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.”
The boy smiled, small and shy, and set his backpack down as carefully as if it held treasure. From it he pulled a rolled cloth containing battered tools: a taped-up screwdriver, an old wrench, rusted pliers.
“You’re planning surgery with that?” Ethan muttered.
“It’s not the tool, sir. It’s the hand,” the boy said, already bending over the engine.
Ethan said nothing after that.
He watched the boy climb up and lean into the open hood. Those small hands moved with startling confidence. No hesitation. He checked wires, adjusted parts, listened to the machine as if it were talking to him. It was almost like watching a gifted musician sit down at an unfamiliar instrument and somehow know exactly how to play it.
Even people passing by slowed to stare. A sharply dressed executive watching a street kid repair a luxury car in rush-hour traffic was the kind of scene that made no sense.
Eight minutes later, the boy wiped grease across his forehead and hopped down.
“Try it now, sir.”
Ethan narrowed his eyes. “That’s it?”
“Start it.”
He got back into the cool leather seat, pressed the ignition, and the engine coughed once, then twice, before coming alive in one smooth, steady growl.
For a second, Ethan just stared.