This snippet is from the wrecking yard romance, and picks up shortly after the last one. Walt, who owns the yard, has just offered Mick a job.
This story is out with a couple of kind folks who’ve agreed to be merciless beta readers. If anyone else wants to volunteer, zip me an email and let’s talk about it!
Mick studied the silhouetted welder as nonchalantly as he could manage while Walt made his offer. Even if he’d offered below minimum wage Mick would’ve taken it—he needed the cash and could handle being ripped-off for a short time—but twelve an hour was more than decent, more than he’d ever made on a legal job.
After they shook on it, the torch went out and Mick realized he’d forgotten to keep one eye on the welder; footsteps closed in on where he stood, waiting for Walt to get him a list of parts to pull. Walt had said it was just him and “the kid” so Mick expected a literal kid—the man approaching him only qualified to someone of Walt’s age, which had to be on the high side of sixty. The welder had to be in his late twenties even if he was short and maybe even a little delicate, dishwater blond waves with a hint of strawberry tumbled freely to his shoulders below an olive green knit beanie, scruff a few shades darker than his hair could’ve been a beard on training wheels. His jeans and green plaid flannel shirt had seen better days, but Mick didn’t notice anything wrong with what they covered.
Walt came back with a clipboard holding a list of parts in a plastic sleeve just as the welder got close enough to say hello. He didn’t, nor did he look far from his scuffed steel-toed boots.
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