7. Chapter 7
seven
Sadie
Iwoke up late Saturday morning and took my sweet time getting out of bed.
Every muscle in my body protested. I groaned, flopping onto my back like a Victorian heroine in distress.
I was only thirty-two, still in my prime. I shouldn’t be this sore.
Then again, I’d basically done three days of CrossFit bakery renovation. Lifting tables, scrubbing walls, crouching, stretching, and painting—all with glitter involved, which should count as resistance training.
A hot shower was calling my name.
The water hit my shoulders like a blessing. I stood there until it ran cold, steam curling around me as my muscles slowly melted. By the time I got out, my skin was pink and flushed, but I felt halfway human again.
I pulled on a pair of cuffed denim pedal pushers and a gingham button-down that I tied at the waist, showing just a peek of my belly. The kind of outfit that said I’m cute and I know it.
I wasn’t the kind of woman who hid her body just because she had a little extra to love. Soft wasn’t bad. Soft was sweet. Soft made people feel safe.
I tied my hair up in a navy bandana to keep it out of my face and slipped on my favorite white tennis shoes. Clean-ish.
I gave myself one last look in the mirror.
I looked good. Real good.
I grinned, dabbed on my signature red lip, and headed out the door—ready to conquer tables, displays, and whatever the universe had to throw at me.
Not that I was hoping the grump across the street would notice.
Nope.
Definitely not.
I parked my pink bug in front of the bakery and hopped out, keys jingling in my hand.
Inside, I started uncovering the vintage diner tables I’d collected from estate sales and Facebook Marketplace like a treasure hunter on a mission. Each one had charm, patina, and legs that squeaked against the floor as I scooted them into place.
Then I looked at the corner booth.
The giant corner booth.
The one I had begged the movers to shove inside before they left.
I grimaced. There was no way I was moving that thing on my own without ending up flattened like one of my tart crusts.
Just then, a knock sounded at the open door.
I turned, and there stood Wrecker—grinning like the start of trouble in a denim jacket.
Definitely not the tall, brooding one I hadn’t been secretly hoping to see.
Nope. Not at all.
“Hey, Wrecker! You came just in time!” I beamed at him with my patented sunshine-in-human-form smile.
“Oh yeah?” He swaggered inside, glancing around. “Need someone to help with the big stuff?” He flexed an arm. The bicep gave the smallest little jump.
Maybe he was stronger than he looked.
Maybe.
“Please. I’d appreciate it so much. And I’ll bake you cookies as a thank-you.”
He grinned. “You had me at cookies, darlin’.”
I pointed at the corner booth. “That beast right there.”
Wrecker rubbed his hands together, stepped up to the booth, and gave it a good pull.
It didn’t move. At all.
He tried again, face scrunching in effort—still nothing.
A flush crept up his neck as he turned pink from exertion—or embarrassment. Maybe both.
“This is, uh… heavier than it looks.”
I pressed my lips together, trying really hard not to laugh. “It’s okay. I think it’s attached to the floor with pure stubbornness.”
“You sure Diesel isn’t hiding out back somewhere?” he huffed, stretching his arms. “Could use the big guy.”
I busied myself rearranging some chairs, ignoring the flutter in my chest at the mere mention of his name.
Diesel. Who most definitely wasn’t here.
Not that I cared.
Not even a little.
“I figured he was over there with you all today,” I said, trying to sound breezy.
Totally normal. Not fishing. Not even a little.
Wrecker raised an eyebrow like he knew exactly what I was doing—but lucky for me, he didn’t say anything—just grinned.
“I’ll be right back.”
And then he left.
I peeked through the window and watched as Wrecker strolled across the street, heading straight for the garage like a man on a mission.
A minute later, he returned—with him in tow.
Diesel looked like he’d rather be walking into traffic than across that street.
His jaw was tight, brows drawn together, mouth set in a flat line.
He was still wiping grease off his hands with a rag, and he had that heavy-lidded stare that made it look like the sun itself was personally offending him.
And yet…
He came anyway.
I turned quickly, pretending to be busy myself with shifting one of the table legs half an inch to the left as if it mattered, like I hadn’t just fluffed my hair in the reflection of the bakery window twenty seconds ago.
Wrecker sauntered through the door first, smug as anything.
“Reinforcements have arrived.”
Diesel followed with a sigh like he was about to regret every life choice that brought him here. His gaze swept over the bakery, then landed on me.
For a beat too long.
Then he looked at the booth.
“This is the thing giving you trouble?”
“Yeah,” I said, brushing my hands on my capris. “It’s… stubborn. Like some people.”
Wrecker snorted, and Diesel gave me that sideways look again, quiet, unreadable.
“I’ll handle it,” he muttered, moving past me.
And just like that, the booth had no chance.
