2. Chapter 2
two
Sadie
It took me all day to paint the sprinkles.
Every color I had—pink, teal, butter yellow, lavender, mint green—arched across the walls in swoops and stripes, like a sugar rush exploded in here on purpose. Once the lighting was up, it was going to pop like walking into a cupcake.
I stood in the middle of the room, sweat damp at my temples, paint flecks on my arms and probably in my hair, and felt that warm, glowing hum that only came when I was building something with my own two hands.
I cleaned the brushes, sealed up the paints, and packed everything away before stepping outside into the cooling evening air.
The sun was just dipping past the rooftops, streaking the sky in orange and pink. My heart did a little flutter when I saw my baby—my pink vintage VW Beetle—parked out front, with The Rolling Scone hand-lettered across the doors in gold.
It made me smile every single time.
But then my eyes drifted across the street.
The garage was mostly dark, closed up for the night, but one light still glowed from the corner bay. The music had changed—softer now, almost… thoughtful. Not that I was listening. Not that I cared.
It was probably him. Diesel.
Still working. Still brooding.
I almost walked over. Just to say thanks again. Maybe offer him a cookie from the test batch I’d baked last night. Ask what kind of music that was.
But I stopped myself.
Too soon.
I gave the shop one last glance, then slid into my Beetle and cranked the engine. It coughed once, then hummed to life like the good girl she was.
The hotel bed was calling. Just a little double in a weekly place, but it was fine for now. Once I got the apartment upstairs fixed up, this whole block would be mine.
Well. Mostly mine.
Diesel
It was late when I saw her leave the bakery, covered in paint from head to toe.
She looked cute.
Stop it, Diesel.
She climbed into that loud-ass pink VW bug. The word vibrant didn’t even cover it. She cranked the engine, and it sputtered like it was dying. I winced.
Not because it was hers. I’d feel that way about anyone driving something that sounded like it was held together with frosting and duct tape.
Still, the thought of her broken down on the side of the road made something twist in my chest. I mean, any woman stranded, of course.
I jogged over before I could think better of it.
“Bring it to the shop when you can, yeah?” I jerked my chin toward the hood. “That thing’s a death trap.”
She blinked at me like I’d just offered to rebuild it out of cotton candy.
I didn’t wait for whatever sunshine-and-sass response she had locked and loaded. Just turned and walked back to the garage like I hadn’t cared in the first place.
I went back to the engine I’d been working on, tightening the last bolt. Then I hit the lights.
I wasn’t going home tonight.
Not after the guys decided to turn my sad, quiet apartment into a punchline. And maybe they weren’t wrong. The place felt hollow lately. Not that I’d admit it out loud.
The clubhouse would do. Ghost was basically living there now, anyway. He wasn’t much for conversation, but at least he was there.
And right now, silence with someone else beats silence by myself.