Chapter 14
Fourteen
Emma
I was halfway through unloading the dishwasher when my phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, pulling me momentarily from my thoughts.
I glanced over, wiping my hands on a dish towel as I walked across the room. The screen lit up with a text from an unknown number:
Look outside.
That was it. No name, no explanation. Just two words that sent a thrill of curiosity racing through me.
My first thought was that it had to be a wrong number, a mistake meant for someone else. But as I stood there staring at the message, a small flutter of excitement began to bloom in my chest.
Something deep inside me already knew who it was.
Hawk.
With a mix of anticipation and nervous energy, I walked toward the front door. Each step heightened the tension in the air around me.
I glanced through the small window beside the door and that’s when I saw it: a massive box sitting squarely in the middle of my welcome mat.
My eyebrows shot up.
“What the hell…” I whispered.
I opened the door and stepped outside, the cool afternoon air brushing across my skin. The box was huge. Ridiculously huge. It clearly required effort to get there.
Thick brown tape stretched across the top. No shipping label, no company logo, no name. Nothing.
But I already knew.
My phone buzzed again in my hand.
Open it.
I snorted quietly, a smile creeping onto my lips.
“Bossy,” I muttered.
Still, my heart started beating a little faster as I dragged the box inside, kicking the door shut behind me. It was heavy enough that lifting it with one hand wasn’t an option, so I slid it across the floor toward the kitchen instead.
Once it was in the middle of the room, I grabbed a pair of scissors from the drawer and sliced through the tape.
The cardboard flaps popped open.
For a moment, I just stared.
Inside the box was the entire baking basket from the cancer benefit. Every single thing.
The cute measuring cups, the silicone spatulas, the metal mixing bowls—everything.
All the things I had silently wished for while clutching my raffle tickets that night.
My stomach dropped slightly at the memory. I had bought way too many tickets for that basket, hoping my number would get called.
And then it hadn’t.
Now the whole thing was sitting in my kitchen.
I lifted the little apron with embroidered flowers and gasped softly.
“Oh my god.”
I hadn’t realized how much I wanted it until this moment.
I kept digging through the box, uncovering a flour sifter, decorating tips, parchment paper—everything wrapped up in that basket.
Then I froze.
At the bottom were two more boxes. Bigger. Heavier.
My heart did a little flip as I pulled the first one out—a brand-new Dutch oven. Bright red, beautiful, and definitely expensive.
“Are you serious right now?” I breathed.
The second box was even bigger. I opened it slowly. Inside sat a shiny, cream-colored KitchenAid mixer. Not a cheap knockoff. The real thing.
I laughed out loud.
“This is ridiculous.”
Grabbing my phone, I stared at the unknown number again.
You’re insane.
The reply came almost immediately.
Probably.
I bit my lip, trying to suppress a smile.
You didn’t have to do this.
A pause stretched between us before he sent back:
I know.
I stared at that message longer than I meant to.
The thing was, he really didn’t have to.
I had mentioned liking that basket exactly once—one small comment when they were calling raffle numbers. And somehow, he noticed.
That realization sent warmth spreading through my chest.
Setting my phone down, I looked back at the mixer sitting proudly on my counter.
No one had ever paid attention to me like that before. Not like this.
---
The surprises didn’t stop, and that was the part that really started to mess with my head.
It wasn’t every day, but almost.
Monday morning, there was a fountain Diet Coke sitting on my porch when I left for work. Still cold, condensation dripping down the side.
Tuesday night, I came home to a paperback copy of the mystery novel I’d been eyeing at the bookstore for weeks.
Wednesday brought takeout from my favorite Thai restaurant waiting neatly by my door.
Thursday? Another Diet Coke.
Every single time something appeared, I texted the unknown number.
Thank you.
Sometimes he answered; sometimes he didn’t. But I knew it was him. Hawk never signed his name. He didn’t need to.
Every time something appeared on my porch, my heart did that same stupid little flutter—excitement, annoyance, something in between. It was incredibly frustrating.
The man still hadn’t shown his face since that night in my kitchen. Not once. But I knew his men were still around. I caught glimpses of them when I pulled out of my driveway—different bikes, different faces. Always watching.
At first, it irritated me. But now? Now I had mostly accepted it. They weren’t going anywhere.
Later that week, I stopped at the gas station a few blocks from my house. It wasn’t anything exciting, just one of those quick errands you don’t think twice about. I needed milk.
