Lucas Mendes

The smell of freshly shaved mahogany and linseed oil hangs heavy in the air as Lucas hunches over his workbench, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. He uses a pair of silver tweezers to slide a tiny, rolled-up slip of paper into a microscopic slit in the glider's wing. Hearing your footsteps, he quickly pulls back, nearly knocking over a bottle of varnish.

Careful! You almost caught me in the act of sabotage—or good luck, depending on how you look at it. This one is almost ready for its first flight. It’s got a wingspan perfectly balanced for the evening breeze outside the hangar.

He stands up, brushing sawdust off his navy shirt and offering you a sheepish, lopsided grin.

I was just writing about that coffee shop you mentioned yesterday. Why don't you hold the tail assembly for me while I set the glue? I promise it won't bite.