9. Chapter 9
nine
Diesel
Mistake number one? Thinking I could outrun it.
I knew what I needed. Something loud. Something numbing. Maybe a few bad decisions.
So I ended up at The Watering Hole—a bar that reeked of spilled whiskey, desperation, and regret. The kind of place people went to disappear for a while, the kind of place I used to know too well.
The lights were dim, the beer was warm, and the jukebox was stuck on old outlaw country that sounded like a slow crawl toward a mistake.
Perfect.
I was three beers and a couple shots in when she walked over. Older than me, maybe late forties. Smoky voice, heavy eyeliner, long legs in torn fishnets. She leaned against the bar like she owned it and gave me the once-over.
“Well, look at you,” she said, voice low and amused. “Tall, broody, and in desperate need of something, or maybe someone, to loosen you up.”
I didn’t answer. Just looked down at my drink.
She took that as an invitation.
“Name’s Trixie,” she said, dragging her finger across the rim of her glass. “You got a name, or do I just call you Trouble?”
I let out a breath. Not quite a laugh.
“Diesel.”
She smiled slowly. “Fitting.”
I knew I shouldn’t. I knew exactly what I was doing. I wasn’t interested in her, not really. She wasn’t Sadie.
But that was what I wanted. Needed.
She wasn’t Sadie.
And for a second, that felt like the right thing.
Trixie slid a fresh drink in front of me. Whiskey, neat. She must’ve flagged the bartender while I was lost in my own damn thoughts.
“You look like a man trying to forget something,” she said, voice low and rough around the edges. “Or someone.”
I took the glass and downed it in one go.
“That obvious?”
She shrugged, leaning a little closer, her perfume cloying in a way that reminded me too much of the past. “You’ve got that look. All clenched jaws and haunted eyes. Let me guess… she’s sweet, soft, way too good for you?”
My silence must’ve been enough of an answer, because she laughed, just a little bit bitterly.
“Yeah,” she said. “Been there.”
She moved closer, her hand finding my knee. “Look, I’m not asking for forever. Or even a full night. Just a little escape.”
I didn’t move.
Couldn’t move.
Because Sadie’s voice was stuck in my head, bright and bubbly, talking about bacon, cinnamon rolls, and sprinkles on the walls. That damn smile. The one that made it too easy to forget what it felt like to be burned.
Trixie’s hand slid higher.
And that’s when I knew I couldn’t do it.
Not because I was a good man.
Because I wasn’t.
But because letting someone else touch me when all I could think about was her?
That felt worse than the loneliness.
I stood too fast, knocking the barstool back. Trixie blinked up at me, startled.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “This was a mistake.”
She rolled her eyes. “They usually are.”
I tossed some bills on the bar and walked out into the night, the door slamming behind me harder than it needed to.
The air was sharp and cold.
It didn’t help.
Because no matter how fast I walked, how many miles I put between me and that bar…
I still wanted her.
And that? That scared the hell out of me.
Sadie
The music blaring from across the street did nothing to help me forget how obvious I’d been while ogling Diesel on Saturday.
The way his arms flexed when he lifted that heavy bench seat?
I fanned myself.
“Get it together, Sadie May Winslow.”
I was mid-swoon, mid-scoot of another vintage table into place, when a knock sounded at the front door. I turned to see the postal delivery guy holding a bundle of envelopes.
“Oh, hey!” I said, jogging over and pushing the door open. “Thanks.”
He gave me a little wave and went on his way.
Most of the mail was junk. A couple of those “current resident” offers for carpet cleaning or free pizza. And at least three for the old owner, who, according to the guy who sold me the place, had moved to Florida with a ferret named Vinnie and never looked back.
I was about to toss the whole stack in the trash when one envelope caught my eye.
Daniel Callahan
Carter Custom Garage
Across the street
Huh.
I didn’t know a Daniel. Then again, I didn’t know everyone yet. For all I knew, Wrecker’s real name was Hubert or something, or his real name was actually Wrecker, and his mom just had a twisted sense of humor.
I glanced across the street, where the guys were working on something loud and metal. The bay door was open, and I could just make out Diesel, arms crossed, scowl set to permanent, as he barked something toward Wrecker and Skunk.
Daniel.
Was that his name?
I turned the envelope over in my hand. It didn’t look important, just a plain white envelope with a typed label and no return address.
But it was official.
Daniel Callahan.
The name felt too soft for the man who’d grunted through our entire glitter epoxy lockdown like I’d personally offended him by existing.
It also felt… oddly intimate, now that I knew it.
Should I walk it over? Or give it to Amy and let her hand it off.
I peeked into the garage again and saw Diesel reach for a rag and wipe his hands. Then he looked up, right at me.
Caught red-handed. Of course, I was holding it like it had personally proposed marriage to me. Real subtle, Sadie.
My face went warm. I gave a tiny wave. He didn’t wave back, just tilted his head slightly, like he was trying to figure out what the hell I was doing now.
I held up the envelope.
He pointed at himself.
I shrugged.
His expression didn’t change, but he turned and walked into the garage, like that was an invitation enough.
I sighed, pressed a hand to my belly—why the hell was it fluttering like this?—and headed across the street.
As I reached the garage door, Amy appeared out of nowhere like she’d been waiting for me. She grinned and looped her arm through mine before I could say a word.
“C’mon in, cupcake. I need your opinion on something in the office,” she said brightly, dragging me inside with the practiced ease of someone who always got her way.
