Chapter 1
Nya
"Youasleepthere,Sunshine?"a deep voice rumbles against my ear.
My eyes fly open, and I jolt upright, mortified that I just drifted off on a stranger’s shoulder in the middle of Lovestone Ridge’s Fall Festival.
The scent of leather and cedar lingers at the edge of my senses, warm and comforting. For a second, I could swear Iamsafe, but the next breath brings the familiar prick of anxiety when I realize where I am.
I ownWild Petals, the flower shop across from the festival grounds, so I spent the morning setting up a booth with pumpkins, flowers, and my handmade stuffed animals. By noon, my feet ache in my boots, and my hair smells like cinnamon and roses.
The festival is packed. Farmers selling honey, kids painting faces, hayrides circling the square. People laugh and gossip, and no one looks twice at the girl with the curves and the apron full of wildflowers.
When I arrived, there were only a few vendor spots left. I found one near a low wall of hay bales beside a man who looked like he belonged in a battlefield, not a town festival.
Tall. Broad. Silent.
He sat on one of the hay bales with his elbows resting on his knees, a black leather cut stretched over his back and shoulders like a second skin. His boots were dusty. His jaw dark with a short-trimmed beard.
His presence didn’t just draw attention. It erased space around him.
It was like there was an invisible fence around him, and no one wanted to cross it.
There were open spots behind, in front, on either side of him, and no one dared to sit near him.
I don’t know how I ended up there. Maybe I was too tired to notice what I was doing, or maybe some part of me feltsafein the shadow he cast. But somehow I collapsed against him, and he didn’t move.
The man sat there like a carved statue, letting me rest my head on his shoulder while the town swirled around us. He didn’t speak again. Just stayed still, breathing deep and steady.
I thought maybe he was asleep too. And maybe I imagined him speaking earlier. He hasn’t moved since. Not even a breath too fast. That’s what I tell myself as my cheeks burn, needing to believe I didn’t just lean on a stranger like he wasmine.
Then my sister’s sharp voice cuts through the music, and all softness disappears.
“Nya, what are you doing? Trying to seduce a biker with drool and desperation?”
Jessica’s laughter rings out like bells covered in frost. She’s with her friends in designer jackets and tight jeans, their manicured nails gripping paper cups of spiked cider.
Jessica is everything my mother ever wanted in a daughter.
Tall, slim, dazzling.
She’s stolen every boy I’ve liked since grade school and turned cruelty into an Olympic sport.
I scramble to stand, brushing hay and embarrassment off my sweater. The stranger doesn’t move. He sits there, broad and steady, silver eyes shadowed beneath the brim of his black ball cap.
A patch on his leather cut readsDamned Saints MC, and I recognize the grim skull logo from the charity rides the club hosts.
A whisper goes around the nearest tables. People respect these men. They also fear them. But something about him feels... steady. Not safe, exactly — just not dangerous. Not to me.
“Answer me, Nya,” Jessica snaps. “Is he asleep or did he pass out from boredom?” Her tone is loud enough to draw more attention. Several teenagers snicker.
“I…” I swallow my pride along with the tears threatening to spill.
Normally, I avoid confrontation at any cost, especially in public. I’d rather fade into the background than spark my sister’s wrath.
But today I spent hours arranging flowers, tying ribbons on pumpkins, and setting up my booth, only for Jessica to stroll by and grab a pumpkin like it already belonged to her.
Her casual cruelty, the way she smirked when I tried to charge her, is still simmering in my chest.
