18. Chapter 18
eighteen
Sadie
Monday. A fresh start. A new week.
The door opened, the bell jingling happily—far too happily, grating on my nerves like nails on a chalkboard.
When I looked up, Parker walked in with that handsome smile of his, locked and loaded.
“Morning, Sadie.”
“Parker. Hi. Good morning.”
I pasted on a smile and gestured toward the chalkboard. “Would you like our daily special?”
I watched his eyes scan the board:
Flake It Till You Make It
A layered almond croissant with a hidden blackberry jam center.
On the outside: golden, sweet, and dusted with powdered sugar.
On the inside: messy, tart, and bleeding purple if you take too big a bite.
Served with a Bittersweetheart:
A dark roast cold brew swirled with dark chocolate and sweet cream foam, topped with crushed pink peppercorn and a hint of cardamom.
Strong. Sharp. Unexpectedly sweet—once you get past the bite.
Parker laughed. “You always make the menu sound like a dating profile.”
“Maybe it is.” I shrugged. “The emotionally unstable croissant speaks to me.”
He tilted his head, a little grin teasing the corner of his mouth. “Rough weekend?”
You have no idea.
“Something like that,” I said, reaching for a Bittersweetheart to go. “The tart center is very relatable this morning.”
He leaned against the counter like we were two old friends bantering on a sitcom. “Well, if you ever need a pick-me-up that’s not coffee, I do know a place with great karaoke.”
I forced a smile. “Tempting. Especially if I can sing sad girl songs and throw baked goods at anyone who dares to duet.”
“Deal.” He tapped the counter once. “Make that two specials to go. I’ve got a morning meeting, but I needed the good stuff.”
I bagged the croissants and handed over the drinks, nodding politely as he gave me a wink and strolled out, humming some annoyingly cheerful tune under his breath.
The bell jingled again. The door clicked shut.
And the silence hit like a sucker punch.
I leaned against the counter, staring down at the space Parker had just occupied.
He was sweet. Cute. Easy to talk to.
He was also very much not the man who had shattered my heart just by existing across the street.
The problem was…
My heart didn’t flutter when Parker smiled.
It didn’t race when he stood too close.
It didn’t ache when he walked away.
I blew out a breath, then looked back at the chalkboard.
Flake it till you make it.
Yeah. That sounded about right.
Diesel
I watched as that jackass from the bar strolled out of her shop with two coffees in hand and a to-go bag with that damn cupcake logo smiling up at him.
It set my teeth on edge.
Was he leaving after spending all night there?
No. No, she’d been at Amy and Beck’s. I knew that. I’d seen her pull up in that bright-ass pink VW Bug just before eight. She was alone. Safe. Smiling.
Because she’d stayed there. Not… with him.
Still, the image of him knocking on her door, charming her with his bad karaoke and dimpled grin, handing her a stupid bouquet and a stupid compliment before warming her bed like he had any right—it made my blood boil.
I scrubbed a hand down my face and reminded myself of reality.
I hadn’t gone home last night either. Couldn’t, not after what Jessie pulled.
The thought of her perched on my doorstep again like a damn vulture was enough to keep me holed up at the clubhouse, nursing a bottle and a headache and trying like hell not to think about Sadie.
I’d messaged Marco. Told him if he ever handed out my location again, especially to her, I’d make sure he regretted it. He didn’t reply. Probably smart.
But it wouldn’t matter, would it?
Not unless I moved again.
Not unless I disappeared. Started over. Again.
Fuck.
I didn’t want to run. I was tired of running. And I didn’t want to start over again. I had my Broken Saints brothers here.
But mostly?
I didn’t want to leave her.
I tossed my wrench across the garage floor. It clanged and skidded until it hit the metal base of the tool cabinet with a dull clang that didn’t satisfy the knot in my chest.
I shouldn’t care. I did.
She could flirt with whoever the hell she wanted. Even if it twisted something in my soul that she might.
