Chapter 4 - Clarissa
The bell above the garage door chimes, making me jump. Steel tenses beside me, his hand instinctively moving toward his hip.
"Clarissa?" August's familiar voice echoes through the garage. "Everything okay in here?"
I step away from Steel, suddenly aware of how close we were standing.
"All good! Just working on a bike."
August rounds the corner, his eyes immediately landing on Steel. The usual warmth in his expression dims slightly.
"Didn't realize we had customers this early."
"Emergency job," I say quickly, moving back to the Harley. "Should be done by lunch."
Steel doesn't say anything, just stands there like a statue, face unreadable. The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a wrench.
August lingers for a moment too long before nodding.
"Alright then. I'll be in the office if you need anything."
The silence after he leaves is awkward. I focus on the dents, trying to ignore how Steel's presence fills the entire garage.
"Your boss doesn't seem too happy," Steel says finally.
I shrug, working on a particularly stubborn dent. "August is... protective. Been like a second father since Dad died."
"Hence the suspicious looks."
"Can you blame him? Strange biker shows up before opening hours, refuses to leave..."
He grunts. "Point taken. I’m surprised he didn’t recognize me, though."
“You must have changed a lot” I say, and he simply tilts his head to the side.
The morning progresses slowly. Other mechanics filter in - first Trenton with his endless coffee cups, then Asher still half-asleep.
"New friend?" Trenton whispers when he passes me.
I roll my eyes. "Customer."
"Uh-huh." He smirks. "That's why you're blushing."
"I am not-" But he's already walking away, leaving me flustered and aware that Steel hasn't missed our exchange.
He hasn't moved from his spot all morning; he just watches with those intense eyes. Having his full attention is unnerving and exciting at the same time.
"Hand me that socket wrench?" I ask, partly to break the tension, partly because I actually need it.
He moves with surprising grace for such a big man, selecting the right tool without hesitation.
"Thought you said you weren't good with your hands," I tease.
"Know my way around tools," he says. "Just better at breaking things than fixing them."
Around eleven, Trenton starts playing his usual country music playlist. Steel's face contorts like he's in physical pain.
"Not a fan?" I laugh.
"Rather listen to cats fighting."
I switch to my own playlist - classic rock that makes Steel nod approvingly. The morning feels easier after that. By noon, my stomach's growling loud enough to compete with the power tools.
"Done," I announce, wiping my hands on a rag. "Good as new."
Steel circles the bike, inspecting my work. His fingers trace where the dents used to be, and I find myself holding my breath.
"Nice work," he says finally.
"Hungry?" The words are out before I can stop them. "There's this place, Tee's Drive-In. Best burgers in town."
He hesitates, and for a moment I think he's going to say no. His eyes dart toward the office where August disappeared earlier.
"August won't mind?"
"I'm allowed a lunch break," I say, wiping my hands clean. "Besides, you paid extra for priority service. The least I can do is make sure you don't starve."
"Trying to fatten me up?" The corner of his mouth twitches.
"Like you need it." The words slip out before I can catch them, and I feel my cheeks heat up.
Trenton catches my eye from across the garage and gives me a not-so-subtle thumbs up. I'm going to kill him later.
"Let me grab my jacket," I say, trying to recover some dignity. "Meet you outside?"
He nods, already moving toward his bike. I watch him go, admiring the way his jacket stretches across those broad shoulders.
Five minutes later, we're heading out. The ride to Tee's is short, but watching Steel follow me on his bike has my legs and hands shaking. We park side by side, and I can't help but notice how his massive bike makes mine look like a toy.
"Place is new," he comments as we walk in.
"Opened a few years ago." I slide into a booth, trying not to stare as he settles across from me, the leather seat creaking under his weight. "You should see the uniforms they make the staff wear."
Right on cue, a waitress appears in a pastel pink dress that looks like it escaped from a 1950s movie. Steel's eyebrows shoot up.
"Told you," I grin. "It's either pink or baby blue. No exceptions."
"World's gone mad," he mutters, but I catch the slight upturn of his lips.
The waitress - her nametag reads 'Jenny' - looks between us nervously.
"What can I get you folks?"
"Double cheeseburger, extra pickles, curly fries," I say. "And a chocolate shake."
Steel orders the same, but a coffee instead of the shake, and Jenny scurries away like she can't get far enough fast enough.
"You're scaring the locals," I tease.
"Good." He leans back, his size making the booth seem smaller. "So, you always take strange bikers to lunch?"
"Only the ones who tell me their life stories before ten in the morning."
He snorts, but there's no heat in it. "Guess I did run my mouth more than usual."
"I liked it," I say softly. "The running of the mouth, I mean.” Jenny returns with our drinks before I continue, “So, what's the plan with the house?"
"No plan." He tears open a sugar packet and dumps it in his coffee.
"Could be worth fixing up," I suggest. "Property values in that area have been going up."
He gives me a look. "I’d never sell it, and I told you I'm not staying."
"Right." I focus on my shake, ignoring the disappointment that settles in my stomach. "Because you've got your MC waiting for you."
"Among other things." He shifts in his seat, leather cut creaking. "Speaking of which, should probably call them soon. Let them know I'm still breathing."
"They worry about you?"
"More like they worry about what trouble I'm getting into without them around to watch my back."
The food arrives, and for a while, we eat in comfortable silence. The burger's good as always, but I barely taste it. My mind's too busy trying to figure out why I care so much about what this stranger does with his mother's house. Why I care that he's planning to leave.
"You're thinking too loud," he says suddenly.
I look up to find him staring at me, "Just wondering what Isabella would want you to do with the place."
His jaw tightens. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't try to guilt me into staying." He pushes his empty plate away. "Town made it clear how they felt about me a long time ago."
"The town's changed," I argue. "And you're not that same kid anymore."
"No," he agrees, his voice low and dangerous. "I'm much worse now."
But I'm not buying the tough guy act anymore—not after seeing how his eyes softened when he talked about his mother and how his hands gentled when he touched his bike.
"You know what I think?" I lean forward, lowering my voice. "I think you're exactly what this town needs. Someone who's not afraid to stand up to bullies in expensive suits."
He stares at me for a long moment, and I force myself not to look away. Finally, he shakes his head, but there's something like admiration in his eyes.
"You're trouble, you know that?"
I grin. "So I've been told."