“Most days,” I agreed.
“Give it time. You’ll find your rhythm.”
Something in his voice—sure, calming—made me smile. “You’re good at this.”
“At what?”
“Making people feel like they’re not broken.”
He chuckled. “I don’t see anyone broken.”
Before I could answer, the back door swung open, boots on tile, heavy, confident, unmistakable.
Chain. I knew it before I even turned my head.
He filled the doorway like he belonged to it, broad shoulders, damp hair, his cut catching the morning light. That familiar pull followed him, the low-burn intensity that made the air shift, made rooms go quiet, made something in my chest tighten before I could brace for it.
His gaze swept the kitchen, slow, assessing, until it landed on Josie and me at the counter. The look wasn’t sharp, but it had weight, enough to make the space between us feel suddenly smaller.
“Smells good in here,” he said, his voice rough with sleep. “You feedin’ everyone, or just handpickin’ your customers, Prospect?”
Josie smirked. “Anyone who shows up early enough gets fed first.”
Chain’s mouth curved—half humor, half something else that brushed heat up the back of my neck. “You got yourself a line cook or a damn therapist this morning, Lark?”
“Both, apparently,” I said, forcing the lightness even though the air had thickened with something that wasn’t light at all.
He grunted and moved past us, settling beside Devil—who I hadn’t even noticed at the table—and leaned back in his chairwith an ease that looked casual but wasn’t. He didn’t look at me directly, but I could feel him anyway, the steady heat of his attention sitting right against my skin.
Josie went back to flipping pancakes like nothing had shifted, but everything had. The air felt charged now, like the kitchen had gone from quiet to crowded with something unspoken.
I finished my plate just as Lucy, Spinner, Mystic, and Zeynep spilled into the room, their laughter snapping the tension for a moment.
“Morning!” Lucy chirped. “Josie, you’re a saint.”
“Tell the VP that,” he muttered.
Zeynep brushed a curl back and gave me a warm smile. “Mind if we join you?”
“Please,” I said, grateful for the distraction, even if it didn’t fully land.
The men gathered around Devil and Chain. We sat near the window while Lucy filled the space with bright chatter, plans, gossip, updates on her work rescuing trafficked women. I should’ve been fully present. I should’ve cared, especially given what I’d survived.
But my mind drifted, to the fire last night, to the woman on Chain’s lap, to the way he’d looked at me when he realized I’d seen him, heat and frustration tangled in a way I didn’t have the vocabulary for.
I told myself it didn’t matter. That I didn’t care.
But when I risked another glance toward the table, his gaze was already there—unwavering, unblinking, something dark and sure behind it, something I didn’t have enough experience in this world to name.
I looked away first, pulse ticking faster than it should’ve.
And suddenly I wasn’t sure if the restlessness moving through me came from the life I was trying to build… or the man whose gaze seemed to hit the deepest parts of me.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MORNIN’S IN THEclubhouse usually came slow,an easy crawl that let a man shake off whatever the night before had dragged through his head. I expected quiet when I pushed into the kitchen: sunlight warming the walls, the steady hum of the fan, the smell of Josie cookin’. What I didn’t expect was the way the entire room damn near reshaped itself the second I saw her.
Lark was sittin’ at the counter with Josie hovering too damn close, elbows tucked like she wasn’t sure she had the right to take up space yet, hair soft from sleep, and lookin’ too damn pretty for an hour when a man’s defenses weren’t all the way up.
