She disappears back inside, and we’re alone.
The salmon is incredible—flaky and perfectly seasoned, the kind of meal I’d expect from a high-end restaurant, not a biker clubhouse. I tell Stone as much, and he shrugs.
“Maggie’s been cooking for the club for twenty years. She could have her own show if she wanted.”
“Why doesn’t she?”
“Because she likes cooking for family, not strangers.” He takes a sip of wine. “That’s what the club is to her. Family.”
“And what is it to you?”
The question comes out more serious than I intended. Stone sets down his glass, considering.
“Everything,” he says finally. “For a long time, it was the only family I had. The only place I belonged.” His eyes meet mine. “But now...”
“Now?”
“Now I’m starting to realize family can be more than just the club.” He reaches across the table again, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. “It can be this. Us. Whatever we’re building.”
My throat tightens. “Boone...”
“I know I’m not good at this.” His voice is rough. “The romance, the feelings, the... talking about things. I spent fifteen years shutting all of that down. But with you...” He shakes his head. “With you, I want to try. I want to be the man you deserve.”
“You already are.”
“I’m working on it.” He lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “Every day, I’m working on it.”
We eat in comfortable silence after that, the kind of quiet that doesn’t need filling. The sun sinks lower, the string lights growing brighter against the darkening sky. Somewhere in the distance, an owl calls.
“It’s your turn to tell me something I don’t know about you.” I push my empty plate aside. Resting my hands on my fist.
“Like what?”
“Anything. Something from before the club. Before you became the Stone everyone knows.”
He’s quiet for a moment, and I wonder if I’ve pushed too far. But then he leans back in his chair, a distant look in his eyes.
“I wanted to be a teacher.”
Of all the things I expected him to say, that wasn’t it. “A teacher?”
“History. I was obsessed with it as a kid—the Civil War, World War II, ancient Rome. I used to check out stacks of books from the library and read them under my covers with a flashlight.” A small smile plays at his lips. “My mom caught me once at 2am reading about the Battle of Gettysburg. She was so mad she grounded me from the library for a week.”
“That’s adorable.”
“It was nerdy as hell.” He shrugs. “But I had this idea that I’d go to college, get a degree, come back here and teach at the high school. Make a difference, you know? Help kids see that history isn’t just dates and dead people—it’s stories. Human stories.”
“What happened?”
“Rebecca got pregnant. I was seventeen, she was sixteen, and suddenly college wasn’t in the cards anymore.” He meets my eyes. “I don’t regret it—my kids are the best thing I ever did. But sometimes I wonder what that other life would have looked like.”
“You could still do it,” I say. “Go back to school. It’s not too late.”
“Maybe.” But he doesn’t sound convinced. “Right now, I’ve got other priorities.”
“Like running a motorcycle club and taking down cartels?”
“Like making sure the woman I love knows how much she means to me.” He stands, extending his hand. “Dance with me.”
