Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ender
The road was the only thing that made sense.
The hum of my bike under me, the wind biting through the afternoon heat, and the steady rhythm of miles ticking by.
Clove was at the back, arms wrapped around my middle, her helmet pressed against my shoulder blade.
Every time I felt her squeeze just a little tighter, it pulled me back from whatever cliff my mind wanted to sprint toward.
Clove shifted closer behind me and my left hand slid back to her leg. Rested there like it belonged. A small touch, nothing dramatic, but it was everything.
Mine.
I didn’t say it. Didn’t need to. I just kept riding.
Eventually, the fuel needle dipped low enough that I couldn’t ignore it.
I slowed the bike on the edge of a small town that looked like it had been built around a single main street and never bothered to change.
A few brick buildings, old storefronts with big windows, faded painted signs, and a gas station that looked like it had been there since the seventies.
I pulled up to the pump and killed the engine.
The quiet hit like a wave.
Clove hopped off behind me easily, like she’d been born on the back of a bike, which, in our world, she basically had.
I popped the gas cap and started filling up. Clove stood near the bike, stretching her arms overhead, and the simple sight of her standing in the sun, alive, free, and here, made my chest go tight.
I glanced at the gas station window. There was a kid behind the counter, maybe nineteen or twenty, staring at my cut like it might bite him. He glanced at Clove, then back at me, and looked away fast like he’d been caught.
I’d seen that look a thousand times growing up. The who are you look. The danger look.
Clove noticed it too. I saw it in the way her shoulders pulled in slightly, like she was bracing for something.
I finished the tank and replaced the nozzle. “You hungry?” I asked.
She nodded. “Yeah. We didn’t really eat much before we left.”
That was my fault. I’d been too wound up to think about food. Too focused on getting out.
I walked her toward the window and pushed the door open. The bell chimed overhead, loud in the small space.
The cashier straightened like he was trying to look older than he was. “Uh, hey.”
I nodded once. “Any good place to eat around here?”
His gaze flicked to my cut again. He swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah. Um. On Main Street. There’s a diner. It’s called Mabel’s Skillet. Best food in town.”
Clove leaned on the counter, smiling like she didn’t live surrounded by men who could make people nervous just by existing. “What do you recommend?” she asked him.
The kid’s face went red. “Uh. Chicken pot pie. Or the patty melt. And… the pie’s good.”
“Pie is always good,” Clove said, dead serious. “The last pie I had was great.”
I huffed a laugh.
“There’s a bookstore next door,” the kid added quickly, like he was trying to be helpful. “Paper Moon Books. And, uh, the candy store across from it. Sugar & Stitch. Florist too, Bloom & Branch. And antiques. A couple of those. Dusty Sparrow Antiques and Second Chance Salvage.”
Clove’s eyes lit up at the word bookstore. She used to sit on the clubhouse stairs with her legs crossed and a paperback in her lap while chaos happened around her. “You hear that?” she said, turning to me. “Bookstore.”
I pretended to sigh like it was the biggest burden of my life. “Yeah, baby. I heard.”
She blinked like she’d just realized I’d called her baby in front of a stranger.
I didn’t care.
The cashier cleared his throat. “Mabel’s is… two blocks down. Can’t miss it.”
“Thanks,” I said.
We walked back out, the bell chiming again, and I caught a couple people across the lot watching. Not openly hostile. Just curious. Small-town curiosity.
Clove’s fingers slid into mine.
I squeezed her hand gently and led her toward the bike.
Main Street looked like a postcard.
Brick buildings with big front windows. A couple old lampposts with hanging flower baskets. A faded mural on the side of a building that said WELCOME TO JUNCTION in peeling paint.
We parked in front of Mabel’s Skillet. Heads turned as soon as I cut the engine.
Clove didn’t flinch. She just climbed off and tucked in close to me like this was normal. For her, it was.
For them, it was a show.
I held her hand as we crossed the sidewalk.
Mabel’s Skillet was small, warm, and smelled like butter. A bell above the door rang when we stepped in, and a woman behind the counter looked up and smiled with practiced friendliness.
“Seat yourselves,” she called. “I’ll be right with you.”
Clove headed straight for a booth by the window.
We slid in, me on one side, her across from me. The vinyl seat squeaked under my weight.
The waitress came over with two menus tucked under her arm.
“What can I get you to drink?” she asked.
“Water,” Clove said.
“Coffee,” I said.
The waitress nodded and glanced at my cut. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t stare. Just filed it away like she’d seen it before.
“Food recommendations?” Clove asked before the waitress could step away, because Clove was Clove.
