“Nothing,” he said.
“Just checking.”
I shrugged again, completely unconcerned.
“Well, if anyone tries to murder me, I’ll let you know.”
That earned the smallest twitch of amusement from him. He finally bit into the cookie.
“Damn,” he muttered. “These are good.”
I smiled and turned to walk back toward my house, then paused. A mischievous thought popped into my head.
“Oh—and if Hawk asks…”
The biker raised an eyebrow.
“Tell him I said thanks.”
I smiled slightly.
“But he still owes me an explanation for disappearing.”
With that, I walked back inside. My heart fluttered a little because the truth was, Hawk had a way of creeping into my thoughts, and I was starting to look forward to the next surprise he might send.
Fifteen
Emma
The idea came to me while the cinnamon rolls were still cooling.
Which probably meant it was a terrible idea.
But the more I thought about it, the more I liked it.
Hawk had told me very clearly not to feed his men.
Not asked.
Not suggested.
Told.
Which was exactly why I was about to do it again.
I leaned against the kitchen counter, watching the icing slowly melt into the warm rolls. The mixer Hawk had bought me sat proudly beside the stove, gleaming under the kitchen lights like it knew exactly how spoiled it was.
The entire kitchen smelled like cinnamon and sugar.
Warm. Comforting.
Dangerous.
“You’re a bad influence,” I muttered to the empty room.
Still, I grabbed a tray.
The rolls were perfect—soft, golden, and dripping with icing that ran down the sides like they belonged in a bakery display. I arranged them neatly and stepped back to admire them.
