The lights went out just as Mira Halden was saving her final draft.
The glow of her laptop screen flickered for a second—like a heartbeat skipped—then vanished. Darkness swept across her tiny studio apartment like a tide, drowning the last dregs of productivity with it. She blinked, half-hoping the lights would snap back on. They didn't. The hum of her mini-fridge stopped. Her phone buzzed once, then died.
"No, no, no," Mira muttered, already scrambling for the flashlight she kept on her nightstand. Her fingers knocked over a mug and a half-read paperback before they found the cold metal tube. She clicked it on and aimed the beam at her laptop. The screen was blank. The file she'd spent all morning editing—gone.
Welcome to city life, Mira. Endless noise, overpriced coffee, and now a blackout on deadline day.
She pulled her hoodie tighter around her as she paced the length of the apartment, her socks sliding slightly on the wooden floor. The city outside her window was dim, but not dark. Streetlights still glowed in the distance. The outage was local.
She picked up her phone—also dead.
"Figures," she muttered. No electricity. No internet. No client file. And worst of all, no way to send the final manuscript to her very particular, very impatient client.
It was only noon.
Her landlord, a ghost of a man named Mr. Callen, lived two floors down and probably hadn't upgraded the wiring since the '80s. She'd complained before. He'd promised to look into it. This was the third outage in six weeks.
Mira glanced at the corner of her desk where a business card had been pinned to the corkboard for months: Jace's Tech Repair - No Fix, No Fee. Walk-ins Welcome.
She didn't remember where she got it. Some café bulletin board, maybe. But right now, it was the only option that didn't involve chucking her laptop out the window.
---
The repair shop was tucked between a boarded-up bookstore and a laundromat that reeked of lavender detergent. The faded sign read "JACE'S" in peeling red letters, and the open sign flickered like it couldn't commit to being useful.
Mira hesitated outside the door. The city had that early-winter chill, where the cold felt damp instead of crisp. She gripped her laptop case tighter and pushed the door open.
The bell above chimed, announcing her arrival.
The shop smelled faintly of solder and coffee. Rows of electronics—mostly old phones, game consoles, and battered laptops—lined metal shelves behind the counter. A curtain separated the storefront from a back room.
Behind the counter sat a man with shaggy dark hair and a pair of worn headphones hanging around his neck. He looked up from a circuit board, his eyes unreadable beneath thick brows.
"Can I help you?" he asked, voice gravelly and disinterested.
Mira walked up, placing her laptop carefully on the counter. "My laptop died during a blackout. I need the data recovered. It's urgent. Like, today-urgent."
He blinked. "Blackout, huh? You from around 9th and Mercer?"
She nodded. "Yeah, building on the corner."
"Callen's place?"
Her jaw tightened. "Unfortunately."
The man—Jace, she assumed—gave a dry chuckle. "Yeah, his fuse box is older than my grandmother's blender. You're lucky it didn't start a fire."
He flipped open the laptop, his fingers moving with casual precision.
"I'm Jace. I don't do miracles, but I'll take a look."
"Mira," she said.
"And if you can't recover the file, I may cry. Just a warning."
He arched a brow. "Noted."
Mira leaned against the counter as Jace got to work. He moved like someone who'd done this a thousand times but still cared enough not to rush. The silence stretched, but it wasn't awkward. There was something calming about the soft clicks and taps.
Ten minutes passed.
"Battery's shot," he said finally. "But your drive's intact. I can pull the data, maybe even restore it to a cloud backup, assuming you have one."
"Not recent enough," Mira sighed. "Most of it was done this morning. But if you can get the file—"
"I'll get it," he said, almost annoyed by her doubt. "Give me an hour. Come back at two."
Mira hesitated. "Do I leave it here?"
"Unless you want me to fix it telepathically."
She smiled despite herself. "Fine. I'll be back at two. If you break it—"
"I don't break things. I fix them."
Mira left the shop with a strange sensation fluttering in her stomach. Relief, maybe. Or curiosity.
---
Two hours and a mediocre panini later, she returned.
The shop was quieter this time, the door unlocked. Jace was at the counter, laptop open. When she entered, he looked up and handed her a thumb drive.
"Your file. Saved and scanned. You're lucky."
Mira nearly sagged with relief. "You are a lifesaver. Seriously. I could kiss you."
His lips twitched, just slightly. "I'll settle for payment."
She grinned, pulling out her wallet. "Right. Business first. How much?"
"Fifty. Discounted."
She paid, then hesitated. "Do you always work alone?"
"Yeah. Easier that way."
Mira nodded, though something in her wanted to ask more. There was something about Jace—quiet, intense, careful—that made her want to dig. But she didn't.
Not today.
"Thanks again, Jace. Really."
He gave a slight nod. "Come back if it breaks again."
She didn't say it, but she probably would—even if it didn't break.
And that was how it started.
Not with fireworks. Not with love at first sight. Just a blackout, a broken laptop, and a man who didn't smile much.
Yet.