Hank
I see them before they see me.
It's early—just past seven—and the shop is quiet except for the hum of the overhead lights and the distant sound of traffic on the street outside. I'm in the office going over invoices, but my attention keeps drifting to the window that looks out over the main floor.
Sam and Knox are working on her bike.
She's leaning over the engine, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, grease smudged across her forearm. Knox is beside her, handing her tools before she even asks for them. They move around each other with an ease that makes my chest tight—like they've been doing this for years instead of weeks.
Knox says something I can't hear, and Sam laughs. Not the polite laugh she uses with strangers or the sarcastic one she uses when she's annoyed. The rea
