The shop wasn’t perfect. There were still little things I’d probably change over time. The menu board would eventually need updating. I’d probably rearrange the toppings station at least fifty times before I was happy with it. Right now, there was only me running the place, which meant I would be scooping ice cream, cleaning tables, washing dishes, handling inventory, balancing books, and doing about seventeen other jobs at the same time.
The sudden roar of a motorcycle pulled me from my thoughts.
I glanced toward the front windows just as a black motorcycle rolled down Main Street. The sound echoed off the buildings lining the street before the rider slowed and turned into the parking lot across from Scoop & Swirl.
My gaze followed automatically to the tattoo shop. Bad Habit.
I’d seen the place plenty of times over the last six months, but I’d been so focused on getting my own business ready that I hadn’t paid much attention to who came and went.
The motorcycle came to a stop, and the rider swung off.
And holy hell. I blinked, and then blinked again.
The man was tall. Really tall.
My second was that the man looked like he belonged on the cover of one of those romance novels I saw in the grocery store.
Black boots. Black jeans. Black T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders. He had dark hair, a dark short beard, and dark sunglasses covered his eyes.
The man looked like he owned stock in the color black.
Tattooed arms disappeared beneath his sleeves, and even from across the street I could tell there was a lot more ink hidden beneath his clothes.
He hooked his helmet onto the handlebars and headed toward the tattoo shop without a second glance at the world around him.
Confident.
Comfortable.
Like he knew exactly who he was.
I watched him unlock the door and disappear inside.
A second later I realized I was still staring. “Well, that’s embarrassing,” I muttered.
I immediately looked away even though there wasn’t anybody around to catch me.
Not that it mattered. A guy like that wasn’t looking twice at a woman like me.
I was thirty-six, divorced, and carrying more curves than society generally approved of. And currently wearing paint-splattered leggings I’d owned since before the divorce.
Meanwhile, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Tattooed looked like he probably had women throwing themselves at him on a regular basis.
The thought should’ve bothered me.
Instead, I found myself smiling. The hot, sexy biker across the street had nothing to do with me. For the first time in a very long time, I wasn’t standing here wondering whether I was enough for somebody else.
I was standing inside a business I owned.
Tomorrow morning, Scoop & Swirl would officially open, and tomorrow was the beginning of the rest of my life.
Chapter Two
Rome
The familiar smell of disinfectant, ink, and leather hit me the second I stepped inside Bad Habit.
Home.
