Chapter 1
One
Kelly
We Can’t Keep Doing this
I swear the timer on the oven is mocking me.
It’s beeping in this slow, rhythmic pattern that sounds like some obnoxious angel of conscious on my shoulder telling me, “you’re avoiding your problems.”
So what if I am?
“Shut up,” I mutter, jabbing the button with more force than necessary as I yank the tray of croissants free and set them on the cooling rack.
The bakery smells like butter and sugar—my favorite scent in the world—but even that doesn’t make the tight knot in my chest loosen.
It’s been six months since the night I told Riot not to fall in love with me for the first time. Three months of reminding him of our agreement. Three months of me pretending I’m not scared because I’m the one breaking the rule.
Six months of the best sex I’ve had in my entire life. Three months of feelings growing in ways I said they wouldn’t.
Six months of hooking up, three months of letting things get complicated, and now this feeling of drifting beginning between us. It’s what I asked for.
Distance.
Who knew it would make the hours of every day without him feel like an eternity. Six days ago, I called it off. This is what I wanted. Why does it hurt so damn bad though?
I hear the front bell jingle. I’m in the back baking. Ally is up front so whoever it is she will handle and I can continue this internal war of emotions while inhaling the decadent scents of deliciousness around me.
Ally’s cheerful voice carries down the hallway. “Morning! Welcome to Frosted and Filled!”
Great. A customer is here.
I slide the tray in my hands on the rack to push out front when she calls out, “Chux is here, be right back, you have the front.”
Rolling my eyes at the pitch in her tone I mutter a quick acknowledgement as I ready to go out front. She’s falling hard for the biker, and I’m happy for her. I just don’t necessarily want it in my face right this moment.
The morning rush will be starting, which means I need to plaster on the smile that everyone swears is so bright and sweet, even though today my insides feel like a tangled ball of yarn a cat shredded.
I wipe my hands on my apron and glance in the reflection of the metal rack. Hair: wild curls contained only by the grace of God. Face: tired. Eyes: the dead giveaway—it’s been another sleepless night.
Another night waiting for a message that didn’t come. Another night knowing I told him no more. Even saying it, I look at my phone every evening anticipating.
You home?
You up?
Want company?
He used to text me almost every night.
Now?
Nothing.
Not unless I reach out first. Which I stupidly did on night two.
Not unless I make the effort. Which meant on the second night without him, he came over, I came quick on his fingers, and he left me wanting what we had.
Wanting what he wouldn’t give me again. No more connection.
No more hookups. He got me off, I felt the bulge in his pants, but he didn’t let me return the favor.
He didn’t slide into my heat and let my body relax against him.
No, he made sure I came and then without a kiss goodbye, he walked out.
I told myself I wouldn’t reach out again. I asked for the distance and I needed to stand by my word.
Six days of the barrier, four days since I have had a single touch, and not once has he even shown the slightest bit of anything.
And I’m starting to feel… pathetic.
I push open the swinging door that separates the kitchen from the lobby, ready to greet customers and pretend my life isn’t a messy emotional crime scene. But the second I step into the bakery, I freeze.
Because there he is.
Ledger “Riot” Masters.
Leaned against the counter, arms crossed over that broad chest that I know is covered in tribal tattoos, cut stretched over tight black short sleeves allowing the full sleeve designs of his ink to show.
Black jeans that fit, but not painted on, relaxed, comfortable, casual.
Down to his boots crossed at the ankle. He looks like sin soaked in sunlight—if sunlight was dangerous and had tattoos and a permanent scowl.
His eyes move up, meet mine.
The heat sparks for a split second in his gaze as my body temperature climbs instantly in his space.
Then it’s gone.
Just like that. His eyes are cold and unreadable.
Like he shut a door on me. Or built a wall in a single breath, what was there is no more.
I swallow hard. “Morning.”
“Hey.” His voice is low, rough, familiar enough that something traitorous inside me softens.
Ally shoots me a quick glance, the kind that says don’t start, don’t cry, don’t flip the bakery display case. Because honestly, I could do all of those things. I pretend not to see it.
“What brings you here?” I ask, walking behind the counter, keeping my tone casual.
He shrugs one shoulder. “Needed coffee.” He looks annoyed before explaining, “Chux brought Ally some shoes she forgot at home.”
He’s lying. Riot hates expensive coffee. He hates bakery coffee because he swears the sugar dust is in the air and falls into the cups. He says it tastes like sweetened dirt. He only ever orders coffee when he wants to see me.
Or… when he used to want to see me.
“Sure.” I grab a cup. “You want—?”
