Chapter 3 Unexpected Guest
Temporary Arrangement
I woke up to the smell of coffee.
For a few confused seconds, I stared at an unfamiliar ceiling and wondered where I was.
Then everything came rushing back.
The storm.
The broken-down car.
The panic attack.
The heavily tattooed biker who had rescued me from the side of the road.
Jaxon.
My cheeks warmed slightly at the memory.
Which was ridiculous.
The man had given me a place to sleep and talked me through a panic attack. That didn't automatically make him the hero of a romance novel.
Even if he looked like one.
I groaned quietly and buried my face in the pillow.
This was exactly why I didn't date.
My imagination had absolutely no boundaries.
After a moment, I forced myself out of bed.
Sunlight filtered through the guest room window.
The storm had finally passed.
Everything looked calm outside.
Normal.
As if last night's chaos had never happened.
The apartment was quiet when I stepped into the hallway.
For a moment, I wondered if Jaxon had already left.
Then I heard movement downstairs.
Curious, I followed the sound.
The garage looked completely different during daylight.
Large windows allowed sunlight to spill across the concrete floors. Rows of motorcycles gleamed beneath the bright morning light. The entire space felt alive.
Busy.
Purposeful.
Jaxon stood near one of the repair bays with a mug of coffee in one hand.
His back faced me.
The black T-shirt he wore stretched across broad shoulders.
Dark tattoos disappeared beneath the sleeves.
A mechanic's rag hung from one back pocket.
For a second, I simply watched him.
He looked completely at home here.
Like every piece of this place belonged to him.
Maybe that was why I found it so fascinating.
Jaxon noticed me before I could announce myself.
"You sleep okay?"
His deep voice echoed through the garage.
I immediately felt caught.
"Yeah."
He glanced over his shoulder.
His eyes briefly scanned my face.
Checking.
Making sure.
The realization warmed something inside me.
"Coffee?"
"Please."
A few minutes later, we sat in the small office attached to the garage.
The coffee was surprisingly good.
The silence wasn't awkward.
Just comfortable.
Neither of us seemed in a hurry to fill it.
Eventually, reality ruined everything.
The office phone rang.
Jaxon answered.
I watched his expression shift as he listened.
Then he looked toward me.
Not a good sign.
My stomach dropped.
"What happened?" I asked when he hung up.
Jaxon leaned back in his chair.
"The tow truck brought your car in."
I waited.
He remained silent.
Definitely not a good sign.
"Okay?"
"It's worse than I thought."
There it was.
The disaster.
I sighed.
"How bad?"
Jaxon rubbed the back of his neck.
"The alternator's shot."
My expression remained blank.
He noticed.
"You don't know what that means."
"No."
A faint smile appeared.
Small.
Brief.
Dangerously attractive.
"It means your car isn't going anywhere for a while."
My stomach sank.
"How long?"
"Couple days minimum."
"A couple days?"
"Maybe longer."
Fantastic.
Absolutely fantastic.
I stared into my coffee.
The universe apparently hated me.
My car was broken.
Classes started again tomorrow.
My father already expected me home.
And I was sitting inside a motorcycle garage having this conversation with a man who looked like trouble wrapped in leather and tattoos.
None of this had been part of the plan.
Then again, very little in my life ever seemed to go according to plan.
Jaxon watched me quietly.
"Sorry."
The apology surprised me.
"Why are you apologizing?"
He shrugged.
"You look like somebody just kicked your puppy."
I laughed despite myself.
"That's because somebody basically did."
"Fair."
Silence returned.
I mentally calculated hotel costs.
Transportation.
Repair bills.
The numbers weren't encouraging.
I could afford it.
Technically.
My father paid for most things.
One of the many benefits of being the son of a wealthy politician.
Unfortunately, accepting financial help always came with strings attached.
Invisible ones.
The kind you couldn't cut.
I hated those strings.
Almost as much as I hated needing them.
"You got somewhere to stay?" Jaxon asked.
I looked up.
"Hotel, I guess."
The answer sounded uncertain even to me.
Jaxon's expression tightened slightly.
Not disapproval.
Thoughtfulness.
Like he was debating something.
A few seconds passed.
Then a few more.
Finally, he sighed.
The sound suggested he already regretted whatever decision he was about to make.
"The room upstairs is still available."
I blinked.
"What?"
"The guest room."
For a moment, I thought I'd misheard him.
"You mean here?"
"That's generally where the room is."
The dry response almost made me laugh.
Almost.
"You don't have to do that."
"I know."
The answer came immediately.
No hesitation.
No expectation.
Just simple honesty.
