Chapter 69

The next day 

By ten o’clock in the morning, I have grease under my fingernails, oil on my coveralls, and Tucker has already told me three times that I’m doing it wrong. By noon, he’s admitted I was right. I consider that an excellent start to the day. 

“You look entirely too pleased with yourself,” Tucker mutters, peering down into the open engine between 

“I am,” I chirp. 

“You’ve been here three hours. You shouldn’t be correcting me yet.” 

I grin. “I’m not correcting you. I’m reminding you.” 

“That’s called correcting, kiddo.”