He pulled one headphone out of his ear and peered over the back of the couch. “Whatever you’re doing over there, it smells good.”
“Scones,” I said, as I moved them from the rack they were cooling on to a paper bag. “Want one?”
I’d spent the morning feeling frustrated with myself, anxious and annoyed, and doing something with my hands always helped mitigate those feelings. I’d been such a dick to Dante the whole day yesterday, and not in a cool way. I’d been cagey and scared and—distracted.
Because the more I’d talked to him, and watched him move carefully and attentively around the kitchen, the more I’d noticed him. I’d noticed his broad shoulders, muscled forearms, confident posture, and the happy, warm look in his eyes when he saw the double-oven setup in the kitchen. And when he’d spoken to me in that low, focused voice when we cleared the air—it was so easy to just… do as he asked.
And he’d looked so pleased when I did, too.
What did that say about me? Why did I want his approval so badly? I’d been assigned to be his chaperone, not his errand boy. Blade trusted me to act as a responsible, fully patched member. I had to stop getting so… So… So overwhelmed when Dante looked my way. Or asked me to do something. Or told me to do something.
“Of course I want one,” Raven said. He levered his long limbs off the couch and abandoned his laptop in order to snatch a scone off the cooling rack. “Oh,” he said around a mouthful of pastry, “this is really good.”
“They better be,” I said. “They’re the only thing I can bake.”
“That’s about to change, though,” Raven said. “I feel like we’re all going to get roped into Logan’s baking lessons.”
“You’re probably right about that,” I grumbled.
But that didn’t have to be a bad thing. I couldn’t change the way I’d behaved yesterday, but Dante had made a point to start over between us, so I’d decided I’d take a peace offering to show him I was fully on board, too. It wasn’t his fault that I had some shit to figure out, and that he happened to make me feel way too much, way too intensely. If he could get his act together, so could I.
“What’d you make them for?” Raven asked.
My cheeks heated slightly. I didn’t want to tell Raven I’d made them for Dante—how ridiculous was it to take pastries to a literal baker? But I hadn’t had any better olive branch ideas.
I still felt a little fragile, though, and if Raven were to tease me about it, I was sure I’d back out. So instead of telling him the truth, I shrugged. “Just had some extra time, I guess. I’m taking them to class.”
“Instead of leaving them for the club?” Raven demanded incredulously, with faux-offense.
“You all got muffins yesterday,” I said. “Don’t get greedy.”
Raven sighed and flopped back onto the couch. “Fine. Next batch is for us, though.”
“Who says there will be a next batch?” I grinned at Raven as I finished packing up the scones.
“I do,” Raven said primly. “Have fun in class. Better you than me!”
He put his headphones back in and disappeared back into his laptop. I had just over an hour before class began. I packed my things into the saddlebag of my bike—it was a smaller, sleeker bike than most of the members’, meant for around town more than long haul rides. I’d started riding when I got the job at Custom Ankhs—I figured if I was going to talk to customers about bikes, I had to know how to handle them myself—and I’d fallen in love with it. The freedom was exhilarating, as was the confidence that came with handling a bike on the highway.
Junee was a short ride from Elkin Lake. When I got to the main stretch of the little town, I saw that Stella’s wasn’t empty, but it was quiet—at mid-afternoon, it was just a few hours until it closed for the day. I parked my bike out front and pulled the scones from the saddlebag before bracing myself to walk to the door. Inside, a chipper young woman with box braids piled into a bun atop her head greeted me with a broad smile. “Hi! What can I do for you?”
“I, uh.” I glanced over her shoulder into the big, pristinely clean kitchen. Dante stood at the wooden bench in the center of the kitchen, his attention focused intently on the dough he was shaping. Flour dusted his skin up to his elbows, and he was wearing a frayed white apron over his t-shirt and jeans. “I’m with Hell’s Ankhor—is Dante available?”
The girl’s eyes lit up. “You must be Heath!” She leaned into the kitchen. “Earth to Dante!”
Dante started slightly, and then glanced up, like he’d forgotten the front of house existed. When he saw me, though, his expression softened slightly and his eyes lit with curiosity, a total 180 of how he’d looked at me yesterday morning when I’d run into him. He wiped his hands on his apron and stepped out from behind the counter.
“Hey, Heath,” he said warmly but quietly. There were a few customers sitting at a single long, communal table in Stella’s dining room, so Dante and I just leaned against the wall near the counter, out of everyone’s way. “What brings you to these parts?”
I swallowed hard. It was still a little difficult for me to fight through my nerves with Dante’s pale blue eyes fixated on me, but I’d come all the way here, hadn’t I? So. I cleared my throat. “I wanted to apologize.”
“Apologize?” Dante furrowed his brow.
“For the way I was acting at the clubhouse yesterday,” I clarified. “It wasn’t anything you did. And I was out of line. I just—” There was no real way to explain it without admitting things I wasn’t ready to admit to Dante. It was embarrassing enough, standing here watching Dante’s expression grow more and more concerned. “It was inappropriate. And I wanted to clear the air.”
The moment hung between us, and I pressed my lips together. I felt stupid, suddenly—like maybe this was a mistake. Maybe this was crossing a line, or I’d read everything wrong.
“Thanks for coming by,” Dante said. “It means a lot. Really.”
His approval sent an unexpected rush of warmth through me. Relief. I’d made the right decision. “I’m glad,” I said. “I just wanted to make sure you’re still all right with our working relationship.”
“No complaints here,” Dante said easily. He smiled then, like he was waiting for me to say something, and he was willing to wait as long as it took.
My fingers tightened on the paper bag I was holding.
Dante glanced at it. “What’s in the bag?”
“Well, uh, it’s…” Suddenly I doubted myself fiercely, standing in this bakery Dante owned, while his muscular arms were dusted in pale flour from all the baking he’d been doing, and here I was, with my sad little bag of homemade scones. What was I thinking?
“Bag lunch? Change of clothes?” He widened his eyes. “Severed limb?”
He was teasing me, his eyes sparkling with silent laughter. And it didn’t feel mean, either. I bit back a smile.
“Here, it’s for you.” I held the bag out before I could think better of it.
Dante took it gratefully, and then peered inside. “What are these? They smell amazing.”