Daryl wiped his hands on the red rag that was near constantly in his back pocket, getting the grease off his fingers as he made his way from the back of the garage and through the lobby of the shop to the waiting room. He paused for a moment in the doorway before clearing his throat, surprised to see Lance sitting there. When he'd been told he had a guest, he'd thought it likely to be someone from Hillingdon. Maybe someone one of his regular clients sent over.

"You wanted to see me?" He asked, curious and genuinely confused as to why Lance of all people were. Far as he knew, the man didn't have a bike.