Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Romeo
Ma Belle: I need an unbiased opinion.
Me: You came to the wrong man.
Ma Belle: Granny says oatmeal counts as breakfast.
Me: Granny is correct.
Ma Belle: Betrayal
Me: Add brown sugar.
Ma Belle: That doesn’t fix oatmeal.
Me: Bacon?
Ma Belle: Bacon fixes everything
Me: We agree on the important things.
Ma Belle: What did you eat?
Me: Coffee.
Ma Belle: That isn’t food
Me: It comes from beans.
Ma Belle: You’re impossible
Me: Yet you asked for my opinion.
Ma Belle: I won’t make that mistake again.
Me: You’ll text me tomorrow.
Ma Belle: Confident
Me: Accurate.
I stared at my phone, grinning like a damn fool, and tried to remember the last time a woman had made me smile this hard without taking her clothes off first.
Couldn’t think of one.
The clubhouse common room was too quiet for a Tuesday afternoon. Cash sat at the bar with a drink he hadn’t touched, and nobody was giving him shit about it. Even Jack had learned to let the silence stand; Rachel’s death had done what damn near nothing else could.
It had made the Silver Shadows quiet.
Cold seeped through the clubhouse walls, but I barely noticed it. Fiona had texted me first thing this morning. Before school. Before work. Before whatever else filled her day.
She’d woken up and thought about me.
Mon Dieu, I was in trouble.
Deep, drowning, no-way-out kind of trouble.
I’d been back in Nebraska for three weeks now, and every morning started the same way. Check my phone. Every night ended the same way too.
Check my fucking phone.
All because fifteen hundred miles away, Fiona Mitchell-Steiner existed.
She was eighteen now. Legal. Mine for the taking.
Except she wasn’t ready. Not really.
And I wasn’t going to rush her, no matter how many times I caught myself calculating how long it would take to get from Diamond Creek to Rosewood.
Because she did belong to me.
The La Croix curse had seen to that.
I’d known it the moment I laid eyes on her at the ski resort. Something inside me had simply gone still, as if every restless piece of me had finally found where it belonged.
Fiona Mitchell-Steiner was mine.
The problem was—she didn’t know that.
Patience, I reminded myself. Build the foundation first. Let her trust you. Let her need you.
Then take her.
My phone buzzed again.
Ma Belle: I’ve discovered something about you.
I bit back a laugh and typed quickly.
Me: I’m devastatingly handsome?
Ma Belle: You answer every question with another question.
Me: Do I?
Ma Belle: You just did it again
Me: Coincidence.
Ma Belle: What are you doing?
Me: Working.
Ma Belle: That was almost a direct answer
Me: What are you doing?
Ma Belle: Hiding in the Creamery storage room
A picture of her sitting in the storage room at Sugar’s Creamery flashed in my mind. Perched on a stack of boxes, biting her lower lip while she tried not to smile at whatever bullshit I sent next.
Christ, I wanted to see her.
Not through a picture. Not inside my head.
Her.
I shifted on the couch and adjusted myself before one of the brothers noticed exactly where my thoughts had gone. This was the problem with Fiona—one minute she was hiding in a back room, and the next I was thinking about things I had no business thinking about while she was at work.
Me: Hiding from what?
Ma Belle: A birthday party with twelve screaming children
Me: Need rescuing?
Ma Belle: From Nebraska?
Me: Send the address.
Ma Belle: You already know where I work.
Me: True.
The three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Ma Belle: You’re not actually coming, are you?
My grin slipped.
Because I could.
I could grab my shit, get on my bike, and ride until Nebraska disappeared behind me. Twenty-something hours between here and Rosewood wasn’t impossible.
It was just a really bad fucking idea.
Me: Not today.
Ma Belle: Why does that answer make me nervous?
Me: Because you’re smart as hell.
I set my phone on my thigh and scrubbed a hand over my face.
I didn’t reach for my keys. Didn’t check the weather between Nebraska and Virginia. Or run the directions through my head, counting how many fuel stops I’d need.
That had to count as restraint.
Three months ago, I wouldn’t have recognized the bastard I’d become. I’d never sat around waiting for a woman to text me back. If I wanted someone, I made it clear. If she wanted me too, we fucked.
Simple.
Then Fiona came along and apparently turned patience into my newest fucking personality trait.
And that was the bitch of it.
This couldn’t be simple.
Not with her.
I could flirt. Make her laugh. I could let her get used to seeing my name on her phone every damn day.
What I couldn’t do was show her all of it at once.
Not yet.
My phone buzzed.
Ma Belle: I survived the birthday party
Me: Proud of you, Cher.
Ma Belle: I deserve a medal
Me: I’ll get you one.
Ma Belle: You’re ridiculous
Me: You like it.
Ma Belle: Maybe
Me: Definitely.
I stared at that maybe and grinned. Three weeks ago, I probably would’ve gotten an eye roll. Today, I got maybe.
I’d take the fucking win.
Ma Belle: I have to go. Sugar needs me at the counter.
Me: Text me when you get home.
Ma Belle: You worry too much
Me: Text me anyway.
Ma Belle: Fine
The screen went still.
I waited another few seconds anyway.
Nothing.
I could picture her slipping the phone into her pocket and heading back behind the counter. She’d smile at a customer, scoop somebody’s ice cream, probably laugh at something Sugar said.
And some other bastard would get to hear it.
“Well, well, well.”
I looked up from my phone to find Jack standing in the doorway with Blade behind him. They had matching expressions on their faces, which meant they were about to become pains in my ass.
“What?” I asked, slipping my phone onto my thigh but not bothering to hide it.
Jack nodded toward it as he stepped farther into the room. “You’ve been attached to that thing for weeks.”
