Alex and Marco stumbled into the kitchen, still a little breathless and disheveled. The house was quiet—Rosa wasn't home, which meant Marco could cook (or attempt to) without her yelling at him for making a mess.
"Alright, mami, you hungry?" Marco asked, already rummaging through the fridge.
Alex smirked, leaning against the counter. "Depends. Are you actually gonna cook, or just set something on fire?"
"Hey, I make killer scrambled eggs," he said, pulling out eggs, butter, and a pack of sausages.
He got to work, humming under his breath as he sliced the sausages into little circles. Just as he was about to toss them into the pan—
"AYO, WHAT'S GOOD?"
Malik strolled in like he owned the place, kicking the door shut behind him.
Alex blinked. "Do you… not knock?"
Malik shrugged, plopping onto a stool. "Nah. Rivera house is basically my second home."
Marco rolled his eyes but grinned. "You just here to freeload food?"
"Obviously." Malik leaned over, eyeing the sausages. "Damn, you actually cooking? Thought you just ate takeout."
"I got skills, bro," Marco said, flipping a piece of sausage at him.
Malik caught it in his mouth. "Mid."
Marco scoffed, turning back to the cutting board—only to fumble and drop the entire pile of sliced sausages onto the floor.
"Oh, come on—"
Before he could even react, a tiny, furry blur shot out from under the table. Carlos the raccoon had returned.
"CARLOS, NO—" Marco lunged, but it was too late. The raccoon scarfed down every last piece, then sat back on his haunches, licking his little paws like he'd just enjoyed a five-star meal.
Marco's eye twitched.
Alex bit her lip, shoulders shaking.
Malik, meanwhile, was howling. "BRO, YOU DONE GOT OUTPLAYED BY A TRASH PANDA!"
Marco took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and then just… gave up. He turned back to the eggs, muttering in Spanish under his breath.
"Alright, eggs it is," he grumbled, reaching for a plate to crack them into—
CRASH.
The plate slipped from his greasy fingers and shattered on the floor.
Alex clapped a hand over her mouth, her entire body trembling with suppressed laughter.
Malik, however, had no restraint. "BRUH, YOU REALLY OUT HERE FAILING AT EGGS?"
Marco pointed the spatula at him. "I swear to God—"
He grabbed an egg and a spoon, determined to salvage this. With a sharp tap, he cracked the egg against the spoon, splitting it cleanly into the bowl.
Malik leaned in, squinting. "…The hell kind of shit is that? Who cracks an egg with a spoon?"
Marco snapped.
"WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE WHAT I CRACK IT WITH, PENDEJO?" he yelled, waving the spoon like a weapon. "I'LL CRACK IT WITH YOUR BIG BLACK HEAD NEXT!"
Alex lost it. She doubled over, tears stinging her eyes, laughter bursting out in silent, wheezing gasps.
Malik, unfazed, just smirked. "Damn, bro, you mad mad."
Marco, now fully committed to the bit, jabbed the spoon at him again. "CABEZA DE MELÓN—WAIT, NO—CARA DE PAPAYA—UGH, COÑO—" He was just yelling random Spanish insults now, his brain short-circuiting.
Alex was dying, clutching the counter for support.
Malik wiped an imaginary tear. "This the most entertainment I've had all week."
Marco groaned, tossing the spoon into the sink. "I give up. Malik, you cook."
"Bet," Malik said, hopping up. "But only 'cause I don't trust you not to burn water."
Alex, still giggling, kissed Marco's cheek. "I love you."
Marco sighed, wrapping an arm around her. "Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, mami."
And as Malik took over the kitchen (with far more competence than Marco), Carlos the raccoon waddled back under the table, leaving behind only the memory of stolen sausages.
******
Claire's Toyota Sienna let out a final, shuddering groan before dying completely on the side of the road.
"Oh, come on!" Claire smacked the steering wheel in frustration as the car coasted to a stop.
Haley sighed dramatically, already pulling out her phone. "Mom, I told you we should've taken my car."
Alex unbuckled her seatbelt. "Let's just see what's wrong."
