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However short it was, our life together wasn’t a burden I have to carry alone, but a divine privilege. I had the honor of knowing them, loving the family that built me, for almost seventeen years. Nearly two decades of joy and laughter and peace. When I have kids, I’m going to tell them all about their grandparents who watch over them and their auntie who’s always at their side. And I know when I do, it’ll hurt in the best way because their memory will live on in my babies for a little while longer.

The mental shift makes me do something very out of character. Something that feels so fucking right, I wish I’d done it sooner. “I could bake some cupcakes, if you wanted. A flavor for each of them.”

The offer hovers uncomfortably between us as my employees eye me.

“Can you even bake?” Missy asks, uncertainty clear in her expression.

“Yeah, I used to do it a lot.” I swallow back dozens of memories of Ella and I in the kitchen with Mom and Dad, both of them teaching us family recipes. I haven’t touched a mixer in years, but it’s time to take that back too. “Sawyer’s right. Everyone should feel special on their birthday.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Sawyer says. “We know you’re busy.”

“I am, but I’m not too busy for anyone here.” The desire to leave it there is so strong that I take a minute to push through. “I know I haven’t been as warm as the others, but I hope you know how much you all matter to me and my pack.”

Missy sniffs. “Let’s not get emotional or anything.”

Sawyer shoves her away, laughing. “What she means is thank you. We know you’ve been through some shit, but whatever’s happened recently has changed you. You’re happier. More grounded in the present. It’s good.”

My throat tightens. I knew they could see my issues, but I didn’t realize I’d beenthattransparent. “Thanks. Things feel a lot better now.”

Not easier, never that. But better. Lighter and with far more potential than I ever expected.

“We just don’t want to see you moping anymore,” Missy snaps, wincing.

I don’t mind. I can’t imagine how hard it is to be a woman in a male-dominated field. To have to balance your empathy with how you’re perceived, so no one thinks you’re weak. It’s not the type of culture we allow at Morgan Restorations, but Missy didn’t always work for us. She learned her feelings were weapons others would turn against her, so she tucks them behind snark and frustration where they’re safe. Of all people, I understand how much easier it is to hide.

“Promise, no more moping.” I smile.

“I doubt that.”

There’s an awkward pause, where I know this reprieve is almost over and I wish it could continue. I’d like to get to know these two better as employeesandas people. “Actually, while you’re here, could you help me out with a few things on the engine build for the Cheveau? I can do it myself, but I’d rather not spend all fucking day on it tomorrow and this way we can charge Moore overtime for your participation.”

Sawyer’s expression sharpens. “Absolutely. That guy’s a prick.”

Missy’s mouth drops to an agitated line. “I swear, the next time he calls mesweetie,I’m going to punch him in the face.”

“We’d bail you out of jail,” I promise. “Come on, let’s hit him where it hurts.”

“I’m not touching his dick with a hundred-foot pole.”

“I meant his wallet, Miss.”

“Oh.” She flushes and I laugh for so long, they both end up joining in as we make our way through the garage and leverage the Cheveau down.

My jeans are already ripped and stained, so I don’t bother changing into my spare uniform. After Moore’s little meltdown about the NOS, I decided to overbuild the engine so it won’t fail when he inevitably overexerts it. That means configuring the highest horsepower the car could get to, then using that as our baseline. With the engine change, I ordered some aftermarket main caps, the design meant to prevent them from moving when he does something stupid with the nitrous.

Sawyer and Missy help change the rod bolts and pistons to be more durable. She uses her teensy fingers to mount the nitrous tank in the trunk so it’s easily accessible and even pops a mini fire extinguisher beneath the driver’s seat. Anyone with a classic car knows that’s the most valuable thing to keep around.

Throughout the build, we talk. I learn about Missy’s dating woes—mansplaining cars to a mechanic, woman or not, is the most idiotic shit I’ve ever heard—and Sawyer tells us about the neighbor he was into that found a pack and moved away. My heart breaks at the longing in his voice and I understand now why our situation hurts so much.

He thought he’d be in the same position right now.

Eventually, Missy heads out, and it’s just the two of us working silently. I’ll need to call around and find a few more parts because the ones we have won’t work with the rebuild, but everything else in on schedule. I’ll have to take a trip out of town to get these parts, which sounds like torture right now. I don’t want to leave Daph for a second, let again overnight.

Leaving a sticky note on my station to remind me to call my contact in the morning, I turn back to Sawyer when he asks, “How are things going with your omega?”

Even the mention of Daphne makes me fucking giddy. “Great. She’s had a rough go of it, but I think she’s finally trusting us.”

“That’s amazing.” He looks away and again, there’s that raw, aching wound right there for me to see. Normally, I’d let it go, but Sawyer’s amazing. If there’s a chance that he could be as happy with his omega as I am with Daphne, he deserves it.