3. Milo
Milo
Wow.
What the hell was that?
Connor is… not easy to figure out.
I push open the heavy glass door of Cycle Stop, the little bell above it jingling like it’s personally offended by how banged-up my poor mountain bike looks.
Mr. Deeney is behind the counter, wiping his hands on a rag that’s seen better days, his bushy gray eyebrows shooting up the second he spots me and the twisted mess I’m wheeling in.
I like Mr. Deeney, even if he can be a bossy old owl sometimes.
“Milo Parker, what in the good Lord’s name happened to you?” he asks, already coming around the counter like he’s about to perform surgery on the spot.
I give him my brightest, most I’m-totally-fine smile even though my right ankle is still throbbing from the fall and my pride is basically in the same shape as my front wheel.
“Just a little adventure gone sideways, Mr. Deeney,” I say. “Nothing I can’t laugh about later. Think you can fix it?”
Mr. Deeney squats down, runs a calloused hand over the busted chain, the mangled gear lever, and the wheel that’s bent like it lost a fight with a tree.
I hold my breath.
Please don’t say it’s totaled. Please don’t say it’s totaled. Pleeeeease …
That shiny retro coffee-bike dream of mine is literally riding on this thing getting fixed.
“Three days,” Deeney declares, straightening up with a satisfied grunt. “I’ve got the parts in the back for the chain and the lever. Wheel’s gonna need trueing and a new rim, but I can swing it. He’ll be good as new by Wednesday afternoon. Maybe even better.”
Relief floods through me so hard I actually bounce on my toes.
“Three days? You’re a lifesaver!” I trill. “Seriously, Mr. Deeney, I could hug you right now.”
He chuckles, the kind of warm, grandfatherly sound that makes Hardrock Park feel like the coziest place on earth. “No hugging the mechanic while he’s working, young man. But I’ll take a coffee from that fancy new setup of yours once it’s rolling.”
I grin, already picturing myself pedaling around town with my little book-and-brew sidecar, but then the words tumble out before I can stop them…
“Honestly, it would have been a whole lot worse if Connor King hadn’t found me and helped me back into town,” I say, my heart suddenly skipping a beat at the mention of his name.
“I was stuck on his land after the crash and he just… showed up, got my bike out of the bushes like it weighed nothing, and drove me here in his truck. Total knight-in-flannel moment.”
The second the name leaves my mouth, the temperature in the shop drops about twenty degrees.
Mr. Deeney’s friendly smile vanishes .
His face goes hard, like someone flipped a switch. Those bushy eyebrows draw together until they’re one thick, stormy line.
“You stay away from Connor King,” Mr. Deeney says, voice low and flat, the kind of tone that brooks zero argument. “At all costs, Milo. You hear me?”
I blink, my happy bounce freezing mid-step.
“Wait… why?” I ask. “He literally rescued me. He didn’t have to. He could’ve just left me there and?—”
“Because I say so, young man!” Deeney cuts me off, pointing one grease-streaked finger right at me like I’m twelve years old again and just got caught sneaking cookies from the bakery. “That man is trouble . Capital T. You keep your distance. End of discussion.”
For a second I just stand there, mouth open, the words “because I say so” ringing in my ears like I’ve been scolded by my own grandpa.
My cheeks heat up—not from embarrassment exactly, but from that stubborn spark that always flares when someone tries to tell me what to do without a single real reason.
I’m not some fragile little boy who needs protecting from big bad mountain men.
I mean, okay, maybe I am a Little in certain very specific, very private ways, but that doesn’t mean I can’t decide for myself who’s dangerous and who’s… well, gruff but secretly all kind and heroic.
I straighten my shoulders, tilt my chin up, and give Mr. Deeney my best polite-but-I’m-not-backing-down smile.
“I’ll be back in three days for my bike, Mr. Deeney,” I say. “Thank you again for fitting me in so fast.”
He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like “stubborn as a mule,” but he doesn’t stop me as I turn and wheel the damaged frame toward the door.
The bell jingles again as I step back out into the bright afternoon sunshine, and I let out a long breath I didn’t know I was holding.
“What the hell,” I mutter, shaking my head, my mind racing with thoughts of Connor.
The main strip of Hardrock Park is exactly as pretty as always: wide sidewalks lined with hanging flower baskets, the scent of fresh bread drifting from the bakery, kids laughing outside the ice-cream parlor.
This is the kind of place where everyone waves and knows your name. So why does it feel like the second I mentioned Connor’s name the whole town just put up a giant “Keep Out” sign?
I start walking, my sneakers scuffing softly against the pavement, the slight limp in my right ankle barely noticeable now that the adrenaline from the crash has worn off.
My mind keeps replaying the truck ride—Connor’s huge hands on the wheel, the way his plaid vest stretched across those broad shoulders, the low rumble of his voice when he told me to stay off his land.
Gruff? Yeah. A lot gruff.
But there was something else under it.
The way he carried my bike one-handed like it was a toy. The way he didn’t yell or threaten, just… handled the situation. Like a man who’s used to fixing problems without making a fuss.
A man with a real heart.
A man who might be a Daddy.
I shake my head, trying to clear the image of Connor out of my brain, but it’s no use.
Those dark eyes. That jaw that looks like it could cut glass.
The quiet strength that made my whole body tingle even while I was scared half to death.
Everyone around here treats him like some kind of monster, but I was there…
I saw him.
He helped me.
By the time I reach the diner my stomach is growling loud enough to wake the bears. And through the window I spot a familiar face smiling in my direction…
Taron. My BFF, fellow Little, and official prince of “I told you so.”
