When it was done, Miguel jumped out, unhooked the chain, gave the hood a quick slap, and started walking back to his truck.
No smile. No speech. No waiting.
“Wait!” the woman called.
He stopped but didn’t turn all the way around.
She lowered the window, shivering now, and held out a folded bill. A large one.
“Please. Take this.”
Miguel looked at the money, then at her.
His face hardened.
“Keep it.”
“At least let me thank you.”
“You just did.”
She frowned. “You’re seriously leaving?”
Miguel glanced toward the road, jaw tightening.
“I’m already late.”
“Late for what?”
For a second he looked like he might not answer.
Then he did, almost reluctantly.
“A job interview.”
Something changed in her expression.
Not pity.
Something more alert than that.