Which somehow made the offer more meaningful.
I stared at him.
Jaxon looked mildly annoyed.
Not with me.
With himself.
Like offering help wasn't something he normally did.
That realization made accepting feel easier.
Because it wasn't pity.
It was kindness.
The quiet kind.
The kind that didn't ask for recognition.
"I'd pay you."
His eyebrows lifted.
"I wasn't charging."
"I know."
"Then why would you pay me?"
I opened my mouth.
Then closed it again.
Good question.
Apparently I didn't have an answer.
Jaxon shook his head.
"You can stay until the car's fixed."
Something tightened unexpectedly in my chest.
Gratitude.
Relief.
Something else I didn't want to examine too closely.
"Thank you."
His expression softened slightly.
"Don't make me regret it."
I smiled.
"No promises."
That earned another almost-smile.
The dangerous kind.
The kind that transformed his entire face for half a second before disappearing.
I wasn't prepared for how much I liked seeing it.
Fortunately, he turned away before I could embarrass myself.
The rest of the morning passed quickly.
Jaxon returned to work.
I answered a few emails.
Attempted some writing.
Failed.
My concentration kept drifting.
Usually writing came easily.
Today every sentence eventually transformed into thoughts about motorcycles.
Or tattoos.
Or a certain mechanic with dark eyes and a voice that somehow made everything sound important.
Completely unhelpful.
Around noon, my phone buzzed.
The screen displayed a familiar name.
Dad.
My mood instantly dropped.
Amazing how one word could accomplish that.
I stared at the phone.
Considered ignoring it.
Then remembered that would only make things worse.
With a sigh, I answered.
"Hi, Dad."
"Elliot."
The formal tone told me everything.
No greeting.
No how are you.
Straight to business.
Classic.
"Where are you?"
I glanced across the garage.
Jaxon worked beneath a motorcycle lift.
Focused.
Unaware.
Something strange happened.
For reasons I couldn't explain, I suddenly didn't want my father knowing about him.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
The thought arrived unexpectedly.
Protective.
Private.
Mine.
Which was ridiculous because I'd known the man for less than twenty-four hours.
Still, the feeling remained.
Strong.
"I'm staying with a friend."
The lie slipped out effortlessly.
Silence followed.
Dangerous silence.
My father never liked surprises.
"Which friend?"
I looked toward Jaxon again.
Then away.
"A friend from the retreat."
Technically not true.
Technically not false.
The best lies usually lived somewhere in the middle.
My father sighed.
"I expect you home soon."
There it was.
Not concern.
Expectation.
Control disguised as concern.
The difference mattered.
At least to me.
"My car broke down."
Another silence.
This one shorter.
"I'll have someone arrange transportation."
Of course he would.
Problems were things my father solved.
Usually whether people wanted him to or not.
"I'm okay."
"Elliot."
The warning sat beneath my name.
Familiar.
Heavy.
"I said I'm okay."
The conversation cooled immediately.
A line drawn.
Another familiar thing.
Eventually, the call ended.
I lowered the phone slowly.
The knot in my chest remained.
Across the garage, Jaxon glanced up.
Our eyes met briefly.
Just for a second.
Long enough for him to notice something was wrong.
Long enough for me to look away before he could ask.
Some things were easier not to explain.
Especially when they involved fathers.
And politicians.
And the complicated life I wasn't quite ready to share.
Not even with the biker who had unexpectedly given me a place to stay.
Inspiration
By late afternoon, I had officially accomplished nothing.
At least nothing productive.
I'd answered exactly three emails.
Read the same chapter assignment twice without absorbing a single sentence.
And spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about Jaxon Kane.
Not ideal.
Especially considering I'd known him for barely a day.
The problem wasn't entirely my fault.
The garage made concentration impossible.
There was always something happening.
Engines roaring to life.
Tools clanking against metal.
Customers arriving and leaving.
The place felt alive in a way my tiny apartment never did.
More importantly, Jaxon was everywhere.
Working.
Moving.
Fixing things.
Looking annoyingly attractive while doing all of the above.
I sat in the office pretending to revise a chapter of my manuscript while secretly watching him through the large window overlooking the garage floor.
The fact that he hadn't noticed yet was either a miracle or proof that mechanics spent very little time looking toward office windows.
Probably the second option.
Jaxon worked beneath the raised frame of a motorcycle, focused entirely on the task in front of him.
His movements were efficient.
Confident.
Everything he did seemed deliberate.
Nothing wasted.
Nothing rushed.
The strange thing was that watching him work reminded me of writing.
Not because the tasks were similar.
They weren't.