chapter four, manuals

Summer stretched on like a golden thread. Slow, warm, and full of stolen moments.

That Friday, he showed up at your door with two milkshakes and a crease between his brows. That one was on you. Texting Help me and Come now probably made it sound more life-threatening than it was.

To be fair, it was urgent... ish.

You hadn't packed for fancy. When you threw things into your suitcase for the summer, you were thinking lake days, bonfires, and living in sweat shorts and oversized tees. Not a birthday dinner at some nice restaurant where your parents expected you to wear a dress.

Which-you didn't bring.

Jake shut the door behind him, holding out one of the milkshakes. Chocolate, extra whipped cream, hold the cherry, straw already in.

"You good?" he asked, voice low, careful. His expression was all concern, like he thought he'd find blood on the floor.

You grinned and took the shake. "Sorry. Didn't mean to make it sound... catastrophic."

He raised an eyebrow, already halfway through his own milkshake. "That's one word for it."

"I have a wardrobe emergency."

He blinked. "You dragged me here for... fashion advice?"

"I didn't drag you," you argued, sipping. "I invited you."

"To shop."

"Yes. Please?"

Jake looked at you like he was trying to be annoyed, but his mouth twitched like he was losing the battle. "You couldn't just ask like a normal person?"

"You would've said no."

"Exactly."

"Which is why I had to be a little dramatic. You're here, aren't you?"

He gave you a long-suffering sigh. "Fine. Let's go, but you owe me."

"For what?"

"For emotional distress."

You grinned. "You're such a baby."

"You keep calling me names, but I still showed up with milkshakes. Because I'm nice."

"And handsome," you added, sarcastic.

"And humble," he continued, deadpan.

You headed for the passenger side door, about to open it when he groaned.

"I'm driving again?" he muttered, resting his hands on the hood of the car like this was the greatest injustice he'd ever known.

"I prefer to be called your passenger princess," you respond sweetly. "You know you love it."

He rolled his eyes but opened the door for you anyway, mock-chivalrous. "Milady."

You curtsied dramatically before getting in. "What a gentleman."

Jake shut the door with a shake of his head and walked around to the driver's side.

"What am I gonna do with you?" he said as he slid in beside you.

"You'd be lost without me."

"Tragically," he agreed. But he was still smiling. He started the car and pulled out of the driveway, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

"Seriously though," he starts. "What if I was doing something important when you texted? Like... saving someone's life?"

You shot him a look. "Didn't know Jacob Black was a local repairman during the day and Batman at night."

He smirked. "I'm a man of many talents."

"Clearly. And even if you were doing something heroic, you still came anyway."

"Of course I did," he replied, voice steady. "Anything for you."

You felt your face warm. Jacob had always been a sweet talker. Maybe too good at it. Sometimes his words wrapped around you like ribbon-easy to get tangled in. You could never tell if it was intentional or just him being... Jake. It was probably why your parents adored him so much.

"Okay, Mister Smooth Talker," you said, trying to shake it off. "Let's go. Take me shopping, since you're the best, kindest, most caring friend ever."

Friend.

You cringed the second the word left your mouth-and caught him doing the same.

Growing up, Jake was always just that. Your friend. Your best friend. But coming back after being apart for over a year, something felt off. Or maybe too much. The butterflies you tried to ignore when he looked at you like you were the only person on Earth. The way he touched you-casual but intentional-like the arm he threw over your shoulder during movies or the hand he wrapped around your waist to steer you away from the edge of the street downtown.

Your hormones said one thing, but your brain wouldn't let you gamble a decade and about a half of friendship on a crush you weren't even sure you had. Plus, you weren't someone who followed feelings anyway. You buried them. Swallowed them down before they could complicate things, not because you'd been burned before-but because the future was terrifying. Relationships, careers, everything that forced you to commit or risk falling.

Or maybe some deep, unspoken part of you already knew.

That no one else could ever really fill that space the way one person could. Just one person.

You shook the thought out of your head and leaned back in your seat, tapping your foot to the rhythm of the song he was blasting.

--

Thankfully, Jacob Black likes you.

No one else in the world would volunteer for a multi-hour shopping trip, drive the full hour to Port Angeles, hold all your bags, and trail behind you like a very large, very reluctant puppy.

Originally, the plan was simple: one dress, maybe a pair of shoes. But that plan unraveled quickly. You weren't built for restraint when it came to shopping. One store turned into five. Then you remembered you needed a gift for your dad. Then you thought about your friends back home and how they'd want little trinkets. And then you saw a fishing lure you thought Billy would love.

