His forearms were streaked black with grease.
His hands were large, scarred, and steady.
He moved a wrench in short, controlled turns without looking up.
The younger mechanic in the far bay noticed Adeline first.
He looked toward Coulter.
Coulter kept working.
Eventually Adeline cleared her throat.
“Excuse me.”
Coulter finished the turn before straightening.
He looked older standing upright.
Mid-fifties, perhaps.
Gray beginning at the temples.
A beard that seemed perpetually three days beyond a shave.
Shoulders slightly rounded from a lifetime leaning into engine bays.
He wiped his hands on a rag.
“What can I do for you?”
“I saw the sign.”
His eyes shifted toward the front window.
“The help-wanted sign.”
“I know which sign.”
“I’m looking for work.”
Coulter studied her.
Not disrespectfully.
More like a mechanic listening to an unfamiliar engine noise.
“You work on cars?”
“No.”
“Rebuild a transmission?”
“No.”
“Engines?”
“No.”
“Suspension?”
“No.”
“Electrical diagnostics?”
“Not automotive.”
The younger mechanic coughed, disguising a laugh.
Adeline looked toward him.
He immediately turned back to his tire.
Coulter folded the rag.
“You know what that sign means?”
“I assumed it meant you need help.”
“With cars.”
“You also have an office.”
Coulter glanced through an open door behind the parts counter.
The office looked as though paperwork had been thrown inside during a tornado and nobody had wanted to interrupt.
“Barely.”
“You invoice customers?”
“Usually.”
“Track accounts receivable?”
“When I remember.”
“Supplier invoices?”
“They send reminders.”
“Payroll?”
“Everybody gets paid.”
The younger mechanic looked over.
“Eventually.”
Coulter gave him a warning glance.
Adeline almost smiled.
“Can you tell me what your cash flow looks like thirty days from now?”
Coulter stared.
“No.”
“Your gross margin on parts?”
“No.”
“Which customers owe you money?”
“Some.”
“How many?”
“No idea.”
“Then you need help.”
Coulter’s expression hardened slightly.
“I need a mechanic.”
“You need both.”
“I can’t afford both.”
“I can keep books.”
“That doesn’t make money.”
“It helps you keep money.”
He looked past her toward the rain.
For a moment Adeline thought she had reached him.
Then he shook his head.
“Every dollar this place makes goes back into keeping the lights on.”
“I don’t need much.”
“You need more than I have.”
He turned toward the engine.
Conversation finished.
Adeline swallowed.
Nineteen rejections had not made the twentieth easier.
She nodded.
“Understood.”
She reached the doorway.
Then Coulter spoke behind her.
“What I need is a wife, not an employee.”
The younger mechanic froze.
Adeline turned.
Coulter looked as though he regretted the sentence the second it left his mouth, but pride prevented him from taking it back.
Then she saw the ring.
Thin gold.