After exchanging some spectacular hand jobs in the shower, Mason had gone down and started his workday. After a morning filled with car maintenance, Rhys had bought some lunch for the two of them. Home-made burritos, with freshly mashed guacamole.

Mason paced the floor of the garage as Rhys looked over his invoices on the computer. It took Mason a good thirty seconds to walk from end to end, every step a painful reminder on how much rent he was wasting on literal empty space. At least his two personal cars looked pristine, still up in their car lifts.

One he’d inherited from his father when they bought the new family car, leaving him a jet-black Pontiac Firebird. The twin cooling vents on the hood gave the car its unique flair.

The second car was Mason’s pride and joy. He had bought the rusted shell of a 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air just before shipping out with the Marines. Every time he came back, he ordered new parts and had assembled her piece by piece. Light blue paint job with a convertible top, big sofas for seats (similar to Rhys’s Impala). Shiny chrome bumpers. An American classic.

“It’s gonna take me a while to crunch these numbers,” Rhys told him, looking up from the screen. Mason turned his attention from his two well-maintained cars back to Rhys. Maybe Rhys, with his business major, could spot something Mason had missed. “I’ll probably still be here after you finish the interviews.”

Mason paused, almost in the middle of the garage, gaping at Rhys. He’d completely forgotten about the interviews after the excitement of last night.

“They’re today, right?” Rhys probed further.

Mason swore under his breath, pulling out his cell to double-check his emails.

A group of students from H Triple C was set to arrive in ten minutes. Three of the best students, according to their teacher, Mr. Stockard. Mason began searching for good interview questions when he heard a knock at the customer door.

He looked up to see a young Asian-American woman, barely five foot tall, with long, shimmering black hair. She looked vaguely familiar, Mason was sure he’d seen her before. Just not wearing a leather jacket on top of jeans.

“Hi, there!” she greeted him with a big smile on her face. “I’m here for the mechanics apprenticeship interview.”

“You’re early!” Mason said out loud, slightly panicking as he was so underprepared. “Which — is good! Great, even!” He beamed back at her before gesturing to the customer couch. “Why don’t you take a seat, and we’ll start in a few minutes. Can I get you anything, coffee, a soda?”

“I’ve got my own, thanks.” She showed him a white Thermos decorated with crimson roses and dark green vines.

“Excellent,” Mason replied. She took a seat on the customer couch, sinking down into the cushions slightly. He’d usually be more enthusiastic about someone turning up early for an interview but now mainly felt panic as he was caught so off guard.

Mason turned to look at Rhys, his eyebrows raised. He hoped it conveyed how he felt. ‘She’s come prepared. I’m impressed.’

As they made eye contact, Rhys nodded in agreement.

Mason strode over to the second desk, formally Tristan’s, opening his laptop to fully check the email from Mr. Stockard. He had the names for three students. Harry Hudson. Jim Owens. Lily Zhao.

It was then it clicked for Mason. Zhao’s Family Chinese Restaurant. It was one of the best Chinese takeouts in town. He must have seen her behind the counter a few times.

“Have I seen you at Zhao’s?” Mason asked, looking up from his laptop.

“Yep, that’s the family business,” she replied.

“How’d you go from the foodservice industry to this?” Mason didn’t need a listicle to know that was a good question to ask a prospective employee.

“We have three delivery scooters,” Lily began to explain. “On Christmas day a couple years ago, one of them broke down. It was either pay triple for an emergency mechanic or find the right YouTube tutorial and follow the instructions. I had to take over from Poppa after he started kicking the engine in frustration.” Lily smiled, clearly having shared this story several times. “Turns out I have a knack for it.”

They spent the next few minutes talking about the ins and outs of Lily’s family’s restaurant. Lots of her cousins and older siblings already worked there, so she wouldn’t be leaving them in the lurch. Her parents had taken some convincing, but when she had shown them how much better she was with engines than egg foo yung, they’d agreed she could pursue a career as a mechanic. If only to help with their own engines for the business.

