No charge.
No lecture.
No paperwork.
Just fix it.
That was when the man in the blue button-down walked in.
He didn’t look like a mechanic.
He looked like the kind of man who called a plumber and then stood behind him explaining plumbing.
Clean shoes.
Perfect hair.
Watch too shiny for a garage.
He held his phone out in front of him like a shield.
“Are you Hank?” he asked.
I slid out from under the van on my creeper and sat up.
“Depends who’s asking.”
He looked around my shop.
At Leo under the hood of a delivery driver’s truck.
At two retired mechanics replacing a water pump.
At a single mom in the corner filling out her name on a donation board because she insisted on volunteering next week.
Then his eyes landed on Maddie.
On her grandmother.
On the tray of donated brake pads sitting open beside the lift.
He gave this little laugh.
