That was what I had begun appreciating most during those quiet weeks.
The little moments mattered. The conversations over coffee. The laughter in the workshop. The family dinners.
The evenings when Jace came home and complained about someone leaving tools where they didn’t belong.
Life had become ordinary again, and I wanted to hold onto it.
That evening, Jace and I sat on the balcony above the garage while the sun dropped toward the horizon.
The workshop below us was finally quiet, and the streets beyond Lawson Customs had settled into the slower rhythm of evening.
Jace rested his arms against the balcony railing while I sat beside him with my feet tucked beneath me.
“You know what I like about this?” I asked.
“What?” He asked.
“This.” I said as he glanced at me.
“The quiet. The
