Brooke steps in for a hug first, pulling me in tight, the kind of hug that squeezes the air out of you. “Text me when you get home.”
“Yes, Mom,” I say, rolling my eyes even though I hug her back just as long. “Love you.”
“Love you too. And don’t even think about opening that laptop tonight. Work can wait until tomorrow”
I put on my most innocent expression. “Now, would I do that?”
“Yes,” she and Bella answer in perfect unison. It feels rude. Mostly because it’s true.
Bella stands to hug me with one arm, Jax still nestled in the other. She smells like cinnamon rolls and baby shampoo and home. “Thanks for coming, sis. Love you.”
“I love you more,” I say, and I press a kiss to Jax’s fuzzy head. “Bye, baby man.”
I pull open the front door, and Blade is already there. Standing just inside the threshold like he has been waiting, arms crossed loosely over his chest. He doesn’t speak at first. Just nods and falls into step beside me as I walk toward my car.
It’s quiet outside. Crisp air, the bite of early spring teasing at my cheeks. The world feels still in a way that makes his presence louder.
“You don’t have to walk me out,” I say, trying to be casual. I fail. My voice comes out softer.
“Didn’t say I did,” he replies. His voice is low and rough, gravel and intent. “Just figured I would since I was already heading in that direction.”
We reach my car and I turn toward him, keys dangling between my fingers. “You know, for a guy who works real hard to keep their distance, you sure do hover.”
He doesn’t smile. Just looks at me with that unreadable stare that feels too close and too real. Like he sees more than I say. He takes a small step, close enough that I can smell motor oil and leather and something warm that I can’t name. His eyes flick down to my mouth for half a second before snapping back tomine. “If anything ever happened to you…” He cuts himself off. His jaw tightens, and he swallows whatever he almost said.
My heart does something stupid. Something warm and reckless. I shove it down. “I’ll be fine,” I say, quieter this time, because arguing feels wrong at this moment. “I promise.”
He holds my gaze another beat. He doesn’t buy the promise, not for a second. But he lets it drop anyway. “Text Brooke when you get home,” he says, taking half a step back.
“I will.”
I unlock the car and slide in, the engine rumbling to life. The headlights spill across the quiet street as I pull away, and even though I keep my eyes on the road, I know he’s still standing there. Watching. Making sure I drive off safely.
My phone goesoff way too early for a Sunday, and I seriously consider launching my phone into space. I stayed up way too late rehashing Blade’s stupid jaw clench and the way he walked me out like some silent soldier on escort duty. My brain needs a reset button. A hard one.
The house is silent, that lazy kind of morning quiet that makes me want to sink deeper into the blankets. Ansley left hours ago for the bakery, so it’s just me and the faint hope that caffeine will magically deliver itself.
I stretch, yawn, and try to convince my eyes to cooperate when my phone starts ringing, again. Who the hell actually calls this early in the morning? My stomach immediately sinks because the name on the screen is Mason Blackstone. The presidentof the Iron Reapers has never called me. My brain launches straight into worst-case scenarios. Did something happen to Bella? The baby? Switch? Oh God, I’m awake now. “What’s wrong? Is everybody okay?” I answer so fast I almost drop the phone.
“Morning, Bri.” Mason sounds as unbothered as ever, this steady blend of calm command and dry humor that always makes people straighten up and behave. “Relax. Everyone’s fine. Hope I didn’t wake you.”
I deflate a little, relief loosening every muscle I’d just panicked into existence. “I was already up,” I lie, pushing my hair away from my face like that somehow makes me sound credible.
“Good,” he says, definitely knowing I’m full of shit but politely ignoring it. “So. I talked to Carlie last night and she mentioned you might be looking for a job.”
I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes. “Yeah. I need a break from graphic design. It turned into way more than I planned. I always thought accounting would be my real career. Th.”
“You got your degree in accounting first, right?”
“Yep. Numbers are just… the one thing that always made sense.”
“That’s exactly what I want to talk to you about,” he says, and suddenly I’m sitting upright.
“Oh?” My voice squeaks but hopefully he doesn’t notice.
“Iron Reapers Customs is growing. We need someone reliable running the books and tracking inventory. Someone who can do more than punch numbers into a spreadsheet. Someone who understands presentation and branding wouldn’t hurt either.”
I blink. “So you want a bookkeeper who can make everything look pretty?”