Diesel walked past me, rolling his broad shoulders like he was prepping for battle. He eyed the booth with the kind of silent determination usually reserved for bar fights and engine rebuilds.
Wrecker leaned casually in the doorway, arms crossed, smirking like he had front-row seats to a show.
And yeah… he kind of did.
Because the moment Diesel bent to assess the best angle for moving the booth, I forgot how to breathe.
He crouched, arms flexing as he tested the weight, muscles straining just enough under the sleeve of his black T-shirt. Grease still smudged one forearm, and his jaw was set in this focused, no-nonsense way that made me feel like I was absolutely the nonsense he hated.
He didn’t grunt. Didn’t make a scene. Just lifted it slow, steady, like it wasn’t a big deal, and adjusted the booth into position with a precision that screamed experience.
Meanwhile, I stood there like a full-on swoon emoji.
Wrecker caught me staring.
I snapped my gaze to a display table, pretending I was deeply concerned about whether it was too close to the counter. It wasn’t.
Wrecker coughed behind his hand, “busted” in the form of one snorty laugh.
Diesel didn’t say a word. Just straightened, wiped his hands on that same rag, and glanced at me.
“All set.”
“Thank you,” I managed, hoping I didn’t sound breathless. “I really appreciate it.”
He nodded once. Still unreadable. Still infuriatingly hot.
And then he looked at me for just a second longer.
Just enough to make me wonder if maybe I wasn’t the only one noticing things.
Diesel
Fucking Wrecker.
The nosy bastard was playing with fire.
He’d strutted across the street like a man with a plan, wearing a grin that practically screamed watch this chaos unfold.
And then he’d come back, waving me over like it was nothing.
Like I was just helping the new neighbor, not being dragged straight into temptation, wrapped in gingham and vintage curls.
Now I was stomping back across the street, jaw tight, trying to pretend I didn’t feel her eyes on me the whole damn time I was in there like she could see more than I wanted her to. Like she was looking.
The second I stepped back into the garage, I headed straight for the nearest engine, hands itching for something familiar, something simple, something not shaped like a walking daydream.
Wrecker strolled in behind me, humming under his breath, one of Sadie’s cookies already half gone.
“Fucking asshole move,” I muttered, not bothering to look up. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”
“Oh, I definitely do.” He took another bite, full of smug satisfaction. “And you’re welcome.”
I glared at him. “You think this is funny?”
“I think it’s adorable,” he said around a mouthful of chocolate. “Big bad Diesel getting all hot and bothered over a cupcake with hips.”
I growled low in my throat, reaching for a socket wrench before I changed my mind and strangled him with a shop towel.
He just laughed harder.
“She got under your skin already, huh?” he said, tossing the empty wrapper in the trash. “Don’t worry, man. You’re not the first. And you won’t be the last.”
I didn’t answer.
Because the worst part?
He was right.
The bay door rattled open, the low rumble of engines cutting through the shop.
I didn’t have to look up to know who it was.
Boots hit concrete—heavy, familiar.
“Church in an hour,” Beck called, voice carrying easily over the noise.
I glanced up just long enough to see him shrug out of his cut, tossing it over a chair like he owned the place.
Which… he did.
“Try not to kill each other before then.”
“No promises,” Wrecker shot back, grabbing another cookie like his life depended on it.
Beck’s gaze shifted between us, sharp and assessing. He didn’t miss much. Never had.
“You good?” he asked me.
Simple question. Loaded as hell.
“Yeah,” I said automatically, turning back to the engine. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
A beat of silence stretched.
Then—
“That the bakery girl?” one of the guys asked from the other side of the shop.
Shit.
I didn’t look up. Didn’t react. Just tightened my grip on the wrench.
“Pink hair? Sunshine smile?” Wrecker added helpfully. “Makes cookies that’ll ruin your life?”
A couple of low chuckles rippled through the garage.
I set the wrench down harder than I needed to.
“Knock it off.”
The amusement didn’t stop—but it softened. Shifted.
Because now they knew.
Beck stepped closer, voice lower this time—just for me.
“That gonna be a problem?”
I finally looked at him.
Thought about Sadie—standing in that bakery, sunlight catching in her hair, smiling like she didn’t have a clue what she did to a man.
Thought about the way she’d looked at me.
The way she’d felt.
“Yeah,” I said quietly.
A corner of Beck’s mouth twitched—not quite a smile. Not quite approval.
“Figured.”
He clapped a hand on my shoulder, solid and steady.
“Then don’t screw it up.”
He walked off like that settled it.
Like it was that simple.
I stared down at the engine in front of me, but all I could see was pink hair and red lips and a girl who looked at the world like it was something worth loving.
And me—standing on the outside of it, trying to decide if I had any right to step in.