CHAPTER SIX
RILEY
The next Monday at the garage, I keep thinking about Finn from the barbecue.
Right when I was making my escape from the overly chatty crowd, he seemed to appear out of nowhere. The guy was all smiles and wide, brown eyes, easy laughs and conversation. He was nice, but more than that, he was… hot.
It’s fine to think a guy is hot, I remind myself. I notice attractive men all the time. It’s just that Finn is this particular kind of geeky hot that can trip me up. His neat khaki trousers hugged him beneath a crisp, baby blue T-shirt. His ears stuck out, just a little bit, cute as hell, and he gestured a lot with his hands when he talked, animated. He’s handsome, with a nice voice, curly hair that moves when he bobs his head, and high cheekbones against his warm brown skin.
I liked looking at him. So what? Everyone says Allentown is a small town in a big city, but he didn’t seem like a biker, so I’ll probably never see him again.
The possibility does excite me, though. I had considered a vow of celibacy for the next year just to spite Chase after he suggested I need to get laid. But Finn was interesting, and he didn’t seem to hate talking to me, or at least he tolerated talkingto me, despite how rude I certainly came across. And it’s not often that I spark with someone.
I recall his delighted smile when that damn butterfly landed on my nose, then scrub my hand over my face.
“Good to see you in a better mood.” Chase smirks.
I frown at him while the garage buzzes around us. “You here to ruin it?”
Chase adjusts one of his nose rings. “Not exactly. But I am going to need you to get an ice cream cone. The owner of the shop introduced himself to me at the barbecue, but you’d already taken off. Seems best if you meet the neighbors. Do you have time?”
“Not really. But I’m not the kind of mechanic to turn down ice cream, either.”
“The guy was friendly,” he explains, “but word around town is that our neighbors are already getting frustrated with the noise. Considering we haven’t even hosted a party yet, we should build up some goodwill.”
“You know me. I’m a ray of sunshine.”
I stop to wash up on the way, figuring I need to fight my instincts and make a good impression here. We’re probably nightmare neighbors to this ice cream shop. This owner might hate us. But it’s best to open a line of communication anyway, and hiding will only let problems fester. Chase is right. It’s time to face this head-on.
The little ice cream shop sits across from us, the sun shining down brightly on it. The patio furniture out front is unoccupied, the ruffles over the window flutter in the breeze, and a hand-painted sign advertisesThe Sweetest Scoop In Town.After knocking off my dirty boots, I pull open the door, step inside, and freeze in my tracks.
“Finn?”
I blurt out his name like a knucklehead. The guy from the barbecue is standing behind the glass counter, a blue-striped apron hanging over his shoulders. There’s doo-wop music on the speakers, and a couple customers chatting in a booth.
Finn works at the ice cream shop.
No, even worse. He was at the small-business barbecue. Finnownsthe ice cream shop.
His face lights up with surprise. “Riley!” he says, apparently glad to see me. One hand goes to his hip, his elbow jutting out. “Did I mention this is my place?” he asks. “Or is it only a happy coincidence that you’re stopping by?”
I rub the back of my head. Ah, fuck.
“Actually, neither,” I answer honestly, and take another step inside the pristine shop. “Didn’t realize this was your business. Came here to introduce myself.” I jut a thumb over my shoulder, gesturing back. “I’m managing the motorcycle garage with my buddy Chase.”
Finn’s face falls, and right on time, a chopper roars down the street, motor coughing as it rumbles into the garage. I glance over my shoulder and see a dark cloud of exhaust.
Definitely enough to make him hate us. Shit.
“Oh,” he says, his brow tightening slightly as the chopper passes. “I suppose that makes sense. You do seem like a biker.”
“That a bad thing?” I ask, suddenly defensive, my voice accidentally harsh. This is supposed to be about good impressions, not picking an argument. But if he’s already got a problem with bikers, what am I supposed to do about it? I’m caught on my back foot, not prepared to see him, and now this. I should have kept my ass in the garage today.
“Not a bad thing,” he says quickly, and manages to pull together a friendly, diplomatic smile. He’s definitely better with people than I am. “I’m still learning about my new neighbors, that’s all! Can I offer you a scoop?”
“Sure,” I say, and carefully move closer to the counter. The flavors sit in two colorful rows as cool air radiates off the display. I look across the names, but I’m too flustered to take the information in. “Whatever you recommend.”
“Try the new flavor we’re testing out,” he says as he grabs a cone. “Butter fudge sugar cookie.”
