“That’s no fun.” She groans and says, “I have to get into Fletcher’s and help Jacinda through the breakfast rush. The ladies’ church group is in today, and it’s always a madhouse.”

“Go. I need to get too.” I climb the steps toward my office and try not to dwell on the fact that Kirk won’t be here. “Have a good one.”

“Call me if you need me.”

I smile. “Thanks, Val.”

“Of course. Love you.”

“Bye.”

I open the door and intentionally don’t look into Kirk’s office. I just march to my desk and toss my keys on it. But when I turn around to grab coffee, my gaze lands across the room.

Kirk’s office is dark, almost haunting. I squeeze my eyes shut and remember his face as he met me at the door last night when I brought the casserole I’d made them.

God, please be with them.

I suck up my courage and grab my notepad. Then I head out the door again.

The walk to the shop is quick and muddy, and for some reason, I appreciate it. It would be wrong to feel this desolate on a pretty spring day. At least the universe is giving me that. It’s giving me an overcast, shitty day to wallow in my misery.

The shop goes quiet as I enter. The scents of orange hand soap and grease meet me well before the stares of the guys do. I overlook the mountain of invoices on Burt’s desk that should’ve been turned in last week and don’t say a word about Fred’s missing gas receipts from running parts last month. I just look at the gang of them and focus.

“Hey,” I say with as much authority as I can.

I’m met with a round of grumbles and mutterings that I can’t quite make out.

I practiced a speech on the way to work this morning before Val called. I gave a lot of thought about how to approach things and rally the troops, so to speak. But as I stand in front of my coworkers, all my preparations go by the wayside.

This isn’t going to be as easy as I thought it would be.

Looking back at me are seven men who seem as nervous as I feel. The robust, capable men have a thread of anxiety about them that fuels mine. I pick at the hem of my shirt and try to hold it together.

Burt stands, crossing his arms over his chest in his trademark style. I can’t read it. I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“You guys . . .”

I lose sight of what I was going to say by the softness in their faces. What I see looking back at me isn’t just concern for Kirk and Charlotte or for our jobs. They have concern for me.