Chapter 14
Ican’t believe she ate that many pancakes.
A shit ton. They sat down twelve fluffy round, buttery and steaming pancakes, each as big as a dinner plate.
Her eyes lit with fire like she had something to prove and no patience for anyone who dared doubt she’d own it.
Each bite looked effortless, and as the stack briskly dwindled, I caught myself watching her, forgetting my own plate.
I’m not sure what’s hotter: the way she’s putting down pancakes without breaking a sweat, or the fierce, determined look on her face. Most people would be tapping out by pancake four, but not Sable. She powers through pancake eight like a pro.
I try to hide a full smile behind my fork. “You’re actually gonna finish all that?”
She pauses mid-bite, her cheeky smile breaking through. “Hell yeah, I am. I’m not backing down from this.”
The competitive edge she’s got is almost... intoxicating. The way she’s tackled anything I’ve thrown at her today—regardless of what it is or how comfortable she may be—with full commitment. Yeah, that’s definitely something that gets my attention.
And she downs every last bite. She’s full but relaxed, looking far too satisfied for someone who inhaled their body weight in carbs without flinching. Impressive. Kinda sexy, if I’m being honest.
When the waitress comes to clear the plates, I lean back in the booth, still staring at her in disbelief. “Damn. You really did it.”
She flashes a smug little smile, then consciously wipes her syrup-glossed lips with a napkin. “Told you I could. Pancakes are my thing. My son loves them, and I make them on the Saturdays I have him. But there is far more whipped cream involved.”
I shake my head, completely impressed.
Her eyes narrow playfully, and she crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t judge a girl by her looks, Hex. You’d be surprised what I can do when I set my mind to it.”
And damn, there’s that fire again.
“Alright, well, after that performance, you’ve definitely earned something a little more… active.” I grin. “I know a place we can go to work it off.”
I can’t help but beam as I watch her. She’s practically bouncing in her boots, eyes wide with curiosity as she takes in everything the outdoor market in Stillwater Bend has to offer.
This place is not far from the more commercial part of town, but the kind of hidden gem locals swear by but most mimosa-sipping twats and silk-tie soldiers wouldn’t know to look for.
The smell of street food and incense greeted us, wafting through the air. Handcrafted art and quirky trinkets line various wooden tables across the line of bright color tents. It’s artsy, it’s alive, and it’s exactly the kind of place I figured Sable Hawthorne would love.
Her fingers trail over hand-woven scarves, vibrant pottery, and jewelry that looks like it was shaped with love and patience. She moves through the market with that wide-eyed wonder usually reserved for kids in candy stores.
The way she talks to the vendors—polite, engaged, genuinely interested—is a refreshing change from the superficial small talk I’m used to hearing at the bar. There’s nothing fake in her voice. Just real curiosity. Honest appreciation.
The sun is high now, the heat in the air a welcome relief from the morning chill. We’ve shed our leather jackets, and they’re both draped over my arm.
I watch with a half-smile, amused by how easily she gets lost in this world of handmade things. It’s hard not to notice how different she is. The women I’ve known—even the ones I’ve taken upstairs—weren’t like this. They wanted something I don’t offer.
Call it a commitment-phobia or just knowing myself too well, but it runs deeper than that.
I’m not built for the long term. Not with the life I lead.
The only constant has been me, and I’ve learned to prefer keeping my adult life casual.
When your business dips into the gray, there’s not room for much else.
Keep it simple.
A few drinks, some laughs, but always transactional. No promises. No expectations. Just fun and the quiet understanding that it ends when the night does. That’s it. I don’t call. They don’t either.
It’s been a long time since I even tried to get serious.
Back in my early twenties, maybe. She had checked all the boxes: good girl, easy to like.
But she wasn’t my type, not really. We went on a few dates, looked great on paper, but the moment she started talking about the future, I couldn’t breathe.
She didn’t do anything wrong. I did. It never stood a chance. Not with underground fights, busted knuckles, and injuries I couldn’t hide, let alone explain. I couldn’t drag her into that. The secrets were too heavy, and letting her in felt harder than pushing her away. So I did.
For a split second, I think about my mother.
Tough as hell. Kind-hearted. Dealt a hand no one deserved.
She loved her boys fiercely and did what she could with what life gave her.
I don’t think the right man ever came along.
Not one who saw her for what she was. She moved from one bad decision to the next, and I wasn’t exactly easy on her.
But I respected her strength more than I ever said out loud.
Losing her too soon… broke something in me. I never got the chance to say what I should have. Never got to make it right. And maybe that’s why I’ve kept things shallow ever since. All surface-level, clean exits, no real weight to carry.
And that’s worked for me.
Until now.
Sable is different. Not like the women I’ve known, not chasing something I can’t give. There’s this insistent pull I’ve never felt before. It’s not letting go. And I’m starting to wonder if I might actually be okay with more.
I shake off the spiraling thoughts. There’s no need to get ahead of myself.
I’ve still got a lot of ground to cover, and a hell of a lot of walls to keep up until I know she’ll be ok with my extra-curricular activities.
But damn, she makes me want to reconsider everything I thought I knew about myself.
Sable’s still distracted, talking to a vendor about a leather bracelet. She’s so into it that I hesitate to interrupt.
But as I glance at my watch, I’m tight on time. I’ve got something to take care of, and I need to keep this date moving without raising any alarms. I’ll give her a few more minutes to enjoy herself, then slip out, handle what needs handling, and be back before she even realizes I was gone.
