Page 2 of The Biker's Single Mom
A snort of laughter comes from another biker, a tall man with a shaved head who's watching the exchange with undisguised amusement.
"Yeah,Mr. Fix-It," the man echoes, "can you help the little lady?"
Steel shoots him a glare that could strip paint, but when he looks back at Violet, something in his expression shifts. It's subtle, a softening around the eyes, a barely perceptible exhale.
"Let me see him," he says, wiping his hands on a rag before crouching down to Violet's level.
The sight of this mountain of a tattooed, dangerous-looking man, taking a broken toy from my daughter's tiny hands with unexpected gentleness creates a strange pressure in my chest.
"Wheel's not broken," he assesses, turning the toy over in his large hands. "Just came loose. Needs the right tool."
Violet watches, transfixed, as he walks to a workbench, selects a tiny screwdriver, and tightens something on the toy motorcycle. He tests the wheel with his thumb before returning to my daughter.
"Good as new," he says, handing it back. "Keep it out of dirt."
Violet beams at him like he's performed actual magic. "Thank you, Mr. Fix-It!"
He nods once, then rises to his full height, towering over us again. When his gaze locks on mine, a sharp and sudden spark shoots through me. It isn’t the heavy heat of summer that makes my pulse jump.
"Your car," he says, all business again. "What happened?"
"Overheated. Started smoking from under the hood," I explain. "It's about fifty yards up the road."
He sighs like I've personally inconvenienced him. "I'll take a look. Wait here."
"I can come with you—"
"Wait. Here." The command in his voice leaves no room for argument.
I bristle at his tone, tilting my head. "Listen, I appreciate the help, but I don't need to be ordered around." I smile to soften it, but keep my eyes steady on his.
He studies me, something calculating in his gaze. A muscle jumps in his jaw. “You always this stubborn when you’re stranded?”
"Only when motorcycle doctors talk to me like I'm an inconvenience," I counter, my smile never wavering.
He shakes his head once, like he’s amused despite himself.
“Fair enough.” He nods toward a small waiting area with worn leather couches. “There’s water in the fridge. Hawk will keep an eye on you.”
The shaved-head biker grins and gives a mock salute. "Yes, sir."
Steel ignores him, grabbing a toolbox before striding out into the heat. I watch him go, aware of how his presence seemed to fill the entire garage, and how different the space feels without him in it.
"Your man doesn't waste words, does he?" I say to Hawk, attempting to diffuse the nervous energy humming through me.
"Steel?" Hawk laughs. "He speaks when there's something worth saying. You got more out of him in five minutes than most people get in a week."
I guide Violet to the waiting area, keeping my eye on her as she immediately starts driving Mr. Wheels along the arm of the couch. "I'm Daisy, by the way. And this is Violet."
"Figured that wasn't your first rodeo with rough men," Hawk remarks, leaning against a workbench.
Something in his tone makes me tense. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He shrugs. "Just that you didn't flinch. Most people see Steel and take a step back. You stepped forward."
Before I can respond, the rumble of an approaching vehicle draws our attention. A black SUV with tinted windows pulls up outside the garage, moving slow.
The atmosphere in the garage shifts instantly. Hawk straightens, his easy manner vanishing. Two other bikers move to either side of the bay doors, their postures alert.