She could kiss Parker and let him hang around her sugar-dusted kingdom like he belonged there. He would fit better than I ever would. But it still stung to think about it.
She didn’t owe me anything.
But fuck if I didn’t want her to.
I’d been through this before. Watching someone turn cold and watching them look at me like I wasn’t enough. Like I was just the stopgap before they found someone shinier, someone easier to love.
And Sadie?
She was sunshine and cinnamon and soft belly laughs. And I was the bastard who let his past screw up his present.
I couldn’t handle it if she looked at me like that. Like, I was a disappointment. Not enough. Never enough.
I sat on the edge of the bike lift, elbows on my knees, staring at the cement floor like it might give me the key to this puzzle.
I took a look at my hands. Hands that were stained with grease. The kind of ground-in dirt you had to scrub with steel wool to even make a dent in. My knuckles were scabbed from working too hard, too fast, too angry.
And still, all I could think about was her damn red lips and pink hair.
The way she looked when she was humming under her breath.
The way she licked chocolate off her thumb without even realizing it.
The way her hips swayed when she walked.
Like God’s gift to any poor sap in the vicinity.
The way she said my name in that fantasy that kept playing in my head when I was trying to sleep.
“Diesel?”
I looked up. Beck was standing in the garage bay door, holding two coffees. No cupcakes this time. Just caffeine and that quiet look he wore when he knew I was spiraling.
He walked in, handed me the cup, and leaned against the lift.
“Tell me to fuck off if you want,” he said. “But I think you should talk to her.”
“About what?” I asked flatly, taking the cup but not drinking from it.
He gave me a pointed look. “About why you’ve been a moody son of a bitch ever since Jessie showed up.”
I stiffened. “It’s complicated.”
“It’s messy. There’s a difference.”
I barked out a humorless laugh. “I saw Parker leave the shop this morning.”
“So? Maybe it wasn’t what it looked like.”
I shook my head. “It was what it looked like. I haven’t said anything. Haven’t claimed her. Haven’t done a damn thing but scowl and stare and make her feel like she’s losing her mind for having feelings at all.”
Beck sipped his coffee. “You’re right. You are an idiot.”
“Thanks.”
He shrugged. “You think Sadie’s just gonna wait around? Let you get your head out of your ass on your own time?”
“She should be with someone better, Beck. Someone without a wrecking ball of a past. Someone who doesn’t carry around the ghost of his ex like it’s a fucking warning label.”
Beck turned to me then. Really looked at me.
“Or maybe,” he said slowly, “she should get to decide that for herself.”
I didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Because deep down, I knew he was right.
And still, the fear coiled like barbed wire in my chest.
Because wanting her was easy.
But trusting that she might actually want me back?
That felt damn near impossible.
I didn’t mean to stop walking.
Didn’t mean to stare.
Didn’t mean to fucking feel.
But there she was, standing in the open doorway of her bakery, sunlight catching in the pink of her hair like it was spun sugar. She was laughing—soft, breathy—like it came easy to her. Like it always had.
She was helping a little girl decorate a cookie, crouched beside her at one of those miniature tables Sadie insisted on having near the front window. Her hands were covered in icing. Her nose, too, because of course it was.
I should’ve kept walking.
Should’ve ignored the way she tilted her head and listened like whatever the kid said mattered. Or the way her lips moved when she hummed along with whatever old song she had playing through the speakers today—some kind of doo-wop nonsense with too many horns.
Her smile was crooked. Her cheeks were flushed. She was a mess of joy, glitter, and chaos. And I couldn’t look away.
Couldn’t stop myself from thinking about things I shouldn’t.
About what mornings might look like with her.
About what it would feel like to have that softness pointed at me and only me.
To come home to a sound like that humming, to hands that didn’t take but gave.
To be someone who could be good enough for that kind of sweet.
She looked up. Caught me.
Her smile faltered, just for a second, like she wasn’t sure what she saw on my face.
Like maybe she felt it too.
I tore my gaze away before she could ask.
Before I could answer.
Before I could do something stupid.