Page 23 of Goose's Wren

I freeze mid-sentence.My pen is still in my hand.The guy in front of me clears his throat, and I mumble a distracted apology.

I finish taking his order, somehow remembering the difference between a mocha and a latte even though my brain is screaming.

I glance back toward the window just in time to see Tim take a step forward.But then he stops mid-stride.

The low rumble of motorcycle engines cuts through the air, growing louder by the second.I don’t have to look to know it’s the club.That deep, thunderous sound has become something of a comfort lately, even when I pretend otherwise.

Since I started working here, the club’s made it a habit to drop in at random times.Torque comes in for lemon scones like he’s addicted.Blood pretends to check on his wife, Miranda, who helps out in the mornings.Blade usually just tips his hat and watches everything without a word.And Goose...he comes less than the others, but when he does, I feel it for hours after he’s gone.

They’re not subtle.They’re watching over me, whether I ask for it or not.And now, as the rumble of pipes rolls past the shop and echoes down Main Street, I see Tim hesitate.

His head jerks toward the sound, eyes narrowing.Then he slowly backs off, turns, and starts walking down the sidewalk like he wasn’t just standing there trying to figure out how close he could get to the fire without burning.

I stare after him until he disappears from view.My heart’s still hammering against my ribs and my hand shakes a little as I grab the next order slip.

Bella’s voice calls from behind me, asking if I need help, and I shake my head quickly.“I’m good,” I lie.

Because what am I supposed to say?

Hey, remember the ex who hit me?He was outside staring through the glass like I’m still his to claim.But it’s fine.He left when the guys showed up.

It feels...stupid.He didn’t do anything.He didn’t come in.Didn’t make a scene.Didn’t touch me.Just stood there watching.

And maybe that’s all it was.Maybe he just wanted to rattle me, remind me that he still exists, still knows where to find me.But I don’t tell anyone.I don’t want to make it a thing.

I go back to work, pretending nothing happened.Pretending the tremble in my hands is just caffeine.Pretending that seeing him didn’t take something out of me.

Goose

I got in a little late tonight.Spent the whole damn day at the shop trying to fix a fuel line that fought me harder than a pissed-off rattlesnake.

My back aches, my hands are stained with grease, and I still smell like oil no matter how long I stood under the shower after getting home.But the hot water helped to take the edge off.

Now I’m out here on the front porch with the swing creaking gently under me as I nurse a cold beer.

The night’s quiet, and dark in that way only the deep woods can be.The stars are just starting to poke through the trees overhead.It’s peaceful.So peaceful it almost hurts.

The screen door creaks open behind me.Her footsteps are soft but I’d know the rhythm of them anywhere.She’s cautious, like she’s trying not to disturb something.But there’s no reason to be afraid here.Not with me.

Wren steps out with her arms folded across her chest in an oversized T-shirt brushing her thighs.Her hair’s loose and curling around her shoulders.For just a second I wonder how it would look laid out across my pillow on my giant bed.

She looks sleepy, but I know she’s up late every single night.From fear or something else, I don’t know.But I don’t want to be pushy and ask her.

“How was the shop today?”she asks, her voice quiet like the night around us.

I glance over, nodding once.“Long.Frustrating.”I take another sip from the bottle.“Same old.”

She moves to the steps and sits, tucking her knees close.Her bare feet rest on the worn wood of the porch.The porch light halos her in this warm glow, and for a second, I have to look away just to steady myself.

“Where’d you go after high school?”I ask.“You kind of vanished.”

She shrugs, picking at the hem of her shirt.“I bounced around.Never really stayed anywhere long.”

I nod slowly, the beer bottle cool against my palm.

“And Sparrow?”I ask, even though I hate the taste of her name in my mouth.

Wren’s shoulders shift.“Haven’t spoken to her in years.”

---