“You need to leave.”
Luke removed the final lug.
“Can’t.”
“Yes, you can.”
“Car’s on the jack.”
“I can wait inside.”
“If a truck throws enough wash, that jack shifts.”
“I’ll call someone.”
“Forty-five minutes.”
She stared.
Luke pulled the damaged tire free.
“You said this job could change things for your son.”
“It could.”
“And you’re risking it for someone you don’t know.”
Luke looked up.
Rain ran from his hair down his face.
“My kid watches everything I do.”
She frowned slightly.
“So?”
Luke rolled the spare toward the hub.
“I can tell him kindness matters all day.”
He lifted the tire.
“He’ll remember what I do when kindness costs me something.”
The woman stopped moving.
Luke did not see the impact.
He was tightening the first lug.
She watched him.
Not the tire.
Him.
His soaked shirt.
His muddy knees.
The old sedan parked behind the luxury SUV.
The interview notification still glowing on his phone.
Something behind her controlled expression softened.
“What happened to his mother?”
The question came quietly.
Luke’s hands slowed.
He looked up.
The woman immediately regretted it.
“I’m sorry. That was personal.”
Luke tightened another lug.
“She died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Six years ago.”
The rain seemed quieter for a moment.
“Noah barely remembers her.”
The woman lowered her eyes.
Luke continued.
“Leukemia.”
She whispered, “God.”
“Long year.”
“You raised him alone after that?”
“My sister helps.”
“But mostly you.”
“Mostly.”
Luke lowered the SUV.
His phone showed 4:51.
Nine minutes.
Impossible.
The woman saw.
“Luke.”
He looked at her.
He had not remembered telling her his first name.
Perhaps the recruiter had.
“You’ve done enough.”
“One minute.”
He tightened the lug nuts in a star pattern.
Then again.
He stood.
His trousers were soaked black from the knees down.
His white shirt clung to his chest.
The tie was crooked.
His hair looked as though he had jumped into a lake.
He looked down at himself.
Then laughed.
“Interview-ready.”
The woman bit her lip, trying not to smile.
“You could explain.”
“That I stopped to change a stranger’s tire?”
“Yes.”
“Sounds invented.”
She looked at him.
“You have a witness.”
“You planning to come?”
“I might.”
Luke interpreted it as a joke.
He packed the tools.
“Drive slowly for the first mile. If you feel vibration, pull over again.”
“Okay.”
“Get the damaged tire inspected. Could be debris, could be sidewall failure.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t let anyone patch the sidewall.”
She smiled.