At two thirty on the dot, the second student arrived, a young man wearing a Hawaiian shirt. He didn’t even knock at the door, just strolled in and plonked down next to Lily.

“This is the interview, yeah?” he asked, taking a comb out of his shirt pocket to slick back his blond hair.

“And your name?” Mason asked, wondering whether this was Jim or Harry.

“Harry Hudson,” he replied, putting away his comb before nervously smiling up at Mason.

“We’ll give a couple minutes for the third one to show up,” Mason told them.

At two thirty-five, Mason thought it best to start the interview with the two who had shown up.

“Okay, so, tell me a bit about yourselves,” Mason asked as he wheeled his office chair around from the desk, sitting in front of the two. He had gotten so caught up talking to Lily he hadn’t prepared any real interview questions. He figured a bit of history and seeing how well they connected would be the best starting point.

“Well, my name is Harry,” he began. “I graduated high school a few years back and have been traveling the world ever since.”

Mason wondered how a young man could afford to travel for years on end.

“Yeah, it started as a year abroad, but I met up with some other gap year students, that’s what the Europeans call it, and it just went from there.”

Harry spent the next ten minutes talking about his travels across the world. Fishing in Singapore, skiing in Germany, canoeing in South America. It was all very interesting, but Mason failed to see how it had anything to do with being a mechanic.

“So after meditating in the exact same spot that the Dalai Lama once had, I knew it was time to return home.” Harry looked around at Lily and Mason, clearly ramping up to the end of his story. “After six years traveling, I knew I had to settle down and begin my life. So I Googled what jobs you can make the most money in without a college degree, and mechanic was near the top of that list."

Harry sat back on the couch, having apparently concluded his ‘epic’ tale.

Mason couldn’t help but glance over at Rhys. They made eye contact for barely a second, but Rhys’s eyes were wide, almost saying ‘No way dude, don’t hire that guy.’

“Lily.” Mason turned to her, trying to hide how unimpressed he was with Harry’s motivation. “We talked a bit before about how you ended up studying mechanical engineering at H Triple C.”

“Yes sir,” Lily replied. “I think, on the whole, it boils down to what makes the most sense to you in life. I can host and cook on the line if need be, but I have to keep reminding myself of the rules. Constantly looking up the recipe for even a simple dish like egg fried rice.”

She took a sip out of her rose-covered Thermos. Harry was already looking at his phone screen, unlike Lily who had listened to every word of his insipid story.

“Engines just… make sense to me,” she carried on. “When I’m working on an engine, it feels like I’m talking to the vehicle, in another language I always knew was in me.”

Mason nodded along. He’d found that true himself, and Lily’s language metaphor resonated with him.

“I might be a novice at the mechanic tongue, but I want to get—” She was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Is this the place?” There was another young Caucasian man at the door, breathing deep from the cigarette in his hand.

“Depends.” Mason had the sinking feeling this was student number three. “What are you here for?”

“Job interview,” he curtly replied. Mason figured this must be Jim Owens.

“Well, first things first,” Mason began. “Put out that cigarette. We’re surrounded by car parts and flammable oil and gas.”

Jim leered at Mason before dropping his cigarette and stomping it out.

“Second, if you can’t show up on time for a job interview, why should I even consider you?” Mason knew he sounded harsh, but he was in no way shape or form going to tolerate another fool like Tristan.

“I’m usually awake by one, but I overslept,” Jim explained while shrugging his shoulders like it was no big deal.

“Okay, thank you for your time.” Mason turned back to Lily and Harry. “Carry on, Lily.”

“Pfft! Whatever man.” Jim called out, pulling out another cigarette before sauntering away.

Lily looked from the big metal door back to Mason.

“As I was saying.” She paused a second, it looked to Mason like she was gathering her thoughts after such a rude interruption. “I might be one of the younger students, but engines just speak to me. And I want to master the language. I think I could do that in a place like Mason’s Body Shop.” She nodded at her conclusion. Mason suspected she had maybe rehearsed some of her interview, and he was impressed she’d come so prepared.

