“No.” She smiled faintly. “They’ll love you for it.”
That felt like a joke.
But also… not.
As the kitchen filled with the smell of soup and bread, people drifted back in and out. Someone rinsed his mug and nodded at me. Another asked Ember how long until food was ready.
No one acted like I wasn’t supposed to be there.
Someone passed by and said, “Smells good,” like it was the most normal thing in the world.
I didn’t realize how tightly wound I’d been until my shoulders started to drop.
“This isn’t how it works back home,” I said quietly, sliding a tray into the oven.
Ember glanced at me. “No?”
I shook my head. “There’s more… watching. People are always waiting for someone to lose it.”
I hesitated, then added, “My dad has that effect.”
She hummed, like that explained a lot. “Yeah. Lock doesn’t like chaos unless it’s necessary.”
I thought about that.
About how even when things were calm at Blackthorn, it never felt settled. Like everyone was holding their breath.
Here, calm felt like the default setting… It confused me because I’d grown up in an MC Club and this was nothing like what I knew.
I immediately felt disloyal thinking that way about my dad…
It’s true though.
Someone came in from the back, tall but slim, grease on his hands. “Perimeter’s clear.”
Another voice answered from the counter. “That bike from earlier still hanging around?”
“Gone now.”
There was a pause.
“Probably nothing,” the guy added.
“Probably,” the other agreed.
They both looked at me then back at the pot.
“Enough for everyone?” the blonde guy asked.
Ember nodded. “Should be but you know how it goes.”
He snorted. “I better go wash up then.”
I wiped my hands on the towel. “Is that normal?”
Ember didn’t look at me. “Normal enough.”
She ladled soup into bowls, moving with practiced ease. Then she grabbed four plates, loaded them with bread, and cut a thick slice from one of the loaves I’d made.
