Page 13 of Bolt's Flame

He was standing by the bar, beer in hand, watching me. Healwaysseemed to be watching me. Out of all the men here, Bolt confused me the most, and that’s why I got tongue tied when he approached me. He was wildly attractive, magnetic in a way that made it impossible not to notice him. There was always a woman by his side, usually the sweet butt named Jenny.

And I hated to admit it, but I was attracted to him. Every time I saw him with Jenny, something ugly twisted in my stomach. I barely knew him, but the jealousy was there all the same. It made no sense to me. Jesus, I was still dealing with my last beating from James and getting ready to navigate a divorce. Where were these feelings for Bolt finding room to grow?

“Fiona?” Brenda’s voice broke through my spiraling thoughts, full of concern. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

I blinked, forcing myself to focus. “I was just thinking,” I said, trying to shake off the storm inside my head. “Did you ask Josie if I can use the kitchen?”

I wanted to start baking again and selling my items at farmer’s markets. It’s what I used to do before James put a stop to it and everything else because of his jealousy that kept me from having a life outside the walls of our house. If I was to become independent, I needed an income. Dad had paid for me to go to culinary school and during that time, I found baking was where I excelled.

A job at a restaurant or a bakery wasn’t for me. I tried it and found I hated the pressure of deadlines and quotas; it took the peace and fun out of baking, so I decided to be self-employed. Between selling at Farmer’s markets and independent orders from connections and repeat customers, I had made enough to live comfortably.

Plus, baking was a part of who I was, and I loved it so much, so when James put a stop to it, it was like losing a part of me. Of course, that was exactly why James forbade me to do it.

“Josie doesn’t mind,” Dad assured me, nodding toward the kitchen. “Go talk to him about what you need, and he’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks,” I said, standing, leaning down to kiss dad’s cheek and then giving Brenda a peck. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“And you’ll never have to find out,” he replied, his eyes softening in that way only a father’s could.

“I’ll walk you over,” Gearhead offered, standing up and stretching his long legs. “The guys around here might not know better than to keep their hands to themselves.”

Dad chuckled and smiled at him. “Good idea.”

I smiled too, but I couldn’t help feeling like Dad was trying to push Gearhead and me together. He was nice—genuinely sweet and a good distraction. But that’s all he was. He wasn’t for me.Notthat I was looking for anyone. And even as that thought hit my brain, my eyes once again clashed with Bolt’s.

Jesus, Fiona, knock it off.

I followed Gearhead through the club, weaving through the crowd of the party. The music was still loud, people laughing, flirting, some already a few drinks too deep. A few men glanced my way, but no one gave me more than a passing look. I wasn’t like the women who hung around the club. They were confident, sexy in a way I’d never been, and had no desire to be.

The kitchen was tucked away in the back, and as we stepped inside, the noise from the party faded to a dull throb.

It was a huge, no-nonsense space, built for feeding the entire club without any frills. The centerpiece was a long, industrial-grade island in the middle of the room, topped with thick butcher block counters worn smooth from years of chopping, slicing, and pounding out meals.

On one side, a massive stainless steel stove with six burners and a double oven dominated the wall, its surface cluttered with pots, pans, and the aroma of Josie’s latest creations. Above the stove, a heavy-duty exhaust hood whirred, pulling away the steam and smoke that inevitably filled the space during cooking.

Large refrigerators and freezers were tucked into one corner, stocked with everything from fresh produce to slabs of meat, ensuring Josie always had enough to feed the hungry crew. The walls were lined with open shelves, stocked with spices, canned good, and dry ingredients. Cooking utensils hung from hooks for easy access, ready to be grabbed at a moment’s notice.

Brenda said that Josie had to have been a chef at some fancy place at one time, but he was tightlipped about his past.

In one corner, a massive dining table stretched out, built from reclaimed wood and sturdy enough to withstand the heaviest of men. It was surrounded by mismatched chairs and benches, each well-worn and I noticed were often claimed by specific members. The table could easily seat two dozen men,with room for more when needed. Plates, mugs, and silverware were stacked at one end, ready for the next meal.

Josie was there, leaning against the counter, while watching a pot on the stove that smelled like heaven, Barbie, one of the sweet butts, leaned beside him. He glanced up as we entered, flashing a warm smile that instantly made me feel at ease.

“Hey Fiona,” he said, turning to face me fully. “Heard you needed the kitchen for some baking.”

Josie looked to be around thirty, a prospect for the club, and unlike most of the men in the clubhouse, he had a calm, steady energy about him. Handsome, too, with short brown hair and a strong jawline, deep brown eyes. Brenda said the women around here paid him extra attention and I can see why.

“Thanks, Josie,” I said, feeling relaxed in his presence. It was the first time I had gotten close enough to speak to him. “I just want to get back into baking so I can make some money. I promise not to get in your way.”

“My way? You’re no bigger than a babydoll,” he said, waving me off. “The kitchen is open as long as you need it, plenty of room for both of us. It’s good to see someone using it for something other than feeding these bottomless pits.” He grinned, jerking his thumb toward Gearhead, who rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

“Hey, I’ll have you know I’m a connoisseur,” Gearhead said, kissing his fingers and pulling up a chair and settling in at the counter. “I only eat at the most upscale establishments.”

I laughed, and it felt good. Like a weight lifting off my chest, knowing I was truly welcome in his kitchen. Josie had a friendly smile, a kind smile. He had that same charm Gearhead did, but there was something deeper about him—something that made me feel like I could actuallytalkto him.

“So,” Barbie said, leaning back against the counter, “what kind of baking are you into?”

“Cakes, pies, breads, you name it,” I replied, pulling out my phone to show them a few pictures of my past creations. “I used to sell at local farmers’ markets before...”

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