I push inside, the bell above this door way friendlier than Cycle Stop’s, and slide into the booth across from Taron before he can even say hello.
“Dude, you look like you just survived a war,” Taron says, sliding a menu my way even though we both know I’m ordering the strawberry milkshake and Rocky Road every single time. “What happened? And why do you smell like pine trees and mischief?”
I laugh, but it comes out a little shaky.
“Long story short,” I giggle. “Epic bike crash, trespassing on private land, rescued by the most mysterious mountain man in existence, and now Mr. Deeney just basically grounded me from ever speaking Connor King’s name again.”
Taron’s eyes go wide.
He leans in, elbows on the table, voice dropping to a whisper like we’re in a spy movie.
“You were on Connor’s land?” Taron whispers, barely able to believe what he’s heard. “Milo. Be careful. Like, seriously careful. His reputation is real bad. And where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Kaleb says?—”
“Kaleb says what ?” I cut in, because of course Taron’s big, strong tree-surgeon Daddy has an opinion.
Taron bites his lip, looking guilty for half a second before the words spill out anyway. “Kaleb says Connor keeps to himself for a reason. People don’t just disappear into the woods like that unless they’ve got ghosts chasing them. Or they’re the ghost. Either way… you stay away, okay? For me?”
“ Pffft ,” I reply, unimpressed.
I poke at the paper wrapper of my straw, twisting it into a little spiral.
Part of me wants to argue—tell him exactly what I saw, how Connor didn’t hesitate, how he drove me all the way into town even though I could tell he wanted to be anywhere else. But the other part, the sensible-Little part that knows Taron only worries because he loves me, just nods.
Before I can answer, the bell over the diner door jingles again and in walks Kaleb, all six-foot-four of pure mountain muscle, flannel stretched tight across his chest, tool belt still slung low on his hips like he came straight from trimming some ancient oak.
His face lights up the second he spots Taron, and the way he melts into a happy little squeal makes my heart do that jealous twisty thing again.
“Hey, sweet boy,” Kaleb rumbles, leaning down to drop a kiss on the top of Taron’s head before sliding in beside him. His arm goes around Taron’s shoulders automatically, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Milo. You good?”
I force a bright smile. “Totally! Just… bike drama. Nothing major.”
Taron shoots me a look that says we-are-so-talking-later, but I’m already sliding out of the booth…
“Actually, I should get going,” I say. “Got some business stuff to figure out before my bike’s ready. You two enjoy your Daddy-Little time.” I wink at Taron even though my stomach feels a little hollow. “Catch you soon!”
I’m out the door before either of them can protest, the afternoon sun warm on my face as I head down the strip toward home.
My apartment is the cutest little one-bedroom right above the laundromat: tiny, but mine, with a balcony that overlooks the park and enough shelf space for all my indie books and coffee paraphernalia.
The walk gives me time to think, and the more I think, the more that stubborn fire in my chest flares brighter.
Deeney.
Taron.
Even Kaleb, apparently…
Everyone’s so quick to paint Connor as the big bad wolf. But none of them were there. None of them saw the way he looked at my busted bike and just… fixed the immediate problem. No questions, no lectures. Well, okay, one very clear “stay off my land” lecture, but still.
Connor could’ve left me there.
But he didn’t.
By the time I climb the narrow stairs to my apartment, I’m buzzing with it—the same determined energy that made me turn down that college scholarship, that made me ditch the potato stall and the pizza gig and chase this coffee-bike dream instead.
I’m not going to let rumors win.
I’m going to prove everyone wrong about Connor King.
And I’ve got the perfect way to do it.
I kick the door shut behind me, drop my keys on the little hook shaped like a tiny bicycle, and head straight for the kitchenette.
My eyes land on the brand-new espresso machine I splurged on last month, the one I’ve been practicing with every single night.
Next to it sits the stack of cute reusable cups I had printed with my future logo:
Milo’s Wheels & Reads: Coffee & Stories on the Go.
My bright idea blooms full and bright and a little bit naughty.
Since my bike’s out of commission for three days, I can’t pedal anywhere. But I can walk. And I can carry.
Tomorrow morning, bright and early, I’m going to brew the best damn cup of coffee this town has ever tasted—maybe even a special dark roast with a hint of hazelnut because something tells me a man like Connor would appreciate something strong and no-nonsense.
I’ll tuck one of my favorite indie books in there too—something adventurous, a little spicy, with a grumpy mountain hero who secretly has a heart of gold. I’ll package it up all pretty in one of those little kraft-paper gift bags I keep for potential customers.
Then I’m going to hike right up to the edge of his property line, the public side, obviously, and leave it somewhere he’ll find it.
No trespassing.
No confrontation.
Just a quiet thank-you from the boy he rescued. A little peace offering. A little proof that not everyone in Hardrock Park is scared of him.
And if my heart does a funny flip at the thought of him picking up that bag, reading the note I’m definitely going to write, maybe even smiling that rare half-smile I’m convinced is hiding under all that gruff… well. That’s between me and my very active imagination.
I’m already pulling out the beans, already humming to myself as I measure scoops and fire up the grinder. The rich, earthy scent fills my tiny kitchen and makes me grin so wide my cheeks hurt.
Connor King might think he wants to be left alone.
But I’m Milo Parker: stubborn, determined, and currently very, very intrigued by the idea of a certain mountain Daddy who carries bikes like they’re feathers and makes my special place tingle just by existing.
Three days.
I’ve got three whole days to perfect this plan.
I just hope my map reading skills are as good as my ideas, or I might just end up getting lost all over again…