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“I mean, he was free to say no.” He chuckles. “No one said he had to sign. But what’s a guy like that gonna do? He understood the relationship we’ve got. He makes reliable money from me. He gives me preferred pricing. We’re both happy.”

“You sure about that?”

He comes out of his head for a second, looking at me. “Huh?”

I face him. “Do you respect Wyatt?”

He pauses.

For a while.

“Of course I do.”

“Then why don’t you talk about him like you do?”

He turns completely to me like there’s something new on my face. Like he’s actually seeing a person instead of a mechanic. “Did I in some way indicate I don’t respect him?”

“You’ve known me ten minutes, and you trust my knowledge about what to do with your car.” I nod toward the garage door, as if Wyatt’s right there. “Then you spent ten seconds ranting about a guy you’ve hired for years like he’s some kid you’re training.”

Someone drops a wrench nearby. Loud clang.

Neither of us flinch.

“Right,” he says finally, still rigid, pensive, staring at me. “I … perhaps should’ve rethought my words. Calling him a kid. I guess everyone’s a kid, in some respect, when you get to a certain age.”

This dude can’t be more than ten years older than either of us. It isn’t “age” this bastard’s talking about. It’s bank account size.

Then he nods. “And yes. I do trust you. I know when a man’s … worth my trust.” He lifts his eyebrows. “And so I’ll trust you to do your honest work with my car and be out of your way.”

Joel was hovering too close and quickly dives in. “I’ll take you to the waiting room,” he says, somewhat out of breath, listening to all of this and knowing exactly what’s gotten me hot.

I don’t acknowledge Grant any further.

He doesn’t stay in the waiting room. Job will take hours.

After the guy fucks off to get lunch around the corner or strut down the street sizing up the rest of the town, I get busy. Joel goes to the computer. Supplier’s got what we need. Forty-five minutes out. Ordered.

Then I’m doing my honest work.

Second the part arrives, I get busy with Carl as we replace the whole control arm assembly, then perform the alignment. Whole time, I’ve got no thoughts. Can’t have any. If I start, I’m gonna do something bad. My goal right now is treating this stupid prick like a customer and getting the job done. Believe it or not, I ain’t in the business of doing something careless—or unethical—that’ll cause his vehicle to go sideways on the highway and put his or others’ lives in danger.

Hours later, I’m finally checking off on the work with one last road test, taking her up to highway speed and back. Grant returns at the same time I do. I don’t gotta say anything, because Joel steps in to do the ringing up at the register while I clean up.

Grant still catches me just before leaving, insisting on taking my hand and giving it a firm shake. “For what it’s worth,” he says, “you’ve given me something to think about.”

I stare him down, wondering what that means.

I’m still wondering after he leaves and I’m at the mouth of the garage, glaring toward the road, watching him head out of town. I keep sucking on my teeth, frustrated somehow.

Maybe it has nothing to do with him. Maybe it’s the silence I’m getting from Wyatt. Wondering what his Monday’s been like. If he made up and got along better with his sister. If she extended her stay and I won’t have a hope in hell of seeing him for a while.

If my house is a second away from being sold.

If it even matters what the hell we do now.

I don’t know why it occurs to me in this exact moment, but I don’t feel in such a hurry to hit the road like I used to. In fact, the idea makes me sick for some reason.

What’s out there for me?