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Brooke and Mica hunched over a folding table, arguing over the art on a chalkboard sign that read BE A MECHANIC FOR A DAY — $20 DONATION. “Did you just draw abs?” Mica asked Brooke, squinting.

“I did,” Brooke replied proudly. “It’s a cartoon wrench with abs. Sexy wrench butch. Motivation.”

Mica raised one eyebrow. “You’re not gonna make me wear a tank top and flex for people, are you?”

“No promises,” Brooke said with a giggle.

Evelyn stifled a laugh and tried to keep things moving. “Hey, you two,” she called, striding toward them. “Abs or no abs, can we make sure the Venmo QR code is clearly labeled?”

“Logistics queen strikes again,” Brooke said.

“I prefer the term benevolent overlord,” Evelyn said dryly. Mica gave her a two-finger salute, but her gaze quickly returned to Brooke. It held there for a long beat before Mica shook her head and turned back to the sign.Hmmm, Evelyn thought.Is that flirting between them?She filed that away, not at all sure how she felt about one of her best friends and Mica.

She moved on. At the back of the parking lot, Rosa placed colorful bottles of different kinds of soda into a giant cooler filled with ice. Mr. Diaz stood beyond the table, near where the two giant barbecues were being set up, his arms crossed over his chest, clearly supervising every move his sons made. “You know,” he called as Evelyn drew closer. “You may have missed your calling.”

“Oh?” she asked, stopping to stand beside him.

Mr. Diaz smiled. “You should be running a city,” he said. “Or an army.”

With a laugh, Evelyn shook her head. “Thank you,” she said. “But I’m not sure I’m ready for that. This is stressful enough.”

He gave her a sideways grin. “It’s going fine,” he said. “You and Jo and the team worked hard. Everything will go smoothly.”

Behind him, two men who looked a lot like Mr. Diaz maneuvered a second industrial grill into place. “Your sons?” Evelyn asked, and Mr. Diaz nodded.

“Yeah,” he said with a hint of pride. “Good kids. No idea how to marinate anything, but strong and good-looking like their mother.”

Evelyn smiled. “That’s all you really need,” she said, then hesitated. “Thanks again for helping with all of this. Paying for all the meat. Everything. I mean it.”

Mr. Diaz waved a hand. “Jo needed help,” he said. “She’s family. Like you are starting to be.”

Feeling a surge of unexpected emotion at his words, Evelyn swallowed. “Thank you,” she said, stepping away. “But before I get emotional in the street, I’m going to go check on the stage.”

“Tell Jo to plug the power strip into Bay One instead of Two,” Diaz added. “Those outlets are wired for more juice.”

“Got it.”

By the time she crossed to the street, Evelyn spotted Jo standing at the edge of the makeshift platform they hadconstructed near the front of the garage. Two connected risers, borrowed from a friend of Mica’s, were wide enough for a three-person band and a few stools. Jo had an extension cord in one hand and her phone wedged between her shoulder and ear, her brows furrowed as she listened, nodding. Evelyn walked up the ramp as Jo hung up.

“Talk to me,” Evelyn said. “You look stressed.”

Jo snorted a laugh. “Only a little. Acoustic amp’s shorting out,” she said. “The kid from the band said we can make it work by running an aux feed through the bass rig, but honestly…” She lowered her voice. “I don’t know. They’re nineteen and smell like weed and cheese fries so their credibility is a little suspect.”

“Well,” Evelyn said, stepping close and brushing a bit of dust from Jo’s cheek. “Good to know as long as they sound halfway decent.”

With a shrug, Jo looked down at her boots. “I don’t want this all to fall apart.”

“It won’t,” Evelyn said, touching Jo’s wrist. “And if it does, we’ll fix it on the fly.”

When Jo lifted her gaze, Evelyn saw gratitude mixed with nerves in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said. “I would never have been able to do this without you.”

Evelyn leaned in and kissed her gently. “You’re allowed to let people help,” Evelyn whispered before she pulled back. “Now plug that power cord into Bay One.” She smiled when Jo looked a little confused. “Mr. Diaz says it has more juice.”

Jo hadn’t sat down once in nearly five hours. Standing near the edge of the crowd, beer in hand, she took in how her garage and all the space around it had been transformed into something else entirely. A proper street party. Music pumped through the air and the band that had shown up looking like they just crawledout of bed was actually pretty damn good. The lead singer had some pipes, and the bass player held a steady groove that had neighbors half-dancing in line for food. The grill station pumped out burgers and dogs so fast that they’d had to make another emergency run to the grocery store. Kids darted around clutching balloon animals and cotton candy. A face-painting booth had sprung up near the sidewalk thanks to one of Mica’s cousins.

Next to the face-paint table, Mica and Brooke manned the community cornhole bracket like they were refereeing a world championship. Evelyn had managed to get one of the local breweries to donate prize growlers, and apparently that had heightened the stakes considerably. Everywhere she looked, people from the community were having a good time. And all of it, every detail, every glitter-sprinkled face and bit of string-light charm, was thanks to Evelyn.

Taking a sip of her beer, Jo caught sight of her near the raffle table, clipboard in one hand, laughing as she explained a silent auction to a woman wearing a cardigan with dogs wearing sunglasses on it. Evelyn looked amazing. Not dressed up likeSapphirenights but more casual in an olive tank top and cuffed jeans, with her ponytail messy at the nape of her neck. Jo’s chest tightened, and she didn’t try to stop it.She makes things happen, Jo thought.And she made people care about the shop.