Page 1 of Lady Luck’s Kiss

CHARLIE

Charlotte stood slowly to ease her aching back. Leaning over the radiator of the old car was taking a toll. Either that, or she needed to drink some water instead of coffee. The dull ache could be her kidneys protesting her diet of Starbucks, but she doubted it.

She had meticulously repaired every broken wire and rebound the harness. She had put some cheap steel wheels on it, simply to get it on the tow truck. Once the car was running, she would invest in some breathtaking black rims to complete the polished look.

Once it was running.

Once it was washed.

Once it was waxed.

Once she had the money , she thought.

Taking on a project car had been quite taxing on the wallet. Her shop, Charlie’s Garage, had enough little jobs coming in to keep her solvent, but it didn’t allow for massive splurges like she tended to indulge in.

Shoes were a weakness as well as pretty dresses. It felt almost like a waste simply because the bland coveralls for the shop were functional. Gorgeous spring dresses were a luxury that she indulged in every chance she got, which wasn’t often.

Charlotte, or Charlie , liked feeling feminine.

Dressing up almost felt like an alternate personality for her.

She felt girly, instead of like a tomboy who repaired cars.

Engines, cars, transmissions had been a fascination since her uncle had the shop.

But now, it was hers. Her shop, her home, her future.

Carefully placing her digital torque wrench back on the roll around cart, she rubbed her forehead and stared at the car and the other empty stall. She needed a little something to pay for the rims and the remainder of the repairs so she could drive it.

Or sell it, she thought with a big sigh.

Fixed up and running would bring a lot of money, which meant she could reinvest it in the shop.

She twisted her braid back up into the claw clip and noticed her hands.

They were covered in dirt and grease. Yes, she definitely liked working on cars, but it was tough making herself presentable again.

Smiling, Charlotte saw a car pull up, running over the hose causing the bell to ding on the wall above her. Glancing up, she saw the clock and was surprised the day had gotten away from her. Things had been slow, but she would never turn away the work.

“Hey there, Carl. What can I help you with?”

“Hey there yourself, Miss Charlie. Thought I might get an oil change and a tire rotation. Me and the wife are taking a small trip. Gotta get her roadworthy,” Charlie heard him announce proudly as she watched him pat the hood.

“Sounds like a great idea. I’m sure you guys will have a great time,” Charlie said lightly and wrote up the order on a clipboard. “You want a set of new wiper blades, too?” she asked simply.

“Yes, it’s been a while.”

“You okay leaving her overnight? I will look it over really good for you and make sure things are safe,” she offered. Hoping she didn’t sound pushy, this was the first car she had today and, usually, she had done a few services by now.

Oil change and rotate wouldn’t keep the lights on, but she was ethical and honest to a fault.

If the elderly couple was going on a road trip, the last thing she wanted to do was let them leave in an unsafe car.

She had grown up in this town and it crushed her to hear someone went elsewhere for service.

“I appreciate the offer, but we leave in the morning,” he told her with a frown. “You’re closing up soon?”

“Nope, you are my last customer of the day,” she fibbed through her teeth with a grin. “Just thought I would ask if your lovely wife was on the way over to pick you up.” With a strained smile, she took the keys and pulled it into the open bay.

She hated when a customer waited simply because she felt rushed and it was hard to upsell if something was needed. The thing she needed was to be watched like a hawk through the shop window for the next hour. Stepping out of the car, she escorted the elderly man to the tiny waiting area.

“Want me to pay now?” he asked.

“Nah, we’ll get you taken care of at the end,” she offered with a smile and pulled on a set of gloves to prevent any more fingerprints on the car than necessary.

Grabbing a can of brake cleaner, she sprayed a clean rag and cleaned the steering wheel quickly where her hands had been.

Kneeling, Charlie set the lift points under the car.

Swinging each heavy metal arm into place, she held the button firmly.

Hearing the mechanical whir and groan, the car rose up slowly.

She could see once the body cleared her line of view that Carl would be watching her the entire time just like any other person.

