Marco had spent some time convincing his boss to let Alex shadow him again—partly because Mendoza still hadn't forgotten the last time she'd been there ("She's smart, Jefe! She won't break anything!"), and partly because Alex had rolled her eyes every time Marco suggested it. But today, he'd finally won.
Now, standing in the garage in matching work jumpsuits (Alex's rolled up at the sleeves, Marco's streaked with grease as usual), Marco gestured grandly to a lifted Ford F-150.
"Today's lesson: tires and terror," he announced.
Alex crossed her arms. "Why am I here again?"
"One, 'cause you love my company," Marco said, tossing her a pair of gloves. "And two, 'cause you do need to learn this."
"I really don't."
"How do you know?" Marco challenged, popping the truck's hood with a metallic clunk. "What if you're stranded in the desert? What if your future Nobel Prize depends on changing a tire?"
Alex opened her mouth—then closed it. "…That's not a real scenario."
"Yet."
Marco grabbed the lug wrench and dropped to a crouch beside the front tire. "Step one: Loosen the lug nuts before jacking it up. Otherwise, the wheel'll just spin like a top."
Alex watched as he braced the wrench, muscles flexing as he broke the nuts free with a grunt.
"Your turn," he said, handing her the wrench.
Alex hesitated, then knelt beside him. The wrench was heavier than she expected.
"Put your weight into it," Marco coached, guiding her hands. "Like you're unscrewing the lid on your mom's secret wine stash."
Alex snorted but twisted hard—the first nut gave way with a satisfying crack.
"Hell yeah," Marco cheered. "Now jack it up—slowly—unless you wanna wear the truck as a hat."
Alex rolled her eyes but followed his instructions, cranking the jack until the tire hovered. Marco walked her through removing the nuts, pulling the old tire off, and lining up the new one.
"Now tighten 'em in a star pattern," he said, tracing the shape in the air. "Keeps it even. Like putting a crown on a very ugly king."
Alex smirked but obeyed, stepping back when the last nut was secure.
"Boom. You just saved yourself $200 at a mechanic," Marco said, wiping his hands. "Next lesson: engines."
Marco ducked under the hood, pointing at the engine block. "This baby's got a misfire—meaning one cylinder's throwing a tantrum. Listen."
He turned the key; the engine sputtered like a sleep-deprived zombie.
"Diagnosis?" Marco challenged.
Alex peered at the mess of metal and wires. "…Magic?"
"Spark plugs," Marco corrected, poking a finger at a corroded plug buried deep in the engine. "This one's fried. Easy fix."
He grabbed a socket wrench and demonstrated how to disconnect the ignition coil, unscrew the old plug, and gap the new one with a coin-sized tool.
"Gotta be exact," he said, squinting at the gap. "Too wide, no spark. Too tight, engine screams like my mamá when she sees my laundry pile."
Alex snorted but watched closely as he threaded the new plug in by hand first—"Never cross-thread it unless you wanna marry the engine block"—then tightened it with the wrench.
"Now this part's fun," he said, handing her the coil pack. "Push it down like you're stabbing a vampire. Firm but gentle."
Alex raised an eyebrow but obeyed, jamming the coil onto the plug until it clicked.
Marco turned the key again—the engine roared to life, smooth as butter.
"That's how you fix a misfire," he said, grinning. "So? Admit it. You're having fun."
Alex wiped her greasy hands on a rag. "I'm admitting nothing."
But she didn't hide her smile.
******
The Dunphy household was quiet after the chaotic Thanksgiving dinner. Alex sat curled up on the couch between Haley and Claire, absently flipping through TV channels while her family lounged in a food-induced haze.
Then her phone buzzed.
She pulled it out, expecting another meme from Luke or a group chat notification—but instead, it was a series of messages from Marco, sent from his hometown in Mexico.
The first picture loaded:
A sun-drenched cobblestone street, lined with vibrant buildings painted in shades of terracotta, cobalt blue, and sunflower yellow. Strings of papel picado fluttered overhead. In the distance, the silhouette of a church spire rose against a sky streaked with the golden-orange hues of sunset. (A/N: Wow, I feel like a goddamn poet lmao)
Alex's lips curved into a small, private smile.