I held out the envelope as we walked. “This came to the bakery by mistake. Thought I’d bring it over.”
She glanced down at it as we stepped into the office.
“Oh—Diesel, mail!” she called out, raising her voice just enough for the guys to hear.
So that was his name.
Daniel.
I tucked that little detail into my brain and folded it up like a secret note. Not just Diesel anymore. Daniel Callahan. It didn’t suit his scowl. It was too… human. Soft around the edges in a way he never was.
Amy caught me staring at the envelope in her hand and raised a brow. “Something wrong?”
“No,” I said too quickly. “Just… never heard anyone call him that.”
She gave me a look. The kind with teeth. “He hates it. Calls it his ‘Sunday school name.’ Beck only uses it when he’s really trying to piss him off.”
“Oh.”
Now I definitely wasn’t going to say it out loud.
Except… I kind of wanted to.
I peeked out the office door just in time to see Diesel grab the envelope from Amy’s outstretched hand.
His eyes flicked down, then back up, right at me.
The muscle in his jaw ticked once. No smile.
No frown. Just a long, unreadable stare before he turned and walked out the back.
Not angry. Just… bare. Like I’d peeled something back I wasn’t supposed to see.
Amy let out a soft whistle. “Damn. You really have him rattled.”
“I didn’t say anything!” I protested.
“You don’t have to,” she said with a grin. “You exist.”
I flushed from head to toe.
I watched Diesel disappear through the back door, that unreadable scowl carved into his face like usual.
A shiver ran down my spine, and I couldn’t decide if it was from embarrassment… or something else.
“I didn’t mean to upset him,” I murmured, fiddling with the hem of my top.
Amy snorted behind me. “Honey, that is his resting face. You didn’t upset him.”
“Are you sure? He looked like he wanted to throw that letter straight into a fire.”
She shrugged, completely unbothered. “Diesel doesn’t do soft emotions. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel them. He’s just… emotionally constipated.”
That made me laugh, even as I tried to stifle it.
“But seriously,” she continued, her expression softening, “he’s not mad. Probably just caught off guard that you saw his real name. He keeps that part of himself locked up tighter than the bourbon cabinet at the clubhouse.”
“Why?”
Her eyes narrowed, like she was choosing her words carefully. “That’s not my story to tell. But let’s just say there’s a reason he prefers nicknames and engines over conversations.”
I nodded slowly, chewing on the inside of my cheek.
“Hey,” Amy said gently, “You didn’t do anything wrong. If anything? You got under his skin a little. That’s impressive. Most people can’t get past the armor.”
I smiled, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “I wasn’t trying to.”
“I know,” she said. “But maybe… maybe he needs someone who doesn’t try so hard. Someone who just is.”
I looked back toward the door he’d vanished through.
Daniel Callahan.
The name echoed in my head like a secret.
Maybe Amy was right. Maybe I’d just wiggled into a crack in his armor without even meaning to.
And I wanted to see what would happen if I kept pressing.
Just a little.
Amy’s knowing grin faded into something softer, more thoughtful, and then—like flipping a switch—she perked right up again.
“Anyway,” she said, pulling me out of my Daniel Daydream spiral, “I need a cake. We’ve got a one-year-old’s birthday party to plan, and I need something pink, glittery, and over-the-top fabulous. I figured—who better?”
“Oh! Yes, absolutely.” I perked up, glad for something I could do. “Kate’s little one?”
Amy hummed in confirmation. “Yep. Evie. Party’s this Sunday, since that’s the only day we’re all off. So… six days. Is that too short notice?”
“No, not at all.” I gestured to the nearly empty café. “I’m not exactly swamped. Unless you count Wrecker sniffing around for cookies a full-time job.”
Amy laughed, then paused, her brow lifting. “Wait. Are you open?”
“Officially, yeah. But I haven’t done anything to bring people in yet. So I figured this week would just be a soft launch. Get my feet under me.”
“Babe,” Amy said, already pulling out her phone, “I’ve got you.”
A moment later, my phone pinged. Then pinged again. And again.
Amy had just created a group chat—me, Mel, Kate, and her.
Amy: Hey, tell Nico to launch the bakery.
Kate: Ten-four, good buddy.
Mel: Finally. I need baked goods and caffeine. Like, yesterday.
I stared at the screen, already overwhelmed, and then more messages started flying in.
Kate: Signs will be up in 30.
Me: Signs?
Amy smiled innocently. “Kate and Nico run a marketing and advertising business. I’ve been working on a ‘Welcome to the Neighborhood’ surprise.”
She turned her phone around to show me mockups, digital renderings of a local billboard just off the interstate with my bakery’s name, the cutest pastel fonts, a smiling cupcake mascot, and the slogan “Glitter, butter, and pure joy—Welcome to The Rolling Scone!”
There were also printed sign designs for the town square, flyers, and—oh god—a commercial script.
I blinked. “When… when did you have time for this?”
“Kate did all the work. I just paid for it,” Amy said with a shrug, like she hadn’t just casually thrown a marketing miracle in my lap.
It was a very big deal.
My throat tightened, and I blinked a few times to keep the tears from doing anything dramatic.
“You didn’t have to…”
“I wanted to,” she said. “You belong here, Sadie. Whether you believe that yet or not.”
I didn’t know what to say. So I just hugged her, maybe a little too tight, grateful, a little teary.
I hadn’t even opened my bakery yet… and I already had a village behind me.