As Mason began dialing the local vendors to get the replacement oil regulator, Rhys took to catching up on social media.

He couldn’t help but check his Grindr first, surprised to find lots of profiles close by. The nearest single hot guy was less than three hundred feet away, a dancer named Hester. It looked like Hidden Creek was some kind of gay oasis in Texas.

Tristan was thankfully outside replacing the tires for a client, piling more of the old ones outside the building. Rhys did not like his attitude much and was happier in the company of Mason, even if he was spending his time on the phone.

While Mason called the fourth shop in the area, Rhys opened his Facebook. He only went on once or twice a week but figured he could catch up on what everyone from college was doing for Christmas.

After flying to Utah earlier in the year, Rhys has missed the spring semester, staying around to help with the business and the family grieving process. He made up his last few credits in the fall semester and didn’t technically ‘graduate’ until January. For some reason, graduating college didn’t feel like the life milestone that it should.

He saw no reason to hang around in Tallahassee to walk on stage with a bunch of strangers. He’d put the money he’d been saving up for his overpriced gown rental on his ticket to Texas.

Scrolling through Facebook, he saw his old roommate Sarah was engaged. She had ‘adopted’ him as her ‘gay best friend’ in sophomore year of college, often going out with him to hit up the gay bars. It was in Rhys’s junior year, he realized that she didn’t really value his friendship but merely saw him as her tour guide to the gay world.

Sophomore year Rhys would have been devastated she didn’t call him first thing to celebrate her engagement. Graduate Rhys was surprised how much he didn’t care at all. She was practically a stranger.

Rhys decided to have a Facebook cleanse when he got back home to Salt Lake City. Delete all the strangers on there. He wondered how many actual friends would be left.

Mason slammed his landline down on the receptacle with a grunt. Rhys tried his best not to think about Mason grunting in any other circumstances. Like with his shirt off at the gym. Or wrestling on top of Rhys, kissing his neck.

Rhys shook his head, focusing back on his Impala. The hood was still open, waiting to be serviced with the replacement part. No point developing a crush on a straight man he would never see again after today. No matter how gorgeous and muscular he was.

“Everything okay?” Rhys asked, feeling a drop of guilt because his broken car was giving Mason a hard time.

“Yeah, just having a bit of trouble tracking down the part. They literally don’t make them like they used to. Might have to drive up to Houston. I’ve done that a few times in the past.” Before Rhys could ask any more questions, Mason was dialing his work phone again. The idea of a landline seemed rather quaint to Rhys, but for a business, he figured it was a necessity.

He’d had to explain to his parents on several separate occasions that his dorms in Tallahassee didn’t have a landline phone to call, but they could always reach him on his cell. They were eventually convinced when Rhys started making ‘Star Trek calls’ with them.

Rhys closed his Facebook, opening up his Instagram where most of his siblings hung out. Tommy, the second from eldest, had gone out with other Meadows Hardware employees for a ‘group bonding exercise’ at the local Irish pub. That included Debbie, the third eldest, who Rhys had gotten for secret Santa this year. With six siblings, it was far too expensive for them all to buy gifts for each other every year. For as long as Rhys could remember, they had done a secret Santa, each sibling picking the name of another from a hat.

Rhys would have to do some social media stalking to find a good present for Debbie. When she was a teenager, it was easy: something Evanescence related and you were done. What was Debbie into nowadays?

He scrolled through her timeline. Lots of photos of her and her husband with newborn baby, Amy. Rhys had missed the birth of Debbie’s third baby but had been there for the first two. And the other five of his nieces and nephews. Christmas was, as his sweet old Grandpa Louie would have said, ‘going to be a clusterfuck’ with all the children scrambling around. Sugar highs from Christmas treats, the giddy excitement of Santa coming down the chimney to deliver presents.

After the fiftieth baby picture in a row, Rhys closed Instagram. He figured he would have lots of time to come up with present ideas on the drive home and then buy something when he was there. Or maybe even on the road if he came across something special.

If Mason ever found a replacement oil pump regulator. The muscular mechanic slammed the phone down once more. It must have been the seventh place he had called.

“Bad news?” Rhys hoisted himself up from the couch, stretching his legs out. He would soon spend two days straight behind the wheel and needed to work what leg muscles he had as much as possible.

“None of the local places have one. It looks like we’re gonna have to order in the part from the manufacturer. Don’t worry.” Mason was already gently waving his hands, seeing the concern on Rhys’s face. “It should come in by tomorrow. The day after tops.”

Rhys sighed in relief. He could manage a night in a cheap motel, probably two. Might even give him the chance to visit the LGBT center, maybe even find a good present for Debbie. Who knew what else a town like Hidden Creek held? It had already surprised him ten times over.

Mason began typing on his computer, presumably ordering the part. After a minute, his face dropped, and he dialed his landline once more.

“Hello, I need to speak to your shipping manager immediately.” There was a pause, and Rhys couldn’t help but stroll around behind the desk. He probably wasn’t meant to, but if there was a problem, he needed to know.

Today was Friday. The part would arrive on Monday.

The week after next.

In eleven days’ time.

“Well, the problem is that my client was passing through town, so they can’t afford to wait eleven days. Yes, I’ll hold.” Mason clutched the phone to his chest, looking up at Rhys. “Don’t worry. We’ll get this sorted.”

Mason was on hold for another ten minutes before he was able to speak to the rep’s supervisor. Rhys spent the whole time pacing the garage floor wall to wall, Googling how much eleven days in the Hidden Creek motel would cost.