No ripples. No questions.
I follow her as she moves to a nearby booth.
She picks up a carved wooden spoon rest, studying it with reverence, gently turning it in her hands before deciding to buy it.
The vendor—an older man with a face lined by time and long days—offers a soft, approving smile, clearly pleased she’s not just another customer looking to haggle.
And damn, I respect that.
“Nice choice,” I tell her, sliding my hands into my pockets as I lean against the booth.
She glances up, the sunlight catching her hair, giving it a golden shine. “Thanks, it just felt like it needed to be mine. You know?”
I chuckle softly. “Oh, I know.” I hold her stare for a beat longer than expected. “There’s something about this place that makes you wanna take everything home.”
My words aren’t lost on her. A casual but knowing smile curves her lips. “Exactly.”
I’m enjoying this way more than I expected to.
She catches me staring, her eyes narrowing with that teasing smile I’m starting to crave. “What?”
I shake my head, feeling my lips curl. “Just admiring you. That’s all.”
“Right,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “You're full of compliments, aren’t you?”
“When I mean them,” I tell her, walking a little closer as we make our way through the crowd. “You make everything seem... interesting.”
There’s a twitch in her cheek.
“Alright, let’s do this.” I stop her in the middle of the market.
“Do what?” She asks, wide-eyed, a little nervous at what might come next.
“Pull out your phone and let’s make this a good one.”
I nudge her toward the nearby food truck, where they’re slinging fresh tacos. A massive mural with vibrant colors covers the side of the vehicle. Perfect spot.
“I want to see if I solved your problem.”
Pulling her phone from her back pocket, she lifts it, searching for the perfect light. The moment her arm rises, I step in behind her instinctively, close enough for her to feel every inch of me. I press in, letting my body align with hers like we’ve done this before.
I shift our jackets to my other arm, freeing the closest. My hand finds her waist, fingers tracing the curve just above her jeans. Then lower. I hook my thumb, my knuckle grazing her skin just inside the waistband, slow enough to make her breath hitch.
Lace.
I tug the denim back just enough to see it with my own eyes. Black. And fuck me, it’s even smaller than I imagined.
Wordless, her body responds, arching into me with an unspoken invitation that makes my restraint stretch thin.
But I’m not finished.
I lower my head, my breath feathering the curve of her neck. She shudders enough to tell me she feels it. Feels me. Her pulse kicks beneath skin so soft it makes my mouth water.
I bring my lips to the hollow below her ear, barely grazing it. Not a kiss—not yet—just a promise in the shape of a breath.
The shock crashes over her face in a wave. Her whole body stiffens for a fraction of a second, but then she melts, tilting her head to let me in deeper. Her pulse under my lips is a steady hum, matching my own.
Her phone snaps the shot just as I pull back, the ghost of a kiss still hanging in the charged air between us. She lowers the phone, like she’s forgotten what she’s holding, and turns her face toward me, eyes wide and dark with something that wasn’t there a second ago.
Those soft, parted lips—kiss-ready and stunned—make my thoughts go straight to places I’d die to explore in private. A blush blooms across her cheeks, as if her body’s betraying the effect I have on her before she can form words.
And fuck, if that isn’t the best thing I’ve seen all day.
I can’t resist a smile now. She stands there with a quiet, dreamlike glow.
Dropping her attention back to the phone in her hand, she begins typing, her fingers moving fast over the screen, and I can tell she’s trying to compose herself. A few seconds go by, and she glances up at me with a playful twinkle in her eyes.
“Tacos are surprisingly good,” I read over her shoulder. A small laugh escapes her lips as she taps ‘Post.’
I gaze at her, feeling the weight of what just happened hanging between us, but it’s not awkward.
It’s charged. Alive.
Her phone buzzes almost immediately. I lean in to kiss her cheek, brushing past her ear.
“Let’s see what happens now,” I say quietly, my voice low, the tension still thrumming between us.
The comments start rolling in.
[@WhiskeyAndWings]: I’ve heard of hot tacos, but this is a whole new level of spice. Get it, Hex?
[@ShotgunSips]: I think the tacos just got jealous.
[@HighballHopper]: That kiss cost extra like the guac? I’m here for it.
[@TequilaTaps]: Tacos, tequila, and a neck kiss? You two are making me question my lunch plans.
[@MargaritaMaven]: Who knew taco trucks could serve like this? Damn.
[@BarstoolBabe]: I’ll take two tacos and a side of that.
[@RumRunner87]: I swear, if I hit up this truck and tacos don’t come with a kiss like that, I’m demanding a refund.
[@VodkaVixen]: I’m reconsidering my whole diet.
Sable’s smile widens with each new comment, her fingers scrolling through them all.
Then it hits her.
“This is the first post she hasn’t instantly commented on in over six months,” she says, a little amazed, as though that silence is its own kind of win.
I raise an eyebrow. “Glad to be part of the experience.”
But as the last comment drops, my phone buzzes.
I glance down.
“Will,” I mutter, reading the message. “Uh, sorry. One of the taps went down at the bar. I’ve gotta take this call real quick. You good on your own for about fifteen—twenty minutes?”
Sable nods, already turning her attention back to the next booth she’s eyeing. “Of course. I’m fine. Go ahead and handle it. I’ll just be in this general area.”
“Cool. I’ll be back before you know it.”
I pull out my phone as I step toward a quieter corner, tapping the screen to fake a conversation with Will. I look back only to make sure she doesn’t notice me ducking away and making a very quick exit out of the market.