I got into cars through my father. He used to work on cars. My job was to hold the light, which pretty much was the limit of my mechanical abilities.
My God, Sage. Your eyes. How have I never noticed them?" That uncomfortable feeling was spreading over me again. "What about them?" "The color," he breathed. "When you stand in the light. They're amazing. . . like molten gold. I could paint those. . . " He reached toward me but then pulled back. "They're beautiful. You're beautiful.