The past few days had been unusually busy and although Lawson Customs had settled into a steady routine I could feel the long hours beginning to catch up with me.
By early Friday afternoon every motorbike scheduled for the day had been finished and the workshop had been cleaned while Mia had already organized the following week’s appointments with the kind of frightening efficiency that made me wonder if she secretly enjoyed spreadsheets more than people. Which she probably did.
I wiped my hands on a clean shop towel before looking around the garage with quiet satisfaction.
Every toolbox was closed, every service bay was empty and for once, nothing was waiting for me.
Ben looked up from sweeping the last corner of the workshop.
“So…are we pretending another customer is going to a
