The fender securely in place, I stood up and turned to see a silver Lexus a few feet away. Sunlight glared across the driver’s windshield, and I raised my hand as an impromptu visor as I tried to make out who was inside. Plump white clouds sat behind a beaming sun. The door opened on the driver’s side and a lovely pair of long legs stepped out in strappy sandals. A young woman appeared, and for a moment I wasn’t sure if it was her appearance, or if it was the combination of an empty stomach and the intense heat that suddenly made me lightheaded. I grabbed the red handkerchief from the back pocket of my overalls and wiped away the sweat beading my forehead. “Good morning,” she said, walking toward me. Her accent was American. I stared, taking her in, light brown skin, long black hair like coal, almond eyes, and a small and curvy body that made her floral top cling to her. I caught myself. “Morning,” I replied. “Can I help you?” “Something’s wrong with my car.”
