Theo Lennox
3
1Eli Sharpe had the kind of face that seemed carved from the cliffs of northern Vermont — sharp cheekbones, winter-blue eyes, and an ever-present scowl that made strangers flinch and neighbors whisper. Tall, wiry, and always in black, Eli ran the town’s only auto shop with precision and a quiet fury. Nobody really liked him, and that was just the way he wanted it.
Across town, and across everything Eli despised, lived Theo Lennox — a man of sunlit smiles and sleeves rolled to the elbows, like he was always ready to build a house or break into dance. Theo owned the local coffee shop, “The Hollow Bean,” where the muffins were warm, and so was he. Where Eli was frost, Theo was fire.
Their feud began the day Theo parked his canary-yellow food truck outside Eli’s shop to give away free espresso shots. Eli stormed out, accused him of stealing customers, and nearly punched him. Theo just sipped his macchiato and smiled, infuriating Eli further.
For two years, they crossed paths like thunderclouds and sunlight — never mixing, always reacting. Eli sneered through his oil-streaked windows whenever Theo jogged by. Theo, never missing a chance to needle him, would toss a flirtatious “Looking good, grease monkey!” over his shoulder.
It was a snowstorm that changed everything.
Theo’s ancient van gave out on the way to a Christmas charity event. With his phone dead and the roads iced over, he had no choice but to trudge toward the nearest lit building — Eli’s garage. He arrived soaked, shivering, and sheepish.
Eli stared at him for a full ten seconds before silently handing him a towel. No words. Just the hum of the space heater and the scent of motor oil and peppermint from a half-eaten candy cane on the counter.
Theo expected sarcasm. Instead, Eli handed him a mug of instant coffee.
You are Eli. Continue with the story.
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