“All right, thank you both for coming by. On time.” He stood up, Lily standing up in unison, Harry a few moments later.

He shook Lily’s hand, impressed by her grip, before sharing a limp handshake with Harry.

“I’ll let you know by four,” Mason explained as the two of them left the garage. The sun was blaring in, reflecting painfully off the metal door.

Mason went to adjust the door, noting that both Lily and Harry were standing a car length’s away from the entrance.

“Do you need a ride back to the school?” Lily asked Harry on their way out. Mason paused by the door. From the looks of it, they both thought they were out of earshot.

“Pfft,” Harry scoffed. “I traveled across all of Asia with nothing but my passport. I can survive in Hidden Creek.”

Harry then sauntered off down the road, leaving Lily standing there perplexed.

“Miss Zhao?” Mason popped his head fully out the customer entrance, and Lily turned around. He could see the confusion on her face, but she quickly shifted to a smile as their eyes met.

“Yes, Mr. O’Neil?” she replied.

“My workers call me Mason,” he clarified. “Can you start tomorrow?”

Her smile became more genuine. “I’ll need to double-check with my folks, but that should be fine.”

“Outstanding. We open at eight. Can you get here at seven thirty to go over a few things?” Mason asked.

“Absolutely.” She beamed back at him. “I’ll be here at seven thirty sharp, Mr. Mason.”

“Just Mason. See you then, Lily.” Mason leaned back into the shop, watching Lily as she practically skipped to her car — a purple convertible. If Mason had to guess, he’d say a Saab 900. Classic car from the 90s, safe yet stylish.

Meanwhile, Harry sped past on a large Honda motorcycle, wobbling before picking up speed, still only wearing his Hawaiian shirt. Mason couldn’t help but grimace. If Harry came off that bike any faster than ten miles an hour, the gravel on the road would shred his skin like a cheese grater.

Mason pushed such stomach-churning thoughts out of his mind as he went back into his shop.

“Tell me you’re hiring that young lady Lily, or I’ll start hitchhiking home right now,” Rhys chided.

Mason chuckled back. “She starts tomorrow, parents permitting.”

He sat on the customer couch, the cushions still warm from the students he’d just interviewed.

“Give it to me straight, Rhys,” Mason lamented, nervous about the state of his accounts.

“Only if I can give it to you gay later,” Rhys retorted.

Mason chuckled, his laugh followed by a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Rhys sighed, making direct eye contact with Mason. “Basically, even if you triple your business, it would be impossible to sustain long-term.”

Mason felt his stomach drop even further from the news. “You mean I’m doomed, no matter what?” He was already working twelve-hour days. How was he meant to push himself further? Had Mr. Shapiro realized this when he sold him the place? Was that why he was calling every week, just to see if Mason would fail?

“No, what you need is that little bit of extra on the top,” Rhys said, sitting forward in his chair. “How do theaters make money?”

Mason frowned, the answer seemed obvious. “By showing movies?”

“No,” Rhys corrected. “They would only break even if they did that. They make most of their profits from the concession stands. Selling popcorn and slushies. That’s what you need here.”

“To sell something extra. Like what?” He couldn’t imagine people would enjoy eating popcorn while waiting for their cars to be fixed.

“It doesn’t necessarily have to be something you sell,” Rhys thought out loud, leaning back on his chair. “You just need some kind of secondary service or income. Like the Chinese restaurant Lily’s family owns. They do the sit-down restaurant, but also a takeout. To keep on paying the mortgage on this place, you just need that second something. Ideally something that can be sold with ease or is already sitting here doing nothing.”

Mason’s eyes went wide the same time as Rhys’s. They looked at one another and then to Mason’s two cars in the car lifts. The black Pontiac Firebird. The beautiful blue Chevrolet Bel Air, with convertible top. Two beautiful cars, sitting in their car lifts doing nothing.

“I think I have an idea,” Mason told him, both their eyes widening with ideas and inspiration.