“I never would’ve pegged this as your kind of place,” I said after the waitress left with our menus and orders.
“It’s not,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “Joni recommended it. She said whenever she has a pregnancy craving, she comes here. Zip will sometimes make a midnight run.”
“It’s open that late?” I asked in surprise.
“Until two. Apparently it turns into a techno dance club at eleven.”
“Yikes.” I glanced around at the decor. It looked like a Parisian restaurant with small round tables and wooden-backed chairs that belonged on a sidewalk café. It was quaint and cute, and the aromas wafting from the tiny kitchen made my mouth water. I could hear the faint calls of orders in rapid French, and my smile dimmed.
“What is it?” Slash asked.
“What?”
“Your smile. It disappeared,” he pointed out.
“Do you always pay such close attention to everything?”
“Not everything,” he said gruffly. “Just shit that’s important.”
I reached for my water and took a long drink. “I was supposed to go to France for the job of a lifetime. Then I got the call about my father.”
“What happened?” he asked quietly.
“He was at a pub watching a game. He was yelling at the TV and then he fell to the ground. He was gone by the time the ambulance even showed up. Heart attack,” I explained.
“Damn.”
“Yeah. I was twenty-five. So instead of taking the job in France, I came home and sorted shit out. Before I knew it, two years had passed and I had a bakery.”
“You’re twenty-seven?”
I nodded.
He scratched his whiskered chin. “You look younger.”
I raised my brows.
“I thought most women wanted to hear that.”
“How old are you?” I demanded.
“Forty-three.”
I blinked. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously. Why? Do I look younger?” he teased.
My cheeks heated.
He chuckled. “I’m yanking your chain. I know how I look.”
“How do you look?”
Slash gestured to the scar marring his brow and a good portion of his face.
“I forget about that, actually. It’s the—ah—salt-and-pepper hair and the wrinkles at the corners of your eyes that make you seem…old…der. Older,” I stuttered. “Shit, sorry.”
He laughed.
“If it makes you feel any better, I think you’re really hot.”
“I know that. You slept with me, remember? And you were stone-cold sober. So you can’t use liquor as an excuse.”
“I had a head injury.”
“Minor. Not even a concussion. You can’t take it back now.”
I sighed in mock remorse. “I hope our child has your eyes, but none of your arrogance.”
“You like my eyes?” he asked, his expression softening.
“I—”
“Here we go,” our sever said. “One Nutella and banana crepe and one goat cheese, egg and spinach crepe.”
She set the crepes down in the center of the table, along with two share plates. “Coffee refill?”
“Yeah, thanks,” Slash said.
The waitress smiled and her cheeks popped with dimples. “I’ll be right back with that for you.” She sauntered away, putting a little sway into her hips.
I looked at the savory crepe, my mouth watering. “Oh, shit.”
“What? Are you okay?” Slash asked immediately.
“I just realized…I can’t eat this.” I pointed to the crepe with goat cheese. “It’s soft cheese. I didn’t even—I forgot completely.” I suddenly burst into tears, grabbing a napkin to shove at my face.
“Is something wrong?” the waitress asked as she approached our table.
I peeked out from my napkin, prepared to answer her, when Slash spoke up. “Can we get another spinach and egg crepe, but instead of goat cheese—” He looked to me for clarification.
“Cheddar, please.” I sniffed.
“Sure thing.” She looked confused. “Do you want me to take that other crepe back?”
“Nah.” He glanced at her name tag. “Thanks, Denise.”
“No problem.” She peered at me one final time and left.
“You want a little of the Nutella crepe to hold you over?” Slash asked, already cutting the crepe into pieces.
“No, I’m okay. I don’t really like Nutella.”
He stopped what he was doing to look at me. “Seriously?”
I nodded.
“But you’re a baker.”
“Can I admit something to you?” I asked as I bit my lip.
“Yeah, you can admit something to me.”
“I hate sweets.”
“You don’t.”
“No, really, I do.”
“How is that possible?”
“I dunno. My dad thought it was weird, too.” I smiled. “I prefer savory foods.”
“I’ll wait to eat until yours comes out.”
“No. Don’t. Eat now. Before it gets cold.”
“You sure?”
I nodded.
He paused for a moment, and then he dove in. I watched him enjoy his food, finding it oddly adorable that a biker with a scar, who was heavily tattooed and sixteen years older than me, was trying not to lick the last bit of Nutella off his plate.
“Slash?” I asked quietly.
“Hmm?”
“Thanks for not freaking out when I started bawling like a lunatic over ordering the wrong thing.”
He set his fork down and it clanked against the plate. He reached for a paper napkin and wiped his mouth before replying. “What’s there to freak out about?”
“How are you feeling?” Slash asked as we walked into the parking lot.
“Full,” I said with a laugh. “Really full.”
He looped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his side. It was natural and easy, and I didn’t fight it.
“I have to make a quick stop before I drop you off. That okay?”
“Sure.”
His thumbs thumped against the steering wheel as he drove. I settled down in the comfortable seat and discreetly studied him.
Slash looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “What?”
“Are you a night owl?”
“No.”
“Morning person?”
“Not too early in the morning. Why?”
“Just curious.”
He didn’t pursue the line of conversation. I was happily bouncing along in my own thoughts when Slash pulled into a large parking lot of a Ford dealership.
“Am I helping you pick out a car?” I asked in surprise.
Slash parked. “We’re here to get you a new car.”
I blinked. “Huh? But I have a car.”
