5. Chapter 5
five
Diesel
Ilooked up when I saw the furniture store delivery truck pull up. We didn’t usually do maintenance on big vehicles. Hell, we usually only did bikes and classic cars, but I guess Beck has to pay the bills.
“What can we do for you?” I called out to the guys as they got out.
“Delivery.” Tweedle Dee said as Tweedle Dum opened the back of the truck.
Amy and Beck were gone for lunch, and I didn’t know what kind of delivery they might be waiting on. I would think they would have mentioned it.
I stood watching them wheel out two industrial stainless-steel ovens. My brows furrowed.
“You guys have the wrong place.” I pointed to the bakery, knowing very well Sadie was waiting on these ovens. She had mentioned it when I was stuck in her kitchen waiting for the epoxy to set us free.
Tweedle Dee showed me the delivery orders and, sure enough, it had our address on it.
“Looks like you guys inverted the street number when you took the order. What the hell would a bike shop need with ovens, you dolts? Just…. Take it over to the bakery.”
“No can do. We have to deliver to the address on the order.” They both hopped back in the truck and cranked it up.
“Assholes,” I grumbled.
I stared at the ovens like they were ticking bombs.
With a frustrated sigh, I wiped my hands on a rag and jogged across the street. The bakery door was locked, but the sign said “Closed for Renovation” in her loopy sprawl. I knocked anyway.
A few seconds passed before I heard movement inside, then the door cracked open. Sadie peeked out, her cheeks pink and a pencil stuck in the messy bun on top of her head.
“Hey,” she said, surprised. “We’re not—oh.”
Her gaze flicked to my grease-stained shirt, then back up to my face.
“You’re here for a pastry emergency?” she teased. “Because I’ve got exactly zero ready.”
“No,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “Your ovens are here.”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“They got delivered to the garage. Idiots wouldn’t take them across the street because of the address.”
She groaned and stepped back, swinging the door open. “Of course they wouldn’t. That would be too logical.”
I followed her inside. The place smelled like vanilla and paint and something citrusy. There was a smudge of flour on her cheek and a smattering of glitter on her sweatshirt.
God, she was chaos. And I wanted to touch her so bad my hands ached.
“They’re heavy,” I said, trying to ground myself. “I’ll help you move ‘em.”
Her eyes met mine. Soft. Grateful. Just a little wary. A small smile curved her lips, making me want to touch them.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
The words hung in the air a moment longer than they should have.
She nodded and walked ahead of me, and I followed her back out.
We moved the first oven together. Her arm brushed mine. At one point, she lost her grip and stumbled, and I caught her elbow to steady her. She looked up at me, her breath caught.
“I got it,” she whispered.
I didn’t let go right away.
When I finally did, it was with a jaw clenched so tight it might crack. We didn’t say much as we moved the second oven in, but the silence was thick. Charged. Like we were both pretending we didn’t feel it. Neither of us was going to be the first to admit we wanted something more.
When it was done, she leaned against the counter, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
I turned to go, but she stopped me.
“Diesel?”
I looked back.
Her voice was quieter. “Do you ever wonder if maybe the universe keeps throwing us together for a reason?”
I blinked.
And then I lied.
“No.”
She smiled. But it didn’t reach her eyes.
“Right,” she said. “Me either.”
Sadie
Good going, Sadie. Make a fool of yourself in front of the one man you can’t seem to avoid.
“Do you ever wonder if maybe the universe keeps throwing us together for a reason?” I muttered to myself, the words still echoing in my brain like a bad karaoke choice.
Real smooth. Real poetic. Real desperate.
Why not just tattoo emotional wreck on your forehead while you’re at it?
I rolled my eyes at myself as I locked the bakery door, biting the inside of my cheek.
Of course, a man like him didn’t believe in fate or signs or the damn universe playing matchmaker. He was a pragmatist, a man who solved problems with tools and torque, not hope and horoscopes.
He probably thought I was ridiculous.
