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"I might be home late," she said absentmindedly, bringing the apple to her lips for a bite. "Don\'t wait up."

Samantha, who had just finished the final preparations for breakfast, paused and looked at Summer with a furrowed brow. "Why can\'t you just sit down and have breakfast with us?" she asked, her tone holding mild frustration.

Summer rolled her eyes, finally glancing up from her phone. "I\'m rushing for my club, Mom. Besides, we\'re not kids anymore," she said dismissively. She then turned her gaze to Don, trying to pull him into the conversation as an ally. "Right, Donnie?"

Don, who had been leaning casually against the doorframe, shrugged as if the decision wasn\'t that significant to him. "I don\'t mind having breakfast with the family sometimes," he replied nonchalantly. "It\'s a good practice."

Summer let out a small groan of annoyance, clearly not getting the support she had hoped for. "Ugh, I knew you\'d side with Mom."

"I\'m not taking any sides," Don countered. "I just don\'t mind eating with family sometimes. Then other times, alone. If anything, it\'s kind of weird to live in the same house but never sit down for a meal together."

Samantha gave Don an appreciative nod, glad to have his support. "Exactly."

Don seized the moment, deciding to push just a little further. "But at the end of the day, it\'s a personal preference," he added, glancing back at Summer. "Maybe Summer just doesn\'t like it, so maybe we shouldn\'t hound her about it, Mom."

He deliberately worded it in a way that would make Summer feel guilty, the subtle implication being that her behavior was somehow lacking in the respect department. Summer opened her mouth, clearly ready to defend herself, but before she could speak, the sound of a car horn blared from outside, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

Samantha frowned deeply, turning her attention back to Summer. "I asked you to tell your friends not to hoot the horn like that. It can disturb the neighbors," she scolded gently, the lines on her forehead deepening with worry.

Don looked at Samantha, his expression thoughtful. "Would you like me to talk to them instead?" he offered.

Summer\'s eyes widened slightly, and she quickly shook her head. "That won\'t be necessary," she said, her tone a little sharper than before. She then shot Don an annoyed look. "Why are you siding with Mom on everything?"

Don tilted his head slightly, his expression one of mild curiosity. "It\'s not about taking sides," he said, keeping his tone even and unruffled. "It\'s about respect. Your friends are showing a lack of it by honking the horn like that when Mom clearly said not to. I know you and Mom aren\'t on the best of terms, but I at least expected you to look out for her."

The words hit their mark, deepening the guilt Don had been aiming to cultivate. Summer looked visibly taken aback, her posture stiffening as she struggled to find a retort. Samantha, sensing the brewing argument, quickly stepped in to defuse the situation.

"It\'s okay, Donnie," Samantha said, her voice gentle but firm, as if trying to reassure both of them. She didn\'t want the conversation to escalate into a full-blown argument, especially not so early in the morning.

Don nodded, though the expression on his face remained one of faint disappointment. "If you say so," he replied, his voice carrying a tone of reluctant acceptance. "I\'m going to head to the garage and check out the car."

He turned and walked away, leaving Summer standing there with a mix of emotions playing across her face—frustration, guilt, and perhaps a touch of regret.

As Don made his way down the hallway, a small smile crept onto his lips.

He soon made his way to the garage, the door creaking slightly as he pushed it open. The space was neat, but it had that telltale sign of neglect, with a thin layer of dust coating most surfaces.

Boxes were stacked neatly in one corner, labeled with faded handwriting, and tools hung on the wall, organized but untouched for what looked like months, maybe even years. The faint smell of oil and rubber lingered in the air, a scent that reminded him of old memories, though not his own.

At the center of the garage was a car, covered by a black car cover that had gathered dust over time. The shape beneath the cover hinted at a classic design, something with a bit of history. Don paused for a moment, hoping the car underneath wasn\'t in terrible shape. With a quick motion, he grabbed the edge of the cover and pulled it off, revealing the car beneath.

A sleek, black 1969 Ford Mustang Boss 429 stood before him.

The deep, glossy paint gleamed even under the layers of dust, the sharp lines of the body showing a sense of power and style that was unmistakably vintage. The iconic hood scoop, the aggressive front grille, and the muscular stance of the car all came together in a design that screamed raw, unfiltered performance.

The chrome accents gleamed under the dim garage light, and the wide tires hinted at the car\'s potential on the open road.

"Woah," Don muttered under his breath, genuinely surprised by what he had uncovered. He took a step back to fully appreciate the car.

He hadn\'t expected to find a muscle car, let alone one in such good condition. It wasn\'t a supercar, but there was something about its style that made him look forward to driving it. There was a certain allure to the simplicity and power of a car like this, something that modern cars just didn\'t have. And he couldn\'t deny, there was something undeniably fun about driving a manual transmission.

He started to walk around the car, admiring its appearance from every angle. \'It\'s no supercar,\' he thought to himself, \'but this... this is something else. There\'s just something about its style that gets to you.\'

Just as he was about to pop the hood and take a closer look at the engine, he heard a soft voice from behind.

"Hey," Summer said in a low tone, her voice catching him off guard.