The Woman nodded.
He reached toward the ignition.
Nothing.
Then again.
A faint click.
He looked toward the battery leads.
Checked the visible wiring.
Then the side panel.
The Woman stood close enough to watch.
“You know this model?”
“No.”
She frowned.
He smiled.
“Machines usually repeat themselves.”
“That sounds dangerously confident.”
“It’s actually pessimistic.”
“How?”
“Most failures are boring.”
She finally smiled.
That changed her entire face.
The Single Dad looked away before she noticed he had been watching.
He returned to his pickup.
Opened the toolbox he kept behind the seat.
His daughter leaned forward.
“Is she pretty?”
He froze.
The Woman was close enough to hear.
His daughter had inherited volume from her mother.
The Single Dad looked toward the sky.
“Do you need anything?”
his daughter asked innocently.
“No.”
“Because you made the face.”
“What face?”
“The pretty-lady face.”
“There is no pretty-lady face.”
The Woman laughed.
The Single Dad shut the truck door more firmly than necessary.
When he returned, she was still smiling.
“I apologize.”
“For?”
“Five-year-olds.”
“I like her.”
“She has terrible judgment.”
“Maybe not.”
Their eyes held for one second too long.
The Single Dad crouched again.
He removed the side panel carefully.
The Woman sat back on the guardrail.
She crossed one leg over the other.
Tall leather boots.
Short black skirt.
Cream-colored top beneath the cropped jacket.
She looked completely out of place against the empty desert.
The Single Dad concentrated very hard on the motorcycle.
“What happened before it died?”
“Lost power.”
“All at once?”
“Almost.”
“Any warning lights?”
“One.”
“Which?”
She described it.
He nodded.
“Any recent work?”
“Service three days ago.”
He traced one wire.
Then another.
A connector sat slightly loose beneath a heat shield.
He pressed it.
Nothing.
Then he noticed discoloration at a small ground strap.
He reached for a socket.
“Found something?”
“Maybe.”
The Woman watched his hands.
“You really aren’t a mechanic?”
“Not professionally.”
“What do you do?”
“Maintenance.”
“That covers a lot.”
“Exactly.”
He loosened the ground point.
Cleaned the contact.
Reset the connector.
Checked another fastener.
Then reassembled the panel.
“Try it.”
The Woman stood.
She straddled the bike and turned the ignition.
The engine came alive instantly.
A deep mechanical growl rolled across the desert.
She looked at him.
Then at the motorcycle.