Page 9 of Grumpy Biker's Bride
“That's rigging,” I say.
“No, it’s strategy. Every entry's a paid drink, half the money goes to the party fund, everyone wins.” He scratches the cat under the chin and the damn ornery cat lets him. “Oh, and Hawk. Stopped by Marvin's for lunch. Taryn’s planning to haul six pies and a wedding-grade cake to the party in Viv's hatchback. That car has a backseat the size of a glovebox.Tragic. Anyway, none of my business.”
The staple gun is clenched in my hand. “Why are you hanging around the diner all of a sudden?”
“I like redheads…”
I could kill him. I could throttle him with a string of party lights and not one man in this club would testify against me. Savage’s eyes drop to the stapler I’m holding and he backs away, that shit-eating grin on his face.
Later, riding home up the mountain in the dark, I quit trying to argue with myself. At the cabin, I don't go to bed. Instead, I unlock the shed and turn the lights on.
The epoxy board's done curing and I sand the edges until the wood goes soft under my hand. It's good work. Maybe the best thing I've ever made. Then I pull out my phone and write a message. It takes me four tries.
Hawk: Those pies you’re making won't fit in a hatchback. I'll be at Viv's to pick you up at six tomorrow.
The reply comes back in under a minute.
Taryn: I'll be ready!
Chapter Seven
TARYN
Viv zips me into a silky sage green dress and won't hear a word about payment.
“Consider it an investment, chérie.” She turns me to the mirror and looks pleased with herself. “You’re my advertisement. Every woman in town will ask where you got it.”
The dress has a sweetheart neckline and a skirt that swishes when I move. I don't look like a jilted bride or a diner cook, I look like I’m ready for a date.
At six o'clock exactly, a black pickup pulls into Viv's drive.
Hawk gets out, and my heart forgets its job again. He's in a clean dark shirt with the sleeves rolled, beard trimmed, and he stands by the truck as if he's reporting for a dangerous mission.
“You're staring,” I tell him.
“I am.” He doesn't stop. “You look beautiful.”
My cheeks go warm as he loads my pie carriers into the truck bed like they're crates of dynamite, then opens the passenger door for me.
The Outlaw Saloon is outside town, and tonight it's lit up like a fairground. Strings of lights swoop along the porch, music spills out the open doors, and half of High Vale is milling around inside under a gold banner.
The bride-to-be finds me before I've set down the first pie. Bethany is blonde and curvy with a ring that catches the light, and she takes both my hands like we're already friends.
"Taryn? I've heard so much about you. Small town… everyone has something to say!” She leans in. “It’s a big deal that Hawk brought you. Striker says he never does parties.”
Her eyes go past me to where Hawk is setting the cake down on a table, and she smiles knowingly.
The bar’s already busy. Lila's here in a vintage dress and red lipstick, dancing to old rock tunes with her little girl. Striker shakes my hand and thanks me for the pies. Despite his intimidating appearance, the way he gazes at Bethany is utterly soft. Savage appears, kisses my knuckles, and is about to say something when Hawk puts him in a headlock and drags him away.
All my pies are eaten before nine. Hawk stays near me the whole night. Every time I look for him, he's already looking back, and an electric jolt runs head to toe, every single time. I'm boxing up the last of the cake in the back kitchen when he comes through the door with an empty pie tin, and the room shrinks to the two of us.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hello.” Hawk sets the tin down. He's close enough that I can smell pine and musk, his eyes dropping to my mouth.
Then the kitchen door bangs open.
“Cat naming in five minutes!” Savage bellows, then takes in the two of us and grins. “Oh. Carry on. Four minutes, actually.”
