He cross-threaded a bolt one afternoon and stared at the damage in horror.
"I ruined it."
"You ruined a bolt. If you had ruined the engine, I would use a different tone."
"Are you going to tell Hawk?"
"I charge extra for secrets."
"Emily."
"Replace it and remember what happened. That is how mechanics are made."
Jake did.
The shop became busier than it had been before the tornado, partly because of publicity and partly because Emily finally upgraded systems Daniel had postponed for years. She hired a second technician. Then a bookkeeper.
Hiring help felt more radical than surviving the tornado.
For years she had treated exhaustion as proof of loyalty to Daniel.
Now she began to understand that keeping the business alive might mean allowing it to become something he had not personally designed.
The same was true of her life.
Emily and Hawk did not begin dating in any official way.
There was no conversation where one of them asked and the other answered. There was simply a gradual rearrangement of ordinary time. Hawk began spending more weekends in Willow Creek. Emily started keeping the coffee he liked even though she still believed it tasted burned. He stopped sleeping on a cot in the community center after late workdays and started renting the small room over Earl Jenkins's feed store because Emily was not ready for anything else and Hawk never once made her feel guilty for the boundary.
That patience mattered more than flowers would have.
One evening in April, almost seven months after the tornado, Emily found him sitting alone outside the Open Door Center with Daniel's old ratchet resting across his palms.
She stopped in the doorway. "What are you doing with that?"
Hawk looked guilty. "Cleaning it."
"Why?"
"Rust spot near the socket. Thought I could stop it before it spread."
Emily sat beside him.
For a while she watched his careful hands work oil into the metal with a cloth.
"Daniel hated anybody touching his tools," she said.
Hawk froze. "I can put it back."
"No."
He waited.
Emily looked at the ratchet. "I think he would have liked that you noticed the rust."
Hawk resumed polishing it.
The silence between them felt comfortable.
"I loved him," Emily said.
"I know."
"Part of me always will."
"I know that too."
She looked at him. "Does that bother you?"
Hawk thought before answering. "Would bother me more if you could switch it off."
Emily's eyes filled.
"You are infuriatingly decent sometimes."
"Sometimes?"
"Do not ruin it."
He smiled.
A week later she kissed him.