Page 175 of Ice Darling
She lifts an interested brow.
I dip my mouth close to hers. “I’ll throw in two extra egg rolls a day.”
A smile tugs at her lips. “I’m not a cheap date, Renthrow.”
“Three rolls.”
“You’re getting warmer.”
I’m about to use my mouth and tongue to make a case for why me and her at the Tuna would be agreatuse of a lunch break when someone says, “Hello? Is anyone here?”
Cordelia breaks away from me. “Just a second!”
I groan and hold her tighter.
She laughs as she pries my arms off. “I’ll be right back.”
I watch her prance to the front of the tents where a guy in a flannel shirt and jeans is standing and looking around.
“How can I help you?” she says.
“I’m here for the Nissan,” the guy says.
“Right this way,” Cordelia responds.
Since my lunch date is occupied, I turn my attention to the tools scattered around. One looks like a tablet with a heavy-duty case on it. On the screen are waveforms that remind me of a heart monitor except the lines spike way faster than a human heart.
A car engine rumbles, and I point my attention to where Cordelia and the customer are. She’s standing beside an open hood, and he’s behind the wheel.
“I can’t believe you got it to start again,” the guy is yelling. “Every mechanic said the problem was the computer, but it’s soexpensive to buy a new computer for this model. You guys were my last hope.”
“The computer is what a lot of mechanics default to when they don’t want to look deeper,” Cordelia explains. “The problem was a faulty knock sensor.”
The guy exits the car and laughs sheepishly. “What’s a knock sensor?”
Cordelia gives him a smile that’s way too pretty. “It’s a sensor that picks up the pinging of the engine. It’s designed to reverse the timing, and it stops the engine from detonating.”
“Right. Right.” The guy bobs his head while still looking clueless.
“In other words, it reverses the timing until it’s safe to drive, so you don’t break up your engine.”
I slip a hand into my pocket, smiling at the way Cordelia comes alive. That is one woman whoreallylikes fixing cars.
My attention breaks away from her and flits to the customer for a split second. Then it doubles back. Why is that schmuck smiling at her in the same, soft, besotted way that I am?
Cordelia motions for the customer to look inside the hood, and they bend over the enginetogether.
I barge over there faster than lightning.
“Exactly,” Cordelia is saying, “so a faulty knock sensor gives the symptoms of a bad computer, but it’s actually the computer cutting back the ignition timing, stopping it from advancing.”
“Wow, you know a lot about cars,” the customer says, sliding closer to her.
“She’s amazing.” I wedge myself between Cordelia and the customer and offer my hand. “Hey, man. How’s it going?”
“Hey, you play with the Lucky Strikers!” The guy blinks. “Are you a mechanic too?”
“No, I’m her?—”
