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“Yes, but”—I glance between the two of us—“it’s definitely going to be too big.”
“I already knew that.” She laughs. “I was wearing your sweatshirt yesterday morning, remember?”
I remembered.
“I’ve got a clean one, so it won’t get your clothes any dirtier.”
I point to the spot on her shirt, but she merely shrugs and rubs it with her fingers, smearing and probably grinding it deeper into the fabric.
“Lead the way.”
I show her the rack in the back with the extra coveralls. I keep a stacked washer and dryer back here so I don’t have to haul things back and forth to the house.
She pulls one off its hanger and slides it on over her jeans. I can already see the amount bunched around her ankle, and I kneel to help her roll it up. She braces a hand against my shoulder for balance and slips her leg into the other side, hiking it up around her waist.
“I feel like a little kid playing dress-up.” She flaps the arms around after slipping the sleeves on and chuckles.
I’m glad to see her hands have stopped shaking. After I’ve finished with the pant legs, I stand to help her zip up and roll the sleeves. My fingers brush against the bare skin of her arms every time I fold them over.
She freezes suddenly, and I realize how close we are. I take a half step back and let her finish rolling up the other sleeve.
“Ridiculous, right?” She spreads her arms wide.
“Nah.” I hear my appointment pull up and glance at my watch, seeing they’re a little early.
“You ready for this?”
“No,” she says, and I worry she’ll go back inside. “But I want to try.”
She smiles happily, and my lopsided ponytail falls over one shoulder.
We both turn to watch the car pull in, and I tell her what to expect and how she can help. The pair of us work together through the last three appointments of the day, and I’m pleased to see that she fits right in. While I do most of the work, she makes small talk with the customers and watches what I’m doing with attentive curiosity.
When the last car pulls away, I shut the doors and find her eyeballing my drawers of tools. Quiet surrounds us as she idly picks up a wrench and hefts it in her hand before setting it back in its spot in the drawer.
“Thank you for this,” she says so quietly I think she might be whispering to herself at first. “It’s exactly what I needed.” She looks up at me and smiles wistfully. “Sometimes, I get a little lost in my head, you know?” She picks at a spot on her rolled-up sleeve before pulling the zipper down.
“Happy to help.” I shove my hands into the coverall pockets to keep from reaching out to help her. I nod as she talks, finishes peeling off the coveralls, and washes her hands, only half listening but completely mesmerized by the graceful way she moves and the slight stick of her shirt to her body where she’s been sweating.
“Is this why you always smell like oranges?” She waves to the soap dispenser when I stand at the sink next to her after shucking my coveralls and starting up the washer.
“Helps cut the grease.”
I lather up and scrub the grime from my skin.
“Can you show me what you usually do to close up? I probably won’t remember everything, but I’d feel better knowing.”
To me, she’s the type of person who likes to know about things so that she doesn’t worry about them.
“It’s pretty basic. I typically count down the drawer, but since we haven’t had many customers today, you don’t really have to. Otherwise, I enter payments for appointments out here so all we have to do is file the reports.”
I lead her to the door and hold it open, letting her go first. We go to the register, and I show her how to print the daily report.
“Sounds simple enough.” I notice she’s not taking as many notes this time and hasn’t had any questions for me either.
Just as we lock the front door and head toward the back, the phone rings. I sigh in resignation. “This always seems to happen.”
“Well, yesterday it was me. And hopefully, your odds of having to rescue a client from the side of the road is pretty low.” Lenore smiles at me, and I’m glad to see she’s feeling more playful again.