But for just a second, when our arms brushed, and he didn’t pull away…
No. No, Sadie. Don’t go there.
I wiped my hands on my apron and turned back to the ovens. I had work to do.
And feelings to bury.
“Time to get baked and punny!” I clapped and headed to heat my new ovens.
But the moment my palms hit the counter, my brain was already betraying me—filling in the warmth of flour-dusted steel with the warmth of his hand around my wrist. The faint hum of the ovens sounded too much like the deep rumble of his voice.
Even the smell of cinnamon dared to remind me of the faint spice I’d caught clinging to him when he’d leaned too close earlier.
Nope. Absolutely not.
Half an hour later, I was juggling a box of test scones, a grocery list, and my keys. If I stayed in here alone with my thoughts any longer, I was going to end up piping Diesel’s name in frosting on a cupcake, and that felt like a cry for help. A supply run to the market would clear my head.
The Bug coughed. Once. Twice. Then gave one last, pitiful wheeze before rolling to a dead stop right in front of the garage.
Of course it did.
“Seriously?” I slapped the steering wheel, but the car stayed dead.
Before I could decide whether to pop the hood or just crawl under the seat and disappear, a shadow slid across my driver’s side window.
Diesel.
He stood there, arms crossed, the scowl firmly in place like it was standard issue. His shirt was dark from sweat and streaked with grease, clinging to his chest in ways my brain did not need to focus on.
“You break down, or you just like blocking my entrance?” His voice was low and rough, carrying over the hum of the garage.
My pulse tripped. “Oh, sorry. Yeah. It died.”
“Noticed.” He nodded at the hood. “Pop it.”
It was an order, not a suggestion, and something in me reacted before my brain could catch up. I slid out of the seat, and he was suddenly right there, brushing past me to lean over the engine.
He smelled like motor oil, soap, and pure trouble.
My Bug wasn’t the only thing overheating.
Diesel worked in silence, muscles shifting under sun-warmed skin as he reached deep into the guts of my car. The movement pulled his shirt up just enough for me to catch the flash of a waistband, the faint line of skin leading down—
“You watching me, Cupcake?”
I jolted, heat flooding my cheeks. “What? No! I was just—”
He didn’t look at me, but the corner of his mouth tugged like he knew exactly what he’d caught me doing.
“Distributor cap’s loose,” he said finally, tightening something with quick, practiced movements. “When’s the last time this thing had a tune-up?”
“I bake cookies, Diesel. I don’t… tune things.”
That almost-smile flickered again. “Guess you’ll owe me, then.”
The way he said it—low, deliberate—had my stomach doing cartwheels. “And what exactly does one of your debts cost?”
He wiped his hands on a rag, stepped in close enough that the heat from his body rolled over me, and bent just slightly so his mouth was at my ear.
“Guess we’ll find out,” he murmured, voice like velvet and grit, before brushing past me to slam the hood shut.
This time when Diesel tried to start her, the Bug sputtered to life on the first try, but I was still standing there, breathless, pulse hammering, wondering if maybe… I was the one who’d just been tuned up.
Diesel
I wiped my hands on one of the shop rags and tried not to think about the way I’d leaned in close enough to feel her breath hitch.
There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
I’d done that on purpose.
The whisper.
The pause.
The way my mouth hovered just shy of her skin.
I told myself it was the heat. The long day. The way she’d been looking at me like I was something she wanted to taste.
Temporary insanity.
That was the only explanation.
Because I don’t flirt.
I don’t play games.
And I sure as hell don’t get involved with women who sparkle when they smile and talk about fate like it’s a mechanic with a sense of humor.
That kind of woman doesn’t fit in my world.
And I don’t step into theirs.
I glanced across the street at her bakery windows, glitter catching the light even from here.
She was trouble. She wasn’t the loud, toxic kind of trouble. Not like Jessie.
Sadie was the soft kind, the kind that sneaks up on you and makes you want to stay.
My jaw tightened.
I’d learned a long time ago that wanting to stay was the first mistake.