Rattle, clunk. Every bump or hole that Carter couldn’t evade made him wince. The noise coming from the front suspension of his battered Ford Edge could not be good. Any time now, the front wheels would fly off. He was sure of it.

Carter cursed himself for not making the appointment sooner.

He was too busy.

It wasn’t that big of a deal.

It would go away on its own.

All excuses to cover the fact that he really just didn’t feel like it.

He pulled off the road into the auto repair shop’s lot. Cars of various makes were scattered around the small blue building. Two open service bays lined the side. A lone Harley-Davidson motorcycle sat in the spot closest to the office door.

Carter parked in an open spot near the motorcycle. The bike was stripped of most everything but the barest of essentials. He thought it unusual there was very little chrome on this bike. Most motorcycles he saw were practically dipped in the reflective metal. The handlebars were higher than a normal bike, but not as obscenely high as those choppers from TV. Carter chuckled to himself as he imagined a short, fat guy, covered in tattoos, riding his ‘hog’.

The office door was propped open with a rust covered brake rotor as a makeshift door stop. Carter poked his head inside. A thick plastic curtain separated the office from the shop area. Three old chairs lined the wall, a small table covered in motorcycle and car magazines in front of them. A desk sat nestled in the corner, stacks of paper and empty parts boxes strewn across its top. Nobody was home.

Carter rounded the corner of the repair shop. The first service bay was empty. In the second bay sat a bright blue Ford Mustang, its scooped hood open. Draped over the driver’s front fender was a tall, redheaded woman. Carter studied her from outside the door. Black sneakers that were scuffed and worn. Her legs were long and shapely. The gray work pants she wore perfectly fit her round, tight ass. Curly red hair tied up on the back of her head.

“Jesus.” Carter whispered to himself. He approached the bay. “Uhm, excuse me.”

She stepped out from under the hood of the Mustang. She was taller than Carter had first thought, nearly the same height as himself. Her shirt was black with silver buttons, the top few undone.

“Good morning. What can I do for you?” She wiped her hands with a red rag. Her right arm covered in an intricate tattoo that Carter couldn’t quite make out. Above her left breast was a patch that read, ‘Trusty E’s Automotive’. Above the right was a name, Erin.

“Carter. Carter Ware. I have an appointment this morning.”

She stuffed the rag in her back pocket. “Ford Edge? Noise in the front end?”

Carter nodded. “Yea. That’s me.”

She stood in front of him and held out her hand. Her fingernails were cut close and painted purple. On the pale skin of her wrist was tattooed XXVII. The Roman numerals for 27. She cocked a trimmed, red eyebrow. Carter felt her gray-blue eyes on him. His face grew hot.

“Oh, sorry.” He fished the car keys from his pocket and placed them in her open palm.

She gave him a wink. “You can wait in the office, Carter.”

As she brushed past him, Carter caught the scent of strawberries from her hair. He followed several steps behind, watching her hips sway. He chuckled to himself when he reached the office. Carter ducked in and took a seat in the chair closest to the window.

Carter absently flipped through a magazine full of cars he could never afford. He sighed and returned the magazine to the table. Erin, the mechanic, stuck her head through the plastic divider curtain. Carter noticed she had let her hair down. Tousled red curls fell about her face.

“Hey, Carter. I’d like to show you something. If you don’t mind?” She held the curtain open for him to step through.

His stomach dropped, this could not be good. And probably expensive. He rose from the chair slowly. Took a deep breath, and stepped past Erin, and through the curtain.

Carter’s Edge was on the lift. He had never seen the bottom of his car before. Erin joined him under the car. She smelled of strawberries and motor oil.

“First.” She pointed at the passenger rear tire. “These tires are at three thirty-seconds. They need to be replaced.”

Next, she pointed at what Carter assumed to be the driveshaft. “The carrier bearing is pretty dry, I’d recommend replacing that before it fails.”

Carter ignored the bearing, instead focusing on her purple polished nail. Her long finger, a small cut on her knuckle, the raised vein on her muscular forearm, thin hairs catching the light. The black and gray ink of the tattoo that covered her skin. Intricate knots, weaving in and out of each other. He couldn’t tell if they were Celtic or Norse. What appeared to be a dog or maybe a wolf peaked out from under her sleeve.

“Carter. I need you to pay attention.”

Her voice snapped him out of his daydream, and his face grew hot. “Uhm. Sorry.”

“Your noise is from these sway bar end links. They’re shot. It’s an easy fix.”

He looked at the suspension components in the driver’s front wheel well. “Okay.” He sighed. “How much for the, um? Sway bar things?”

She thought about it for several seconds. “About two-hundred.” She locked eyes with him. “Look. Carter. If money is an issue.” She paused. Took a step closer. She stood inches from him. Her eyes nearly level with his. “We could work something out.”