Chapter 5
MICAH
By the time I dragged my ass out of bed Monday afternoon, my body felt like I’d taken a hit from a freight train.
West Coast games always messed with my rhythm, and last night’s late start hadn’t helped.
We didn’t land until almost five, which meant it had been close to six thirty when I made it up to my place and collapsed, face-first on my mattress, still fully clothed.
I slept for almost twelve hours straight.
Showered, dressed, and finally feeling vaguely human, I headed straight for the deli.
It had been a week since the first time I kissed her in front of the train. I’d done it again every night until I’d had to leave for our last preseason game. The more time I spent with my girl, the harder I missed her when I was away.
The Tight Line glowed warm in the evening darkness, the last of the dinner crowd trailing out as I stepped inside. The overhead lights were dimmed for closing, while soft, classic rock hummed through the speakers. It was quiet and calm, except for the faint clatter of trays and metal in the back.
My eyes scanned the room quickly, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding when I found Rylin.
Damn, she was beautiful.
She was behind the counter, her hair twisted up in one of those messy knots that showed off the delicate line of her neck as she wiped down the prep surfaces.
Moving fast and focused, she furrowed her brows like she was in some kind of internal debate with herself.
Her oversized T-shirt—one of ours, with The Tight Line’s logo across the chest—hung loose over her frame, tucked into black joggers that hugged her hips just right.
The shirt swallowed her upper half but was somehow more tempting.
Making it hard to think of anything except what was hiding underneath the loose fabric.
I wandered over to the opposite end of the counter. She didn’t notice me at first, so I leaned against it, arms crossed, just watching her. Soaking in the sight that I had missed more than I should after only forty-eight hours.
I wasn’t doing a damn thing to help like I normally did, too caught up in what I was feeling. I loved being near her. She grounded me. Even when she wasn’t looking at me, she felt like mine.
“Hey,” I said after a beat.
She startled, turning fast. When she saw it was me, she relaxed. Kind of. Her shoulders dropped a little, but her hands still held tight to the spray bottle and rag.
“You scared me.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.” I pushed off the counter and came around to her side, stepping into her space.
She tensed for half a second, then let out a breath. “You’re back late.”
“Night game on the West Coast. We left right away, getting in around five, then I still had to get back to my place from Long Island.”
Her forehead puckered adorably when she frowned. “Did you sleep?”
“Yeah. I almost didn’t make it to my bed.” She giggled, and I let my eyes roam over her face, taking in the blush on her cheeks, her rosy lips, and soft hazel eyes. Fuck, she was cute like this. Except she looked beyond tired—even exhausted seemed like too tame a word to describe it. “You?”
She shrugged. “Not much.”
Frowning, I reached out and brushed my thumb along her cheek. Her breath caught, and her lashes fluttered. That did something to me. Everything about her did.
“You need someone to take care of you,” I murmured. “I want to take care of you.”
As I’d hoped, she softened rather than freezing up and pulling away.
We stood there for a moment, neither of us moving, the space between us thick with unspoken words and only thoughts of soft touches.
Finally, she opened her mouth to say something, but her gaze darted to the counter, and she frowned.
“Crap.” She reached for a spiral-bound notebook lying on the counter. “I didn’t mean to leave this out. I—”
She grabbed for it, but her elbow caught a tray, and the whole thing tipped. The notebook tumbled to the floor and landed open, pages splayed wide. She dove for it, but I was faster. Years of reflexes made sure of it.
I crouched and picked it up, my gaze scanning the page.
A blueberry crumb bar was sketched with soft pencil lines, shaded in like she’d spent hours perfecting the details. There were notes in the margins—ingredient tweaks, texture observations, baking temp tests. It looked like something out of a high-end culinary school.
I blinked. “You made this?”
She flushed. “It’s nothing.”
I turned the page. Another dessert. A cupcake, with flavor notes scribbled in neat handwriting. Cinnamon honey cake, fig filling, and whipped mascarpone topping.
Flipping through the notebook, I found mini pies. A lemon lavender shortbread. Chai sugar cookies with browned butter icing. Pages and pages of hand-sketched designs, notes, test batches, and flavor combinations.
