Page 21 of Her Savior Biker
“Regular’s fine.” I move to get plates from the cabinet, and my sweater rides up slightly. Reyes’s gaze tracks the movement, his attention snapping back to the griddle like it was never elsewhere.
“Savior, live here now?” Aiden asks around a mouthful of pancake.
The question hangs in the air, loaded with hope. I look at Reyes, but he’s focused intently on not burning breakfast.
“Savior’s just staying for a little while,” I say carefully. “To keep us safe.”
“Like a angel?”
Reyes snorts. “More like a security guard, buddy.”
“What’s security guard?”
“Someone who makes sure bad guys can’t get in.”
Aiden considers this seriously. “Mason bad guy?”
The name drops into our comfortable morning like a stone. Reyes’s shoulders tense, his grip tightening on the spatula.
“Yeah, baby. Mason’s a bad guy.”
“But Savior, keep him away?”
I meet Reyes’s eyes across the kitchen, and the promise I see there makes my throat tight. “Yeah. Savior keeps him away.”
“Good.” Aiden takes another bite of pancake, apparently satisfied. “Savior nice. Not scary like Mason.”
“Mason was scary?” Reyes’s voice stays level, but a sharp edge runs underneath.
Aiden nods solemnly. “Made Mama cry. Made my arm hurt. But you don’t make Mama cry.”
“No,” Reyes says quietly. “I don’t want to make Mama cry.”
He slides my pancake onto a plate, his fingers brushing mine as I take it. The touch is brief, probably accidental, but it sends electricity up my arm anyway.
“These are really good,” I say after my first bite. “Thank you.”
“Just pancakes.”
“Not just pancakes.” I gesture around the kitchen—at Aiden happily eating, at the coffee, at the way he’s seamlessly inserted himself into our morning. “This. All of this.”
Reyes goes very still. “Shannon—”
“I know.” I keep my voice light, aware of little ears listening. “We don’t have to talk about it now. But… thank you. For everything.”
He nods, and some of the tension leaves his shoulders. “You’re welcome.”
We finish breakfast in a comfortable silence, Aiden providing running commentary on the merits of Mickey Mouse pancakes. When he’s done, he slides off his chair and announces he’s going to go color in his new book.
“Color in the book, not on the table,” I call after him.
“Okay, Mama.”
Which leaves Reyes and me alone in the kitchen with dirty dishes and the weight of everything unsaid between us.
“So,” I say, starting to clear the dishes. “What’s the plan for today?”
“I need to check in with Tank. Figure out next steps.” He takes the plates from my hands, fingers lingering against mine. “Shannon, about last night—”