Claire, ever the nosy mom, immediately leaned over. "What's got you smiling like that?"
Haley, never one to miss an opportunity to snoop, craned her neck. "Ooooh, is it Marco?"
Alex swiped to the next picture before they could get a closer look:
A bustling mercado, overflowing with colorful stalls. Piles of ripe mangoes, chiles, and prickly pears glistened under strings of bare bulbs. An elderly woman in a floral apron stood behind a counter, hands mid-gesture as she laughed. The caption read: "Abuela Rosa's favorite spot. She says hi (and that you're too skinny)."
"Aww," Haley cooed, nudging Alex. "He's sending you vacation pics? That's kinda—"
Alex swiped again.
The third picture was not of the mercado.
It was Marco.
Shirtless, leaning against a sun-bleached stucco wall, his skin golden under the midday sun. Water droplets glistened on his chest—fresh from a swim, maybe—and his usual smirk was firmly in place. One arm was flexed, his bicep taut under the ink of his tattoos (a swirling mix of old-school car motifs and Spanish phrases she couldn't quite read). His dark hair was tousled, still damp, and his abs—good God, his abs—were unfairly defined, even in the casual, off-angle selfie. A thin scar ran along his ribcage, a faint imperfection that only made the rest of him look more real.
The caption: "Missing u. (And yes, I know I look good.)"
The couch erupted.
"OH MY GOD," Haley shrieked, grabbing the phone. "ALEX! HE'S HOT!"
Claire's eyebrows shot up. "That's—wow. That's… a lot of skin."
Alex's face burned. "Give it back—"
"Is this what you two do when you hang out?" Haley waggled her eyebrows. "No wonder you're always 'studying'—"
"I'm leaving," Alex hissed, snatching her phone back and bolting for the stairs.
Behind her, Haley's laughter echoed. "TELL HIM TO SEND MORE!"
Claire just sighed, rubbing her temples. "I need wine."
Alex slammed her bedroom door, flopping onto her bed—but not before stealing another glance at the picture.
…Damn him.
(She saved it. Obviously.)
******
The clock on Alex's bedside table glowed 2:17 AM when the faint tap-tap of pebbles against her window startled her awake. She sat up, heart pounding—until she recognized the silhouette standing on a ladder outside.
Marco.
She scrambled to open the window, the cold November air rushing in as he slid inside with practiced ease, his boots landing soundlessly on her carpet. Before she could say a word, his hands were cupping her face, his lips crashing into hers with a hunger that made her knees weak.
"Missed you," he murmured between kisses, his voice rough from travel.
Alex didn't trust herself to speak. Instead, she pulled him closer, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his hoodie, breathing in the scent of gasoline and cheap airline soap that clung to him.
Hours later, the room was quiet save for the steady rhythm of Marco's breathing. Exhausted from the trip, he'd fallen asleep almost instantly after they'd… worn each other out.
Alex lay beside him, propped up on one elbow, studying him in the dim glow of the moonlight filtering through her curtains.
His face was relaxed in sleep, the usual smirk softened into something boyish. A faint scar—barely visible—cut through his left eyebrow, another nick near his jawline. His stubble had grown in thicker, a shadow of dark bristles along his sharp jaw. His hair, usually tousled with product, was messy in a way that made her fingers itch to run through it.
She let her gaze drift lower.
His body was half-covered by her blanket, the other half on display—tan skin stretched over lean muscle, the tattoos she'd traced earlier now hidden in the dark. A bruise bloomed on his shoulder (from work? from their earlier… enthusiasm?), and a fresh scrape marred his knuckles.
Without thinking, she reached out, brushing her fingers through his hair. Marco stirred, mumbling something incoherent, before scooting closer, his face nuzzling into the curve of her neck.
Alex's chest tightened.
This is dangerous.
If he stayed till morning, if her parents found him here—
But the warmth of him against her, the weight of his arm slung over her waist, was too much to resist.
She hugged him closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead, and let herself drift off.
Tomorrow's problem.