26. Chapter 26
twenty-six
Diesel
Ihad a plan.
I left work about an hour before closing. Beck didn’t blink, probably because I had a mountain of PTO stacked up like overdue laundry.
I went home. Took a shower.
Learned my lesson about showing up smelling like a grease monkey.
Then I put on something nice. The nicest thing I owned, actually.
I’d worn it to Amy’s wedding. To Kate’s, too.
The solid blue button-down had come from one of those big department stores, the kind where everything feels too crisp and way too expensive. The gray slacks had been on the mannequin with it. I figured that’s what mannequins were for, right? Telling guys like me what goes together.
On my way to the other side of town, I stopped and picked up flowers. Not the boring kind.
Bright, loud flowers that practically screamed Sadie.
I made it back to the bakery just as she was flipping the Open sign to Closed.
I grinned through the window.
She hesitated for a second, but then unlocked the door and let me in.
“You clean up nice,” she murmured, her hand trailing down the front of my shirt.
She wouldn’t have done that two days ago.
The simple gesture, so casual, so intimate. It sent a shiver down my spine.
I caught her hand before she could pull it back. Held it flat over my chest, right where my heart was racing.
“Wasn’t sure you’d let me in,” I said quietly.
“I wasn’t sure I would either,” she replied, not pulling away.
Our eyes locked, and the silence stretched—thick and slow and heavy with everything we weren’t saying.
“You’ve been in my head,” I told her. “Every day. Every damn night.”
Her breath hitched.
She tried to smile. “That sounds exhausting.”
“I’m not tired.”
I stepped closer, closing the gap between us. Her back met the door. I didn’t touch her. Not yet. Just braced a hand on the wood beside her head and bent low.
“I came here to ask if I still have a chance. And to tell you—I’m done letting her haunt me. Jessie doesn’t get to own my future.”
Sadie’s eyes searched mine, wide and shimmering.
“Then what do you want?” she whispered.
“You.”
I didn’t kiss her. Not yet.
But I knew she could feel the promise of it hanging in the air between us.
“These are for you.” I handed her the flowers.
Sadie
I took the flowers, still smiling like a fool, and found an old pitcher under the counter. Filled it with water and set it right next to the register. I wanted to see them first thing in the morning, all bright, loud, and completely out of place in the best possible way.
Then I looked at him.
All tall, broad-shouldered, and nervy in his best shirt, standing there like he wasn’t sure if he should move or speak or breathe.
“You want to come upstairs?” I asked.
His head lifted like I’d shocked him, but he didn’t answer right away.
I could practically feel the moment between us. The yes on the tip of his tongue. The no, he might say, just to protect us both.
But then he nodded slowly and sure like he’d made up his mind and wasn’t backing down.
“Yeah,” he said, voice low. “If you’re sure.”
I was a lot of things in this moment: nervous, turned on, possibly about to combust, but I knew I was sure.
So I turned and walked to the stairs. Didn’t look back.
But I heard his footsteps follow.
Unlocking the door, the air seemed to crackle with this thick tension that only grew when the door closed behind us. I felt like either we had to break it, or it would break us.
I didn’t flip on the light. The moonlight was enough—soft and hazy through the kitchen window, spilling across the hardwood floor and catching the edge of the counter where I’d left a mess of flour and chocolate smears. Evidence of my inability to sit still. Or stop thinking about him.
Diesel didn’t speak. Didn’t move closer. Just stood there behind me, his presence a low hum against my spine.
I turned around slowly.
He was watching me with that look again—intense, unreadable, like I was some puzzle he’d decided to solve with his bare hands.
“You okay?” I asked because it was all I could think to say.
“Yeah,” he said, but it came out rough. Like his throat didn’t trust him. “Just… trying not to do something stupid.”
I took a step toward him.
“Like what?”
His jaw flexed. “Like kiss you so hard you forget every reason we ever thought this was a bad idea.”
My breath caught.
“And if I don’t want to remember?” I whispered.
That was all it took.
He crossed the space between us in two strides, hands on my face, mouth on mine like he’d been starving for years and finally got fed.
Heat simmered in my belly, moving out from the center of me to my fingers and toes. My hands tangled in his hair, my body pressed into his.
This felt like the first kiss I had always wanted. His hands started to move away from my face, his fingers burying themselves into my hair.
The sound that wrenched from my body sounded like it came from someone else, and he groaned in response.
Finally, we parted. We were both breathing heavily.
“Fuck, Sadie.” He put his forehead against mine.
“Yeah?”
“I want to do this right. Take you out. Make it real. Make it ours.”
“If it's ours, don’t we get to pick what’s right?”
His eyes locked on mine, like he wanted to ask what I was saying, but he didn’t ruin this.
“Stay the night, Daniel.”
His eyes softened. He just nodded and followed me as I led him to my room. Pink walls, purple bedding, and heart-shaped pillows all waited to greet him. I waited for him to finally see just how “too much” I was.
But he didn’t say a word, he just pulled me onto the bed, tossing a few pillows on the floor to make room. He kicked off his boots, and then we were there on the bed. And it felt like catching my breath after years of gasping for air.
His arms wrapped around me, not possessive, not hurried, just there. Solid. Steady. Maybe he needed the contact as much as I did.
We weren’t rushing. We weren’t fumbling or tearing at clothes like a scene out of some bad romance movie. It was slower than that. Hungrier than that.
I lay back against the pillows and watched him take in the room with the unapologetic pinks and purples, the whimsical chaos of me, and I braced for a flinch. A crack in the moment. A withdrawal.
But Diesel smiled—just a little.
He ran a calloused thumb over the edge of a heart-shaped pillow, then dragged that same hand across my jaw like I was the most fascinating thing he’d ever touched.
“I like it here,” he said softly, as if it surprised him.
“Even the hearts?” I teased.
He dipped his head, pressing a kiss to my collarbone.
“Especially the hearts.” Then his grin cracked wide, and he added, “Just missing the glitter floors.”
The heat flared again, blooming in my chest and tumbling low. And when he kissed me this time—slow and deep and aching—it wasn’t just desire.
It was relief.
It was want.
It was something I hadn’t let myself believe I could have.
Something that felt a hell of a lot like home.