She wondered if it was because they were curious to see the car service, or if it was because she was female, and they were waiting for her to screw something up.

Either way, she was under supervision and it was hard to ignore.

Grabbing her impact gun and clipping it on the hose reel, she backed each lug off and set them carefully on the lift arm up in the air simply to keep them in sight. Thumping each tire several times allowed it to free from the axle where it had been set tightly for some time.

Charlie lifted each rim and carefully let it drop to the ground, giving a slight bounce.

Rolling it backwards, she did the same for the rear tire.

Grabbing a tall roll-around, she slid it under the oil pan and pulled the thick bolt that served as a drain plug, cursing lightly as she scalded her fingertips on the hot oil.

The black fountain arced into the pan, draining the lifeblood from the engine.

Moving to the other side, she proceeded to do the same routine.

Loosen the wheels, set the lugs and rotate the tires.

Reinstalling the tires in the new location, she measured the brake pads carefully and saw that they still had five millimeters remaining.

No sales there. He was about halfway through his brake pad life as a new pad came with ten millimeters of thickness.

Giving Carl a thumb up, she proceeded to tighten the lugs with her impact, leaving room to torque them properly.

Popping her impact gun off the hose, she gave a mighty yank, allowing the hose to fall freely from her hands as it drew back into the ceiling onto the reel. Picking up her torque wrench, she calibrated the digital screen and set each lug into place.

Charlie replaced the oil pan bolt and sealed it with a big dollop of yellow paste, shoving the tall oil drain roll-around to the side so it was clear of the car when she lowered it.

She always marked the drain plugs and oil filters after someone blamed her for them running out of oil.

Her uncle had done it before and she did, too.

It had saved her butt more than once in the past. Charlie walked to the side of the lift and gave the large lever a pull, allowing the car to lower slowly out of the air.

Pulling her Sharpie from her coverall pocket, she drew a smiley face on the bottom of the new oil filter and put her initials on it.

She never revealed why, and she was positive they thought it was some “dumb move” on her part, but seeing a marked filter let her know they had been to her shop before.

Popping the hood on the car, Charlie placed a new sticker in the windshield and moved to top off the fluids.

She pulled off the old filter and grinned.

This month was smiley faces, but in January it was snowflakes as she saw the black Sharpie snowflake on the filter fascia that was now filthy from dirt and debris.

Tossing the filter into the environmental bin, she lubed the gasket and tightened it with her wrench, the smiley face peering up at her from the engine compartment.

Perhaps next month would be pencils for back to school, she thought.

Flicking on her Maglite, she looked over the entire engine compartment and saw there were no leaks. Good , she thought and gave her customer another thumbs up towards the window glass without looking up. Giving a twist to the serpentine belt, she saw it was also in good shape.

Grabbing several quarts of oil, she began to fill the motor.

After adding five quarts, Charlie started up the car.

Peering quickly underneath, she saw no leaks from the drain plug.

Pulling the dipstick, she wiped it down and reinserted it.

Waiting a few moments, she pulled it again and saw the oil level was midway in the hash marks as designed.

Shutting the hood firmly, she went to give Carl the evaluation on the car and the bill.

There was always a noticeable difference on how she was treated based off how she dressed. While most times she didn’t mind, occasionally it bothered her, like this time. Charlie handed the bill to Carl and automatically stuck out her hand towards him in an effort to thank him for the business.

At his pointed look, she realized she still had her gloves on. With a grin, she yanked the filthy latex gloves off and stuck out her hand again. This time, he smiled apologetically and explained that they were headed to dinner.

Nodding, Charlie felt a blush creep up her neck as she hid her hands behind her.

Yes, they were dirty. They were actually filthy compared to his, if she was honest with herself.

Her hands were evidence of an independent woman working on a job he’d just hired her to do, but she understood.

Who wanted dirt, grease or debris on them?

He paid her for this and preferred not to get his hands in the muck.

“Of course,” she answered and rang up his bill with a false smile. “Thank you for coming in, Carl, and be sure to tell your wife I said hello.”