“A car that’s held together by the power of prayer,” he said with amusement.
“I can’t afford a new car.”
“But I can.”
He let that settle between us.
“Nope. Not happening. Thanks for playing. We can go home now.”
“Brooklyn, listen to me—”
“No, you listen to me.” I glared at him. “I don’t need saving. I don’t need rescuing. I can do this on my own. You asked what level of involvement I was comfortable with—well, it’s not this. This is too much.”
He glared back. “It’s not just about you.”
“It’s not about you, either.”
“You’re right. This is about what’s best for the baby. Brooklyn, your car is a piece of shit. It’s unreliable. Don’t you get it? I want you to be safe. I want you both to be safe.”
His hazel eyes were earnest.
My righteous anger diffused immediately. “But I can’t accept a brand-new car from you.”
“Then accept it on behalf of our baby.”
I glanced away from him to stare out at the parking lot full of shiny new cars that I was sure all had that amazing new car smell. I’d never had a car that was new enough to have that smell, and there was something enticing about it after a long series of hardships that had come steadily, one after the other.
“Just test drive a few,” he suggested. “Whatever you want. But I think you’d look good in the red Explorer.”
“Damn you,” I said with a small smile. “Red’s my favorite color.”
“I can’t believe you just bought me a fifty-thousand-dollar car,” I said in bemusement.
“Whatever mama wants, mama gets,” Slash said with a wry grin, leaning against the hood of my new car.
“Thank you,” I said quietly.
“You’re welcome.”
“I’ve never made a decision about anything this quickly,” I said. “I mean, it took me three months to bite the bullet on the espresso machine imported from Italy. But I got into the car and just…”
“Knew.” He nodded. “You ready to drive this beast home? I’ll follow you?”
“Sure.”
I grasped the keys with the fancy new clicker and hit the button. The lights flashed and the car made a noise as the doors unlocked. “Oh, I like that. I like that so much!”
Slash chuckled and brushed a finger along my cheek. “You’re easy to please.”
“Right, never mind the new car itself.” My skin flushed from his casual touch. “Am I allowed to ask?”
“Ask what?”
“How you were able to pay for the car without even thinking about it? And how you tried to put it on a black AMEX…”
He peered at me for a moment and then said, “Can we talk about it at your place?”
“You’ll tell me?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
His hand dropped from my face, and he went over to the driver’s side. He opened the door and waited for me to get in. “No speeding, no matter how much you want to.”
“Vroom vroom,” I teased.
He shut the door, and I set my purse on the passenger seat next to me. I was about to try and slide the key into the ignition and start the car up when I remembered it was a push-button start.
I could get used to this.
God, I couldn’t believe the man had bought me a new car. I hadn’t fought him at all over it. Sure, I’d been indignant for all of five seconds, but he’d taken me from worrying about how to pay to get my flat fixed, to not worrying about the car ever again.
I felt a wee bit guilty. Maybe if we were in an actual relationship, it would feel less like charity and more like…
Security.
Protection.
Love.
Love has no business here.
I drove home, checking my rearview mirror every now and then to confirm Slash was following me. Today had been a perfect day, and it had been so long since that had happened to me. It had been easy and fun.
Slash parked the sedan next to my car behind the bakery. I climbed out and hit the clicker to lock the doors. Slash’s amusement was stamped across his face.
“Something to drink?” I asked when we got up to my apartment.
“Nah, I can’t stay long. I’ve got to get back to the clubhouse.”
I nodded, nibbling my lip.
“You asked how I could afford a new car,” he said.
“Yeah.” I leaned against the kitchen counter and waited for him to explain.
“I’ve spent fifteen years on the road as a Nomad…not paying rent or a mortgage. No utilities, no insurance. None of that shit. I’ve saved pretty much everything I’ve earned from being part of the club. So, I’ve got a bit of a nest egg.”
“And it’s burning a hole in your pocket?” I asked.
“Something like that. I have everything I need. My bike runs, I’ve got money for fuel. When I need new clothes, I buy them. But not having a home address…well, suddenly you just have a bunch of money.”
“And how do you earn your living?” I asked. “I mean, how do you get paid from the club? Especially if you don’t belong to one chapter…”
“I do jobs for several of the chapters, and I get a cut of their profits. You don’t want to ask about the kind of jobs I do.”
“They’re not on the up-and-up?” I guessed.
He inclined his head. “That bother you?”
“Does it matter if it does?”
“No.”
I shrugged. “Okay, I won’t ask.”
His phone chimed in his pocket. He reached in and grabbed it. “I’ve got to go.”
“Thank you. For today.”
Slash smiled. “Sure thing, Brooklyn.”
“What do I do about my other car?”
“I can take care of it for you, if you want.”
I thought about it for a moment and then nodded. “I’d appreciate that. Thanks.”
He smiled again and headed to the door.
“Wait,” I blurted out, rushing toward him.
Slash turned and looked at me. “Yeah?”
I grabbed the lapels of his leather cut and dragged myself toward him, but I was only able to brush my lips across his jaw. “My first prenatal appointment is at nine tomorrow morning. They’re doing bloodwork and an exam. I don’t need you there, but I just thought—well, I thought I’d keep you posted.”
His hand grasped the back of my neck, and he tilted my head so I was forced to look at him. Slash’s hazel eyes were warm. He pressed a kiss to my lips before pulling away. “You like bagels?”
“Yeah.”
He kissed me again. “Good. I’ll be over tomorrow morning with a half dozen.”