“Come with me.”
He didn’t wait for an answer, just crossed the room to scoop Isa out of her swing like it was the most natural thing in the world. I stood there staring at him, the rational side of my brain screaming that this was all happening way too fast while he buckled her in her carrier.
I knew I should pump the brakes and set some boundaries. I was a CPS caseworker in Atlanta. He was a bossy biker named on my foster baby’s birth certificate because his identical twinpretended to be him during a one-night stand. I didn’t let people in, and he was the last person I should break that rule for.
But my feet were already moving. I grabbed the diaper bag and followed him without a word. Again.
Falling into step with him felt too right, and that scared me as much as it thrilled me. Whatever was building between us was happening at a blistering pace. My heart kept whispering that I should just go for it, even while my head warned me to slow down.
After climbing into the passenger seat of his SUV, I twisted around and laughed softly when I spotted the car seat base in the back. “That looks too new to be the one from my car.”
“Figured we’d need one for each vehicle. Easier than switching them around all the time.”
His explanation blew me away. I shouldn’t have been surprised by his thoughtfulness after all he’d done in such a short time, but it still got to me.
The ride to Inferno Cycles and Customs was quiet, but that changed as soon as we walked inside. Between the clanging of tools, the low hum of voices, and the occasional rev of an engine, the shop was controlled chaos.
This was Griffin’s world, and he was sharing it with me.
I enjoyed seeing him in his element. A couple of the guys did double-takes at the sight of him carrying a baby and me trailing right behind, but he acted like it was completely normal.
One of the mechanics grinned and called out, “Damn, Cross. Moving fast. Already starting a family?”
I expected him to brush it off or make some vague joke, but he didn’t. Instead, he lifted his chin in acknowledgment and kept walking. No denial or playing it down, which made my heart melt a little more.
I was practically a puddle of goo when he pulled Isa from the carrier to cradle her against his chest. Unfortunately—or luckily, depending on how you looked at it—the moment didn’t last long.
A guy came over and muttered, “Got some club business to discuss, Cross.”
Griffin handed Isa to me. “I’ll just be a minute.”
He moved a few feet away and kept his voice low enough that I couldn’t catch the details. It was the second time I’d felt like things were happening around me that I wasn’t supposed to ask about. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it yet.
Part of me wanted to push for answers. It was what I’d normally do. But I liked how easily I was slipping into his orbit, as though I belonged at his side. I’d never experienced that with someone before, not even my parents.
My home looked idyllic from the outside, but my mom was volatile, and my dad was emotionally unreliable. Their arguments went too far a lot of the time, and it wasn’t rare for them to get mad enough over something small I did to give me the silent treatment.
Growing up in that environment had taught me early on how to read a room. My childhood made me a better caseworker. There were too many times when I wished someone would step in and make things better. Now I was that person for kids in the system.
From everything I’d seen from Griffin already, it was clear he could easily be that person for me. And Isa.
I didn’t want to mess this up because I couldn’t control my curiosity, but I wasn’t sure how to feel about being deliberately left out of whatever was going on.
When their conversation ended, Griffin walked me around the shop floor and shared a little about how he’d become part owner and manager. I appreciated how he downplayed his reputation for rebuilding, modifying, and completelytransforming vehicles with unmatched precision. Something our investigator had unearthed, but Griffin didn’t mention.
“Do you get stuck in the office a lot?” I tilted my head toward the window looking over the shop floor. “It’d be a shame to let your skills go to waste.”
“Nah, Jet does his fair share of paperwork as my assistant manager.”
Almost as though he heard Griffin say his name, the guy walked over to us.
“Wanted to go over our current deadlines.” His gaze shifted to me, and he tilted his chin in greeting. “Hey, I’m Jet.”
“Hi, I’m Hannah.”
“I know, and this must be Isa. Damn, Clara was right about her looking like Cross.” Before I could reply, he quickly returned to business mode. “You got a second to go over the current jobs?”
“Yeah.” Griffin guided him over to the motorcycle on our left, where they talked for a few minutes.
