The boy didn’t flinch. He only shrugged, calm in a way that irritated Ethan even more. Hugged to his chest was an old backpack so worn it looked like it might fall apart at any second.
“I know cars, sir. I’ve fixed a lot around here,” the boy said. Then his voice softened. “If I fix it… could you buy me something to eat?”
That caught Ethan off guard. People asked him for money, jobs, favors. But food? A repair in exchange for one meal?
He studied the boy like he was judging a risky investment.
“You want food for touching my car? If you make it worse, it’ll cost me a fortune. Go find somewhere else to play.”
“If I can’t fix it, you don’t owe me anything,” the boy said, stepping closer. “But if it starts, you buy me a sandwich. I’m hungry, sir. Really hungry.”
Ethan checked his watch again. Traffic hadn’t budged. The tow truck still hadn’t come. At that point, what difference did it make? The car was already dead.
“Where are your parents?” he asked.
“I don’t have a dad. My mom works late,” the boy replied, not asking for sympathy, only telling the truth.
Ethan let out a long breath.
“Fine, kid. Ten minutes. Then I’m done with this.”