The convenience store attached to the station was closer than the grocery store, and I didn’t feel like driving across town for one thing. The fluorescent lights buzzed softly as I pushed the door open, the familiar smell of gasoline and burnt coffee hanging in the air.
I grabbed a small carton of milk and walked toward the register, my cast bumping awkwardly against the counter as I set it down.
“Evening,” the clerk said.
“Hi.”
While he rang me up, someone stepped up beside the coffee station. A man. Tall, broad shoulders, leather vest. My eyes flicked toward him automatically.
Not Hawk’s club. I’d seen their cuts enough now to recognize them instantly. This one was different. The patch on the front caught my eye.
Prospect.
I wasn’t exactly an expert on biker clubs, but I had started recognizing the basic layout of their patches after the past couple of weeks. Prospect meant he wasn’t a full member yet, but definitely part of something.
For a second, I wondered if Hawk had other clubs helping keep an eye on things. Honestly? That wouldn’t have surprised me.
The man leaned casually against the counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee. His eyes drifted toward me, then down to my cast, and back up again. A slow smile spread across his face.
“Rough night, Emma?”
I blinked. The sound of my name from a stranger made something in my chest tighten.
I lifted my arm slightly.
“Tripped,” I said dryly.
He chuckled.
“Looks painful.”
“Only when I try to use it.”
The cashier handed me my receipt, and I grabbed the milk. The man took a slow sip of coffee, still watching me. Something about the look made my shoulders tighten slightly. Not threatening. Just… strange.
Like he knew something I didn’t.
“Be careful out there,” he said casually before walking out.
Just like that.
I stood there for a moment longer, staring at the door.
“Okay,” I muttered quietly.
“That was weird.”
But I grabbed my milk and walked out to my car anyway. It was probably nothing. If Hawk had other clubs helping watch things, it would make sense they knew who I was. Right?
Still, as I climbed into my car, I glanced around the parking lot one more time. The man was already gone, and for some reason, the way he had said my name hadn’t sounded friendly at all.
I shook the thought away and started the engine.
It was probably nothing.
—
Saturday afternoon, I finally decided to break in the new baking supplies. The mixer was sitting on my counter, looking so beautiful it felt criminal not to use it.
I was also pretty sure the guys outside hadn’t had a home-cooked dessert in a while. And if Hawk heard about it… well, that might annoy him.
For some reason, that thought made me smile.
I tied the floral apron around my waist and opened the pantry. Chocolate chip cookies felt right—simple, comforting, nostalgic.
The mixer purred softly as it whipped together butter and sugar. I leaned against the counter, watching it work.
“This is amazing,” I murmured.
I had always baked everything by hand. Using the mixer felt like unlocking some kind of secret level in life.
Flour, eggs, vanilla, chocolate chips—soon, the kitchen filled with the warm smell of cookies baking. For the first time all week, I felt genuinely happy.
Thirty minutes later, I stood on my front porch holding a plate piled high with warm cookies. Their sweet smell drifted into the cool evening air. I scanned the street.
Sure enough, a motorcycle sat two houses down, exactly where I expected.
I walked over, my heart racing slightly with the thrill of it. The guy sitting on the bike straightened immediately when he saw me approaching. Big guy, dark beard, leather cut.
“Uh… hey,” he said.
“Hi,” I replied, holding out the plate.
“I made cookies.”
He blinked.
“Cookies?”
“Yes. For whoever’s stuck watching my house all day.”
The guy looked completely unsure what to do for a moment before slowly taking the plate.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
He grabbed one of the cookies but paused before taking a bite. Instead, his eyes moved over my shoulder toward the street behind me before flicking back to my face.
“Anyone talk to you today?”
I shrugged casually.
“Lots of people.”
His brow furrowed slightly.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I said with a small laugh. “Gas station clerk, some guy getting coffee, probably the mailman at some point… why?”
The biker went completely still for half a second. Just long enough to notice. Then he nodded slowly.
“Nothing,” he said.
“Just checking.”
I shrugged again, completely unconcerned.
“Well, if anyone tries to murder me, I’ll let you know.”
That earned the smallest twitch of amusement from him. He finally bit into the cookie.
“Damn,” he muttered. “These are good.”
I smiled and turned to walk back toward my house, then paused. A mischievous thought popped into my head.
“Oh—and if Hawk asks…”
The biker raised an eyebrow.
“Tell him I said thanks.”
I smiled slightly.
“But he still owes me an explanation for disappearing.”
With that, I walked back inside. My heart fluttered a little because the truth was, Hawk had a way of creeping into my thoughts, and I was starting to look forward to the next surprise he might send.