I’d spent most of my life fixing problems before they became disasters. So, when a young mechanic smiled at my gray hair and treated me like I wouldn’t understand my own car, I let him talk. By the time he realized what I’d kept in my purse, it was far too late.
Kyle, the young mechanic, slid the invoice toward me and tapped the total with his pen.
« Eight thousand dollars, » he said. « Cash or card? »
I stared at the number, then looked through the glass behind him.
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