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“It’s fine.”

“Gray.”

“I said it’s fine.”

She studies me for a moment, then changes the subject.

“Well, if you’re so good at fixing things, maybe you can tell me why my commercial oven keeps making a noise like a dying walrus.”

I arch an eyebrow.

“Your oven?”

“At the bakery. It started rattling last week.”

“Could be the blower motor.”

“Could be possessed.”

“Probably the motor.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Been told that.”

“I called a repairman, but he can’t come until Tuesday.”

“I’ll take a look.”

She shakes her head.

“No, that’s okay.”

“Didn’t ask if it was okay.”

“And I didn’t ask you to fix it.”

I fold my arms.

“Stubborn little thing, aren’t you?”

“Learned from the best.”

Her gaze meets mine.

For a second, neither of us speaks.

Then she smiles and picks up her box.

“Well, I’d better get back. Some of us have actual customers.”

“Some of us have actual work.”

“Try not to scare the motorcycles while I’m gone.”

“Get out of my garage.”

She blows me a kiss.