He knew that unlike Mason, the motel wouldn’t accept an installment payment plan.

“Yes, hello, thank you for taking time out of your busy day to talk with me.” Rhys looked up from his phone. Damn, Mason was charming. Rhys wondered with charm like that, how he didn’t have a girlfriend.

Rhys’s face dropped as he realized that he probably did. She was probably some sort of gorgeous farm girl who wore plaid shirts and giggled at all his jokes and loved to rub oil on his muscular pecs. Rhys felt an irrational envy for this imaginary woman.

“Well, the problem I have is my client is passing through town and isn’t a resident,” Mason continued. “So they can’t hang around eleven days blowing their cash on a motel for no reason.”

There was firmness to Mason’s voice, which Rhys found intoxicating. Polite, but nonnegotiable.

“You’re really that extra busy during the Christmas period?”

Rhys was surprised at that as well. He supposed most industries were busy leading up to the holidays. Maybe people fixing up cars as gifts for loved ones? That was all Rhys could think of.

“I understand that,” Mason said patiently, “and I don’t want to tell someone else how to do their job. But you must be able to mark something as a priority order.”

Rhys nodded in appreciation. That made sense.

“Okay, so what can we do to solve this problem?” Mason asked.

Rhys looked at the serial number of the car part and began typing it into Amazon. He was on his parents’ Prime account, so maybe they could ship it to him earlier despite the Christmas postage chaos.

Amazon was happy to suggest paint for the Impala, windshield wipers, and lots of air fresheners. But while they did DVDs, bedsheets, and even food, Amazon apparently did not supply car parts.

“To be perfectly blunt it’s not just my problem. It’s your problem as well,” Mason said. “I’m willing to pay extra for a faster delivery, but I cannot accept there is nothing you can do to speed up this process.”

Mason carried on arguing with the shipping manager for the next fifteen minutes. Rhys was impressed. He did not raise his voice but would not take no for an answer.

Meanwhile, Rhys looked up the exact part on eBay. He didn’t find the one Mason had up but did find an adjustable one-size-fits-all oil regulator. He bookmarked the page to show to Mason.

“Well, there’s nothing else to discuss, is there?” Mason eventually said, gritting his teeth. “Thank you for your time today.” He slammed the landline back down onto the receiver. Rhys was amazed it didn’t snap in half from the force.

“Wow, that was impressive. Thanks for trying.” Rhys showed Mason the page he’d found on eBay. “Would this work? It would get here by Tuesday, still better than next Monday.”

Mason shook his head, and Rhys felt his stomach drop.

“Sorry man, those are all eight-to-ten-millimeter hoses. This Impala is limited edition, with seven-millimeter hoses. Part of the reason why it clogged, just those bit smaller hoses than normal.”

“So you’re telling me that the only oil regulator that will fit is the one that won’t get here for eleven days?” Rhys could feel his stomach dropping, like it was filled with ice-cold acid. Sizzling and freezing all at once.

“First thing I’m gonna do is order the part, then start emailing their customer service department,” Mason said as Rhys made his way back to the couch, collapsing down. “Your parents offered to pick you up. Are they nearby?” Mason asked, clicking on the screen.

“Salt Lake City. Two days driving. So four days to pick me up, and then another four days to drive down and pick the car up again once it’s ready. Right before Christmas.”

Rhys knew if he asked they would say yes, but it just wasn’t feasible. Christmas was, like most retail businesses, one of their busiest times of the year. Most dads in the area loved to get a big manly power tool for Christmas. And then there were the first toolkits for young adults. And all the last-minute Christmas decorations. Almost one-third of their annual sales came from the month of December.

Eight days off, just for Rhys. He couldn’t do that to them.

He began looking up the local motel. They were busy leading up to Christmas, but Rhys could probably squeeze in there for a few days. Then maybe find a twenty-four-hour gym in the area. He could probably sneak in there for a few hours shut-eye, especially with an eye mask. He would need to buy an eye mask, then.

But what about all his belongings? He couldn’t leave his peace lily at Mason’s Body Shop for over a week. Everything he owned was in that car. All three boxes.

And it wasn’t like he could just sleep in his car, sitting in the garage, for over a week. Or what if he wheeled the car out?

Maybe a storage place? He could make a bed out of his clothes, explore the town in the day. He’d just have to be back before the storage place closed. But would that even be cheaper than a motel for such a short stay?

Rhys realized he had been staring out into nothing, sitting on the couch. He felt dizzy, like he was floating away from himself.

Mason gently rubbed his shoulder, bringing him back to reality. Had he been calling his name?

He looked around at Mason, his face frowning with concern.

“You okay there? You seemed to drift off.”

“Yeah, just considering my options.” Rhys looked back down at his phone.

It was at thirty percent battery. He could charge it here while looking through his options. Maybe ask his parents and whoever his secret Santa was for a bit of money as an early Christmas present. He didn’t need anything to open on the twenty-fifth. He just needed to get Grandpa Louie’s Impala home.

“Did you hear what I said?” Mason asked. He looked up at his apartment door, then back at Rhys. Rhys instantly felt guilty. Mason was probably worried sick about Socket, and here Rhys was wasting his time.

“Sorry, no,” Rhys said.

“I asked why don’t you just crash on my couch for the next week?”

Rhys paused, gaping at Mason.

“I’m sorry, what?”