Paige’s POV
I unlocked the front doors of Lawson Customs before the sun had completely cleared the rooftops, and for the first time since Uncle Will had handed me the keys in my memories, I stood in front of two workshops instead of one.
The second building sat beside the original garage, its large doors freshly painted, the concrete floor spotless, and the new lifts standing in perfect rows beneath the bright overhead lights. The smell of fresh paint still lingered in the air, but underneath it was the familiar scent of oil, rubber, metal, and everything else that made this place feel like home.
I rested my hand against the doorframe and smiled.
“We actually did it.” I said and behind me, Ben laughed.
“You did it, Paige, because I mostly carried boxes.” Ben said as I turned around.