The waitress grinned. “Patty melt. Blueberry pie. Anything for breakfast if you want it. Mabel doesn’t care what time it is.”
Clove looked at me. “You get the patty melt and I’ll get a ham and cheese omelet with hash browns?”
I nodded. “Sounds good to me, baby.”
“And blueberry pie,” she added.
“Of course,” the waitress said. “I’ll be back.”
When she walked away, Clove leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Does this count as our second date?”
I lifted a brow.
She grinned. “Last night was our first date. The diner. Remember? You said first of hopefully many.”
My chest warmed in a way that had nothing to do with coffee. “You keeping track?” I asked.
“I might be,” she said, trying to act casual and failing miserably.
I reached across the table and hooked my fingers with hers. “Then yeah, baby. This is date number two.”
Her smile softened, and for a second, everything inside me quieted.
Then my mind did what it always did lately—snapped back to reality.
I tightened my grip on her hand without thinking.
Clove noticed immediately. She always did. “You’re thinking again,” she said quietly.
“I’m always thinking,” I muttered.
“You’re thinking angrily,” she corrected.
“I’m fine, baby.” I didn’t need her to worry about me. I wanted this time to be with her and not think about the shit the club was dealing with.
The waitress came back with coffee for me and water for her. “Food should be out in a couple of minutes.”
Clove took a sip of water and glanced out the window. “I like this little town. It’s kind of like Weston.”
I scoffed. “Weston is three times the size of Junction, baby.”
She sighed. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“And they probably don’t have a motorcycle club.”
She laughed. “I think you’re right, from all the people that keep staring at us.”
I shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me. Does it bother you?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. Most people are just curious, and I can’t really blame them for looking at the hot biker I’m with.”
“You’re crazy,” I chuckled.
“Here we go,” the waitress said as she approached our table. “Patty melt with fries.” She set the plate in front of me. “And a ham and cheese omelet with hash browns.” She set the plate in front of Clove. “I’ll bring the pie out in a little bit. Anything else I can get?”
We both shook our heads.
“Enjoy,” the waitress called and headed off to wait on another table.
Clove stared at her omelet like it was a work of art. “Oh my God,” she laughed.
I smirked. “Hungry?”
She shot me a look. “You know I’m hungry, but there is no way I will be able to eat all of this.”
I stabbed a hunk of hash browns and popped it into my mouth. “I’ll help you, baby.”
We managed to eat all of the food, and the waitress brought out the blueberry pie.
Clove’s eyes practically sparkled.
“You’re adorable,” I said before I could stop myself.
She blinked. “What?”
I shook my head, like I could rewind time. “Nothing.”
“No,” she said with a grin. “Say it again.”
“Eat your pie,” I muttered.
She laughed and propped her hands under her chin. “Ender thinks I’m adorable,” she sang.
Yeah, I did think that, along with sexy, beautiful, and all mine.
After we paid, we stepped back out onto Main Street.
Clove tugged my hand. “Bookstore?”
“You’re obsessed,” I said, but I followed her anyway.
We passed Bloom & Briar, the florist, with its front window filled with bouquets and greenery. A sign on the door said Fresh Peonies Today.
We passed Sugar & Stitch, the candy store, with jars of taffy and gummies lined up like rainbow soldiers. Clove pressed her face to the window like a kid.
“You want candy?” I asked.
“I want all of it,” she said, dead serious.
“Jesus,” I muttered. “I’m in trouble.”
She turned to me, her eyes bright. “Yes, you are, but you’re safe today because I am stuffed from Mabel’s.”
Then she dragged me toward the bookstore.
“Oh shit,” she muttered. “It’s closed.”
This was a good thing because I knew Clove, and she would have bought more books than we would have been able to haul on the back of the bike.
She pointed across the street. “There?”
The sign above the door read Dusty Sparrow Antiques in faded gold script.
“You hate antiques,” she said, like it was a fact.
“I don’t hate antiques,” I argued.
“You hate standing still,” she corrected.
That… was accurate.
Clove squeezed my hand and smiled like she’d already won as she led me across the street. “Come on. Just ten minutes.”
“Empty promise,” I muttered.
She ignored me and pushed the door open.
A bell chimed overhead. The shop smelled like old wood and lavender.
Sunlight streamed through the front windows, catching dust motes in the air.
Shelves and tables were packed with everything.
Vintage dishes, lamps, old picture frames, stacks of books with cracked spines, and jewelry in glass cases.
Clove’s whole face lit up.
“This is heaven,” she whispered.