I didn’t rush her.
I leaned against the counter near the register and watched her work, letting the stillness settle in my bones. Most nights, my world was the noise of engines, voices, and the constant low tension of being responsible for men who didn’t always think past the next five minutes.
I liked watching her. Not in a hungry way, though that was always there, steady under my skin, but in a way that made me respect the hell out of her.
She didn’t do anything halfway.
She didn’t pretend things didn’t matter.
And she didn’t stop just because she was tired.
“You’re going to burn yourself out,” I said finally.
She didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”
“That’s what people say when they’re not.”
That got her to glance over her shoulder, eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you lecturing me right now?”
“No,” I said. “I’m observing.”
She huffed softly and went back to tying the ribbon. “Observation noted, but it’s Valentine’s week, and I had this hot biker come in and need a crap ton of flowers. I might be a little stressed, but I’m good.”
“Hot biker, huh?” I asked.
Her cheek flushed, and she couldn’t hide her smile. “I mean, I would have to be blind not see it.”
“Good to know you like what you see,” I smirked.
The next few minutes passed in quiet.
The clock ticked.
The cooler hummed.
The night outside stayed still.
Then, the sound hit like a slap.
Squealing tires.
Not normal traffic. Not someone braking at a light. The kind of squeal that meant speed, recklessness intent.
My body moved before my mind finished processing.
I turned toward the large front window that faced the street, muscles locking as I scanned the glow of the streetlights.
Two motorcycles tore past the shop.
Fast.
Close enough that I caught the flash of chrome and the unmistakable silhouette of cuts on their backs.
Chrome Warriors.
My blood went cold and hot at the same time.
“Juliet,” I said sharply.
