“Yeah… I think so.”
I nodded, kneeling beside the car, my fingers already moving over the bolts. “You got a spare?”
Years of repairing my old bike had made me fast. Minutes later, the car was lifted, the busted tire removed. Sweat dripped down my temple, but I ignored it. Time was slipping away, and I felt it pressing against my ribs.
She paced, checking her watch every few seconds. “I’m going to be late.”
For illustration purposes only
“Yeah… me too,” I said, chuckling despite the tension. She looked at me then, really looked, and something unspoken passed between us.
“Wait… are you on your way somewhere important?” she asked.
I tightened the last bolt and stood, wiping my hands. “Job interview.”
Her face fell. “Oh… oh no.”
I glanced at my watch. Ten minutes late. My chest tightened. I had blown it.
“Here.” She pulled something from her bag and pressed it into my hand. A business card.
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