“You’ll sweep floors, clean tools, organise parts,” I said as he nodded along.
“I can do that,” he said.
“And if you survive without blowing anything up, I’ll let you touch an engine,” I said, and he grinned.
“Deal,” he said.
By lunchtime, I was already questioning my decision.
“Ben,” I said.
“Yeah?” He answered.
“Where’s the thirteen-millimetre socket?” I asked, and he looked around.
“I had it,” he said.
“I know,” I said.
“I was using it,” he said.
“I know.” I frowned.
“I’ve…misplaced it,” he said, and I pointed toward the engine.
“It won’t have wandered off on its own,” I said.
Five minutes later, we found it sitting inside the air filter housing, and Ben rubbed the back of his neck.
“I don’t know how that happened,” he said.
“I do,” I said.
“How?” He asked.
“You put it
