Where did we meet?
On a plane.
How did we connect?
Through a mutual friend who was in a bad relationship.
How long have we known each other?
Eight months.
Is it serious?
For me, absolutely. But you’ll have to ask Hunter for his thoughts.
Do I think I could settle here?
Possibly.
When the morning rush has passed and the bakery is three-quarters empty, we pause for a coffee which gives her a chance to not shout these questions at me between customer demands, but actually look at me while I answer.
We lean against opposite ends of the kitchen, sipping from our mugs, when she switches tactics and opts for more in-depth ones.
“Hunter is a complicated man,” she starts, staring at the steam rising between her hands. I raise a brow but stay silent. It’s not rude, given she didn’t ask a question, but even I can tell she’s gearing up for something that’s making her uncomfortable. “He needs someone who understands they can’t have his attention one hundred percent of the time. Can you be that?”
“I have my own commitments. I can’t be with someone who needs me every second of the day, and it’s healthy to have our own goals and interests. I know the Reapers are a big part of his life, and that he has a job to do that goes along with that. I won’t get in the way of his obligations to William.”
She hums in the back of her throat. “The MC is not just a job, it’s a family, and he has commitments expanding beyond the nine to five, Monday to Friday. Nothing about working for an MC is typical.”
“And I’ve already stated I understand.”
She places her mug down, curling her fingers around the edge of the counter at her back. “I’m not sure you do. You can’t be with him and be separate from us.”
“I’m my own person, with my own commitments. He knows I won’t be a little wife shackled in the kitchen barefoot and pregnant. I’m not a damsel in distress, and I won’t allow my worth to be caught up in a man or an organization. I will be sensitive to his needs and the demands placed on him, but I will not have my personality swept away in something I didn’t sign up for.”
Cheryl throws her head back and laughs, tears gathering on her lashes. What’s so funny about what I said? Why am I making everyone happy today? It’s not normal. Did the orgasm transport me to bizarro land? How do I get back?
“You’re perfect for him, Eleanor,” she says as she finally stops cackling. “Strong willed, stubborn, smart. He needs that in a woman. It’s so easy to lose oneself in these men, and so many others have come into the fold being starstruck, but when that dies down, they realize how empty they are.”
Wait… I don’t—“It was a test?”
She nods. “And you passed.” That’s a relief; I don’t enjoy failing. “While you might not want to step into a wife role anytime soon, would you like to learn how to make his favorite pie? I swear by this recipe, and I haven’t given it to anyone else, but if he’s angry or distant—which he might be today—this pie always brings him back.”
Do I want to cook? No. Do I want a magic secret recipe capable of soothing his soul? Yes.
And that’s how I learned to make something almost resembling a peach pie. Or, at least, I tried.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Hunter
It smells like peach pie, looks like peach pie, tastes like…
No good can come from wishing for a different history, but it doesn’t make the lasting ramifications from it any easier to swallow. For the first time in a long time, I have someone I’m hurrying to get home to. I have a spark of hope. Eleanor can’t erase my pain any more than I can erase hers, but I have a gut instinct that together, we can build a life that heals us both.
I leave my motorcycle in the compound and do a quick pit stop at my apartment to check on Charlie and change my shirt. He jumps around like I’ve been gone for days rather than a few hours, then huffs at the empty guest room.
“I know, buddy, I’m going to get our girl now.”
