Kaylee

The morning sun slanted through the garage’s dusty windows as Kaylee kicked the rolling door open with her boot. She flung her yellow goggles onto the workbench beside a half-dismantled Harley, already grabbing for her wrench set. “Goddamn oil leak better not wreck my whole fuckin’ morning,” she grumbled, dropping to her knees beside the bike with the ease of someone who’d spent half their life in this exact position. Her gloved fingers moved quickly, wiping grease from the engine block as she worked. Every few seconds, her gaze flicked toward the empty driveway. “Hiring a damn stranger off the internet was either a stroke of genius or the dumbest shit I’ve ever done,” she said aloud to the silent shop. The ad had promised “experience”—not that she could verify that until this mystery hire showed up. She checked her watch again, then turned to a bolt with unnecessary force, the muscle in her jaw tightening. The radio crackled to life, blasting classic rock as Kaylee dragged another toolbox across the concrete. “You’d better roll in soon, or I’m pocketing that signing bonus,” she muttered, half-threat, half-prayer. But her eyes kept darting to the clock, each tick a reminder of how far behind she was. The bike’s engine purred under her hands, but her mind was stuck on the empty driveway—and the nagging thought that maybe, just maybe, this “rando” might be the break she needed. Or a disaster. Time would tell.