The three of them piled out, popping the hood. A faint wisp of smoke curled up from the engine bay—never a good sign.
Claire squinted at the mess of metal and wires. "Okay… does anyone see anything obviously broken?"
Haley leaned in, then immediately recoiled. "Uh, no. And I don't want to."
Alex, however, stepped forward. Marco had been teaching her some basics—oil changes, spark plugs, how to tell if a belt was loose. But staring at the Sienna's engine now, she realized just how little she actually knew.
"It's not the battery," she muttered, checking the terminals. "And the belts look fine…"
Claire raised an eyebrow. "Since when do you know about cars?"
"Marco's been showing me stuff."
Haley smirked. "Oh, so that's what you guys do at his place."
Alex shot her a glare. "Not everything is about sex, Haley."
Claire pinched the bridge of her nose. "Okay, I'm calling a tow—"
"Wait." Alex already had her phone out. "Let me call Marco first."
Twenty minutes later, Marco's beat-up Honda Civic screeched to a halt behind them, the sound of Wu-Tang Clan blaring before he killed the engine.
He hopped out, dressed in his work clothes—grease-stained. The scent of motor oil and gasoline clung to him as he stretched, grinning.
"Ay, mami, you called the right guy."
Haley wrinkled her nose. "Ew, you smell like a gas station."
Marco smirked, ruffling her hair like an annoying older brother. "And you look like you got dressed in the dark, but we don't judge."
Haley swatted his hand away. "Ugh, rude."
Claire gave him a polite smile. "Thanks for coming, Marco."
"No problem, Mrs. D." He popped his trunk, grabbing his toolbox before sauntering over to the Sienna. "Alright, let's see what we got."
Marco leaned over the engine, his demeanor shifting from playful to focused. He checked the basics first—battery connections, belts, fluid levels—but nothing seemed out of place.
"Hmm." He scratched his chin. "This ain't no simple fix."
Alex hovered nearby. "What do you think it is?"
"Gimme a sec."
He pulled out a small diagnostic scanner, plugging it into the car's OBD port. The screen flickered, spitting out a code.
"P0016," he muttered.
Claire blinked. "Is that… bad?"
Marco whistled. "Yeah. Crankshaft position sensor correlation error."
Haley stared. "English, please."
"Basically, your engine's timing is fu— uh, messed up," Marco corrected, remembering Claire was there. "Could be the timing chain jumped, or the variable valve timing solenoid's crapped out."
Alex frowned. "Is that hard to fix?"
"On the side of the road? Hell yeah."
Marco rolled up his sleeves. "Alright, here's the plan—gotta check the timing first. If the chain slipped, we're screwed. But if it's just the solenoid, I can swap it out real quick."
He got to work, removing the engine cover and carefully disconnecting the VVT solenoid. After a quick inspection, he nodded.
"Solenoid's clogged. Oil sludge built up and killed it."
Claire groaned. "How much is this gonna cost?"
"Nah, I got a spare in my trunk."
Alex raised an eyebrow. "You just… carry those around?"
"Mami, you never know when a fine lady like Mrs. D's van gonna need some love." He winked at Claire, who just sighed.
With practiced ease, Marco cleaned the area, installed the new solenoid, and reset the engine's timing. It took him about 45 minutes, his hands moving with precision despite the cramped space.
Finally, he slammed the hood shut. "Try it now."
Claire turned the key—the engine roared to life, smooth as ever.
"Oh, thank God," she breathed.
Marco wiped his hands on a rag, grinning. "All in a day's work."
Haley crossed her arms. "Okay, that was kinda impressive."
"Kinda?" Marco scoffed. "I just saved you from a $800 repair bill, princesa."
Alex smirked, nudging him. "Don't let it go to your head."
Marco draped an arm over her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Too late."
Claire smiled, shaking her head. "Well… thank you, Marco. Seriously."
"Anytime." He smirked. "But next time, maybe don't wait 'til your car dies to call me."
As they piled back into the now-working Sienna, Alex couldn't help but feel a surge of pride.
Her boyfriend might be a loud, chaotic mess most of the time—but when it mattered?
He delivered.