“I’m allowed to own technology,” I replied, leaning back against the couch.
“You’re smiling at it,” Jack said, dropping into the chair across from me.
“I always smile.”
“Not like that.”
I glanced at him. “You keeping a catalog now?”
“Don’t need one. Usually, your smile means somebody’s about to get laid, punched, or pissed off.”
Blade laughed from the doorway. “Sometimes all three.”
“Efficient use of my time,” I said.
Jack pointed toward my phone. “That one’s different.”
“Maybe I found a good meme.”
“You’ve been looking at the same damn meme for three weeks?”
“Exceptional meme.”
Jack shook his head. “You’re hiding something.”
“I’m hiding from this conversation,” I said, picking up my phone again.
Jack ignored that and moved closer. “You’re turning down women.”
“I’ve also turned down bad whiskey. Doesn’t mean anything,” I replied.
Blade leaned against the arm of the couch, his mouth twitching with amusement. “Crystal practically threw herself at you.”
“Crystal throws herself at everyone. Gravity is her biggest fan.”
Jack laughed and pointed at me. “You’re avoiding the question.”
“I’m answering all the important ones.”
“You haven’t answered any,” Jack argued.
“Sounds like a you problem.”
Blade crossed his arms over his chest. “Who is she?”
I looked at him seriously. “That’s a very personal question.”
“Exactly,” Blade replied.
“And I’m a very private man.” I nodded like I’d just made the most reasonable statement in the world.
Jack stared at me. “You?”
“Yes. Deeply mysterious.”
Blade snorted.
Jack grinned. “Mysterious? Man, half the club’s seen your bare ass and your dick.
You fuck in bathrooms, parking lots, truck beds.
Hell, I’m pretty sure you christened the back of a Harley once.
You don’t even know what a bedroom’s for except sleeping.
That ain’t mysterious, brother. That’s just shameless. ”
I laughed and stood from the couch, stretching.
“That’s it?” Blade asked. “You’re not gonna say anything?”
“Nope,” I said, heading toward the door.
“Come on, man,” Jack called after me. “Just give us a name.”
“Not happening,” I replied without looking back.
“A first initial?” Blade tried.
I kept walking.
Let them guess. Let them ask every brother in the club if they knew who had finally managed to hold my attention for longer than a night.
They weren’t getting Fiona’s name from me.
Not until she was ready for people to know there was something to know.
I pulled out my phone again.
Still nothing.
Patience.
I shoved it back into my pocket and walked toward the edge of the lot. Snow covered the fields beyond the clubhouse, smoothing everything into white until Diamond Creek looked almost peaceful.
My mind was fifteen hundred miles away.
I pictured Fiona behind the counter at the Creamery. Then driving home in that beat-up car of hers. Then walking through Granny’s door, safe.
The picture should’ve been enough.
It wasn’t.
I wanted to be the person she reached for when something went wrong. Hell, I wanted to be the person she reached for when nothing was wrong at all.
Bad day. Good day. Stupid joke. Burned breakfast.
Anything.
My phone buzzed.
I had it out so fast I nearly dropped the damn thing.
Ma Belle: Home safe
Something in me unclenched.
Me: Good girl.
Ma Belle: You really do worry too much.
Me: Can’t help it, Cher.
Ma Belle: Why?
My thumb hovered over the keypad.
Because six hours without hearing from you had me imagining all the ways you could be hurt.
Because this morning, I was five minutes away from calling half of Rosewood to find you.
Because I don’t know when the hell making sure one woman is safe became necessary for my own sanity.
Me: Because I care about you.
Ma Belle: That’s sweet
Sweet?
I let out a quiet laugh.
If she knew where my mind went when I worried about her, sweet wouldn’t be the word she used.
Ma Belle: I have to go. Granny’s calling me for dinner.
Me: Text me later.
Ma Belle: Maybe
Me: Definitely.
Ma Belle: Bossy
Me: You like it.
She didn’t respond.
I didn’t need her to. I could picture the eye roll from Nebraska.
I shoved my phone into my pocket and turned toward the clubhouse. I could do this. Give her room. Let her decide how much of me she wanted instead of burying her under all of it before she had a chance to figure that out.
It wouldn’t be easy. I sure as hell wouldn’t enjoy it.
But I could do it.
I walked back inside, the warmth hitting me like a wall. Jack and Blade were still in the common room, but their eyes stayed on their drinks.
Good.
The clubhouse door opened behind me, bringing another blast of cold air with it. King walked in with snow dusting his shoulders and his jaw set.
“Church in five,” he said, his eyes finding Gunner at the bar.
Jack straightened. Blade set down his glass. Whatever ease had been left in the room disappeared.
King’s gaze swept over his officers. “Move.”
They moved. I stayed where I was, watching them disappear behind the double doors just as my phone buzzed again.
I dropped onto the couch and pulled it from my pocket.
Ma Belle: Granny says I need to stop texting at the dinner table
I smiled.
Me: Then stop texting me.
Ma Belle: You told me to text you later.
Me: I did.
Ma Belle: So this is your fault
Me: Everything’s my fault, Cher.
Ma Belle: At least you admit it
Me: Go eat dinner. Text me before bed.
Ma Belle: Bossy
Me: You like it.
Ma Belle: Maybe
There was that damn word again.
Maybe.
Not yes.
Not no, either.
For now, I’d have to live with maybe.
I set my phone on my thigh and leaned back against the couch.
Behind the double doors, church was starting. Around me, the clubhouse carried on. Nobody knew about the woman responsible for turning Romeo into a bastard who stared at a single word and smiled.
They could keep wondering.
Fiona had spent enough of her life with other people deciding things for her.
I wasn’t going to decide this one.
Not for her.