“You came up with all of these?” I asked, still stunned.
She shifted on her feet. “I play with recipes when I have time. It’s just a hobby.”
I looked up at her. “Baby…”
Her eyes darted away. “Don’t make a big deal about it.”
On the next page was a title in bold block letters across the top.
Sideline Bars. A sweet pastry with a buttery crumble on top, apple-cinnamon filling, and a honey glaze.
I read every line. Burned it into my head. My brain didn’t forget shit, and I knew without a doubt I’d need to remember every damn detail of this.
“This isn’t a hobby. This is talent.”
She reached for the notebook again. I didn’t let her take it.
“I’m serious.” I straightened slowly, keeping my eyes on hers. “I own a restaurant, Rylin. We had help, but Raiden and I created every dish on our menu. I know food. This isn’t something you hide in the back of a drawer.”
Her cheeks went red, and she shook her head, trying to brush off my compliment. “I’ve never really shown anyone. I don’t even know what I’d do with it. It’s just for fun.”
My eyes never left her face, seeing through her facade to the passion beneath. “Do you bake these? Or just come up with the recipes?”
“Both.” She shrugged. “I like testing things out. But I don’t have the right equipment or—”
“I can get you the right equipment,” I cut in. “But that’s not really what you need. You need the right audience. The right launchpad.”
She blinked, her head canting to the side. “What are you talking about?”
Gently, I closed the notebook and held it between us. “This is your future, baby. And I want to help you build it.”
Her breath hitched. “Micah…”
I pressed the notebook back into her hands, hoping it would help her feel more in control of the situation. “I don’t want to pressure you. It just…kills me to think about you hiding this like it’s not fucking brilliant.”
She hugged the notebook to her chest and shook her head.
But I wasn’t about to be deterred. I was serious about not pushing hard, but that didn’t mean I was going to back off, either. “I’m not letting you hide this. Not anymore.”
Her expression crumpled, not in a tearful way, but like panic had started crawling under her skin.
Taking a step back, she shook her head. “You don’t understand.
If I say yes—if I try—and it goes to hell…
” A sharp exhale burst from her lips. “I don’t want to be a charity case.
Some project you’re trying to fix. But what would be even worse is you looking at me like I failed you. I couldn’t handle that.”
Well, fuck.
She meant it. That fear wasn’t a throwaway line. It was real. And heavy. Sitting right there on her shoulders and dragging her down. Crushing her dreams before they ever had a chance to take flight.
I didn’t know how yet, but I wasn’t going to let it happen. I just had to find a way that wouldn’t send her running or give her an excuse to rebuild the walls I’d been slowly knocking down.
“Okay.” I softened my stance, putting my hands in my pockets and nodding. “As I said, I’m not going to push.” Then I grinned. “Maybe nudge.”
A trembling smile dusted over her mouth, and she nodded. Although she didn’t manage to hide the disappointment that flashed in her eyes. Which made me all the more determined to help her reach for her dreams.
“But I want you to hear me. You’re not a project.
You’re not broken. You don’t need fixing.
But I’m not going to stop reminding you how amazing you are.
” I gave in to temptation and brushed some of her flyaway hair back behind her ear.
“And when you’re ready to try…I’ll be here.
No strings. No expectations. Just me, cheering you on. Every fucking step of the way.”
Her lashes were wet as she blinked fast and nodded, clutching the notebook to her chest.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Always,” I replied.
I wanted to pull her into my arms, bury my face in her neck, and promise her the whole fucking world, but I settled for brushing a soft kiss over her sweet lips.
Unlike the other times, I took a step closer and deepened it, just a little.
Testing the waters. When she didn’t pull away, I nibbled her mouth before pressing my forehead lightly against hers for a beat.
“Always,” I repeated quietly.
And I meant it. Because this wasn’t about me. It was about her—this girl with fire in her soul and sugar in her hands, scared to believe she was anything special.
But she was.
The whole fucking package.
And I would keep showing her until she knew it, too.