And for all his sighing and groaning and dramatic dragging of feet, Jacob didn't actually mind. He liked being with you. Always had. Even if you were dragging him into-

"No. Not another one," he groaned as you tugged on his arm, pointing to a small antique shop tucked between a bakery and a dive bar.

"Jacob, I swear this is the last one. Please." You gave him the eyes-the ones he could never say no to when you were younger.

He exhaled like you had just asked him to lift the Eiffel Tower. "Fine. But you owe me ice cream."

"Of course."

The bell above the door chimed as you both stepped inside. The shop smelled like cedarwood, salt air, and dust. Shelves were packed too tightly, old jazz hummed softly from a crackling speaker behind the counter and the entire place felt like someone's cluttered memory box.

You drifted to the far right aisle, fingers brushing old trinkets, worn postcards, cracked teacups. Jake veered off in the opposite direction. As much as he liked to complain, you knew he like to get lost in places like this-easily entertained by weird old knickknacks and gadgets.

You weren't even sure why you came in. You already had everything, but something about places like this always made you linger.

And then a glint of silver caught your eye.

Dangling from a spinning display was a small, slightly tarnished keychain. Manual gear shift. Realistic detailing. The knob even moved. It looked like something pulled straight from a decades-old set of keys. Without thinking, you plucked it off the hook and turned it in your fingers.

It reminded you of the garage. Of Jacob's hands stained with grease. Of the way he half-smiled when something finally worked after hours of tinkering. Of how you'd sit on the old stool, legs curled up, watching him work in the golden light of late afternoon. Somehow, that had become your thing.

You wanted to buy it without a second thought.

As you approached the front counter, still scanning for Jacob, you placed the keychain down and fished out your wallet.

"Just this?" the cashier asked.

You nodded without looking up, pulling your card from your back pocket. He was young. Shaggy blond hair. Disheveled. Looked about your age.

"How much?" you asked, card in hand.

"Five bucks," he answered, smiling. You gave him a polite, tight-lipped smile back and started digging for cash instead.

"You from around her?" he asked casually.

"Uh, no. Just visiting from Forks. You know it?"

"Yeah, I know Forks. Kinda guessed you weren't local. Think I've met every pretty girl in Port Angeles already."

He was flirting, awkwardly. You gave a soft laugh that didn't reach your eyes.

"Thanks, I, uh... yeah. I only have four."

"That's alright. Four is good for-" he was cut off by a dollar sliding across the counter beside you.

You turned. Jacob.

His jaw was tense, eyes sharp on the cashier. You could tell he was grinding his teeth-something you'd told him a million times to stop doing.

"Oh, um-receipt?" you asked, flustered.

The cashier handed it over quickly. You grabbed it and the keychain, shoving both into your pocket before heading for the door, Jacob at your heels. The sound of all the bags rustling behind you made you laugh quietly.

Outside, Jake placed a hand on your back and steered you toward the sidewalk.

"We're never going back there," he muttered, jaw still tight.

"Jacob," you giggled, "It's all good. He wasn't being weird."

"He was two seconds away from being weird."

You hesitated. You didn't know what to say. Jacob had always been protective. But that? That felt like something else.

"Thought Batman only came out at night," you teased, bumping his shoulder. "Thanks for saving me from the horror of being flirted with." You widened your eyes and dropped your jaw, planting your hands dramatically on either side of your face like you were reenacting The Scream.

"You look like a psycho next to me. Stop that."

And you do. You slowed near the crosswalk and stepped aside, stopping in front of a cozy little restaurant. Jacob followed closely. You pulled the keychain from your pocket and held it in your fist.

"Wait."

He raised a brow as you stepped in front of him.

You opened your hands and held it out for him. "For you."

He blinked, surprised. Gently, he took it from you, his calloused fingers brushing against yours.

"You weren't supposed to pay for it, but I guess it's a team effort now. It just... reminded me of you. And the garage. Us, y'know?"

He stared at it. Turned it over in his palm. Flicked the tiny shift knob with his thumb. Silent for a long moment.

"Do you like it?" you asked, unsure.

Finally, he looked up.

His smile was slow, wide, and genuine. And in the sunlight, you could see it-the warm streak of caramel hidden in his dark eyes. You never noticed it and always thought they were just a shade of dark brown, but now you do.

"I love it," he said quietly, voice low and sincere.

"Good." You grinned. "Ice cream now?"

He nodded, and the two of you started walking, shoulders brushing, toward the pier and the rundown little shack that had the best cones in town.

As you walked ahead of him, Jacob couldn't help it-his thoughts went back to you. To the way you looked in the antique shop, the way you always knew what would make him smile. To the day you came back to Forks. The day he imprinted on you.