“Black.”
Short. Abrupt.
He’s been like this for days before I called it quits.
Honestly? Maybe weeks.
I just didn’t want to see it.
I pour his coffee, set it down, but before I can step away, his hand closes around the cup—and his fingers brush mine.
Every cell in my body lights up.
Riot goes still, jaw tightening, eyes locked on my hand like he didn’t mean to touch me. Or like he meant to but regrets it.
And suddenly I can’t breathe. The elephant sitting on my chest feels heavier than ever before.
“Kelly…” he starts.
Nope. No. Absolutely not.
“Save it,” I state quietly, pulling my hand back. “We’re not doing that thing where you try to talk casually and I pretend it’s fine. This dance we’ve been doing was fun while it lasted. We agreed. No need to act some kind of way.”
His brows pull together. “I’m not—”
I cut him off throwing my hand up. “You are.” I force a brittle smile. “But don’t worry. I get it.”
He stares at me, unreadable. The kind of look that used to make me blush and laugh and roll my eyes. Now it just makes my stomach twist.
Ally calls my name walking back in, probably sensing tension thick enough to cut with a knife even from where she was outside.
“I need a minute,” I tell her not looking at Riot. “Cover the counter?”
She nods walking directly to the pastry counter giving Chux a nod.
I look at Ledger, “a single second of your time?” I ask hoping this will give me the closure I so desperately need.
Riot doesn’t move as I step around the counter, motioning him toward the hallway.
This has been simmering too long.
Boiling.
Burning.
It’s time.
He follows me, boots heavy on the tile. When we reach the small hallway by the storage room, I turn to face him.
He towers over me, but I don’t back down.
Not today.
“What’s going on?” I ask, arms crossed to keep from shaking.
“Nothing,” he replies instantly.
“No.” I shake my head. “Don’t do that. Don’t give me the bare-minimum biker answer.”
His jaw clenches. “Kelly—”
“I’m serious, Riot. We can’t keep doing this. We had an agreement.”
Silence.
I hate how fast my heart is beating.
How scared I am of his answer. The way the anxiety rises inside me with every passing breath.
How terrified I am that I already know what he’s going to say.
“We said no strings,” he finally replies. “You’re the one who wanted that.”
I laugh. It’s sharp, humorless. “Yeah, back when you actually acted like you liked me.”
His brow lifts in challenge. “I never said I didn’t.”
“You never said you did either.”
He goes quiet.
And that—that’s the problem.
He doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t fight.
He doesn’t reach for me.
He just stands there like a stone while my heart breaks in a thousand silent, pathetic little pieces.
“Riot,” I whisper, “if you don’t want this anymore, just say it. I thought we could be friends.”
His eyes flick away for a second. Just a second. But it’s enough.
Enough for me to see the truth:
He’s already gone.
He’s been gone.
And I’ve been holding onto a ghost.
“Kelly…” His voice is low. “We shouldn’t have done this shit. I can’t give you anything good.”
There it is.
Six words.
A knife to the ribs.
I swallow hard. “Okay.”
He blinks like he wasn’t expecting that answer.
“You’re right,” I add, lifting my chin. “This doesn’t make sense anymore. Maybe we shouldn’t have done it in the first place. I didn’t think it was all bad. But I understand where you are now.”
He stays silent, and God, that hurts worse than anything he could’ve said.
I step back, putting distance between us before I crumble. “Thanks for being honest with me,” I manage to say, even though it’s a lie. He wasn’t honest. I dragged it out of him.
Riot’s brow furrows. Something flickers in his eyes—regret? Frustration? I don’t know. Don’t care.
Not anymore.
“We’re good,” I tell him. “Acquaintances?”
“Well, we can’t be strangers.” His jaw flexes. “Yeah, acquaintances.”
It feels like another knife.
Keep it together, I tell myself silently.
I nod once, turn on my heel, and walk away before the tears hit. Before I do something embarrassing like beg him to stay. Before I tell him that friends are the last thing I want to be with him and acquaintances hurts wors than him being my enemy.
I pass Ally without looking at her.
I pass the display cases.
I pass the front door.
I step outside into the morning sunlight and suck in a deep, shaky breath.
I’m fine.
It’s fine.
Everything is fine.
Except it’s not.
Not even close.
I don’t look back.
Because if I do, I’m terrified I’ll see him still standing in that hallway. I don’t dare allow myself to watch him letting me go.
I don’t get two steps down the sidewalk before my vision blurs. Not dramatically—there’s no sobbing, no gasping, nothing Ally would sprint outside to fix.