfect sense.

  “I didn’t stroke him! Ahhh…” I groan in frustration. “I just embarrassed myself in front of him. Slipped, almost died, let our tent get washed away in the river, and then — oh yeah — wiped grease off his face like some lovesick girlfriend.

  And those damn eyes of his… what a humiliation.” My face heats up just talking about it. “Then, at the gas station, he mocked me. At least I’ll never see him again. What a disaster.”

  Ella nods with an exaggerated, almost condescending expression, eyes wide with fake concern.

  “You won’t call him. If you do, wait until I’m gone,” I say firmly.

  She smirks. She’s absolutely not going to do what I asked.

  “You don’t want a new phone? I’ll buy you one. I’ll keep the trip photos for memories, but I’m holding onto your phone until we get to a city. Then I’ll buy you a new one.”

  “The photos? Okay. Sam’s number? Sam’s number? You’ll give it to me when you leave.” She smirks, negotiating like a pro.

  “Deal.”

  Her smug, know-it-all grin widens, and she bites her lip like she just scored the best deal of her life.

  I don’t care. At least I’ll have the peace of knowing I’ll never see Sam again.

  Dear readers,

  Whew, that was painful, wasn’t it? I wanted to capture that absolutely agonizing feeling of making a social blunder so bad that you just want to sink into the ground and disappear. We’ve all been there—when a simple action gets completely misinterpreted, and no amount of explaining can make it better.

  And JJ? Oh, he’s living that nightmare in real time. He wants Sam’s respect, but also never wants to see him again. Classic emotional chaos. Honestly, I love writing these kinds of moments—the ones that make you laugh and cringe at the same time.

  What did you think of the awkwardness? Have you ever done something so embarrassing you still think about it at 3 AM? (Because same.)

  Drop a comment, leave a vote, and let’s suffer through secondhand embarrassment together. ??

  As always, thanks for reading!

  ~ Avery S. H. Abbot