1
Saul held the mountain bike like a lover, like it was something precious, babying the new paint job and shiny chrome as he loaded it into the back of the pick-up truck. He wrapped it in a blanket so it would stay spotless on the drive and checked the tires for the third time.
Then he hopped out of the bed and shut the tailgate. All good. That bike was some of his best work. Thank goodness for Emma, he wanted to deliver this one personally and he didn’t have wheels of his own.
You got this.
It was another perfect spring day and downtown Boulder was busy. He drove up Canyon Boulevard and parked near the east end of the Pearl Street Mall, then reversed the process with the bicycle, gingerly lowering it to the ground. He got on it and took a lap of the parking lot, fucking with the gears and brakes. Damn, this was a sweet rebuild.
He walked the bike to Carter Lee’s diner, which of course he’d forgotten the name of, but he knew the one, he’d been there a bunch of times. Best cup of coffee in town, crazy good French toast. Small world, colliding with the man who owned that place.
He’d rebuilt the whole front end, put on new tires, a new chain, a new gear shift, replaced the scuffed-up pedals and the twisted handlebars, and had given the thing a new paint job. It sparkled like new, which was pretty much the least he could do after almost knocking out Carter’s front teeth.
He pulled up outside the diner and peered through the window, trying to see if he could catch Carter’s eye, but the place was hopping, and everyone was busy. He sighed and locked the bike up, making sure it was as far away from other bikes as possible, and headed inside.
“Just one?” The hostess grabbed a menu.
“Oh, I’m just… I was looking for…”
“This way, please.”
He blinked, totally off-guard, and followed her to a small table. “I’m actually just here to see Carter.”
“I’ll let him know you’re looking for him. Coffee?”
“Oh I, uh.” She peered at him expectantly. “Sure. Sounds good.”
“You take cream?” She handed him a menu, sighing as a group of mountain bikers showed up. “Ah, to-go orders. I’ll be right back with your coffee.”
“Yes,” he called after her. He glanced over at the bikers, but he didn’t know any of them. Must not be local. He knew a lot of the real enthusiasts in town from his shop.
He glanced at his watch. It was eleven-thirty and he’d been putting the finishing touches on the bike all morning. He supposed he could eat, but he really didn’t need the menu. He wanted that French toast with the berries and the vanilla-maple syrup. He could almost taste it.
“Troy! Troy, I need seven more turkey sandwiches to go. All chips.”
“On it, honey,” a rough drawl answered her, the John Deere ball cap the only thing visible through the pass-through.
That was one of his favorite things, the way Carter’s cook worked—steady, calm, fast and obviously damn good at his job.
He tried to think how long the guy had been working back there. Had to be forever, and in all that time he’d never heard the cook get ruffled. Just “On it,” or “Yes, ma’am” with that deep tone. He liked the voice, and he was pretty sure he’d have recognized it anywhere.
“Hey, man, how goes it?” Carter came and sat, offering him a smile. “Run anyone over this week?”
He grinned and felt his cheeks burn, totally embarrassed. “Nope. I’m finding you a tough act to follow. I think I’ve hit a dry spell. You?”
“Busy as a one-armed paperhanger.” Carter smiled for him, and, okay, he was totally glad he hadn’t knocked those teeth out.
“I see that. I have to say I’m sorry again. Hopefully your bike will make up for the bruises. It’s all done, I parked it outside. If you have any problems, you just let me know, I’ll get it right for you.” He smiled back, going for charming but not flirty. Carter was a handsome but married man.
“You rock, man. I mean it. Let me grab you a cup of coffee and…you’re the French toast, right?”
“My favorite. Thanks so much.” Carter was the coolest cat on the planet. He wasn’t sure if he could be that chill if someone barreled into his path out of nowhere, sent him flying and mangled his handlebars. He’d like to think he could, he tried to be level-headed, and shit happens, right?
“Right on.” Carter stood and went to pour his coffee. “Troy, I need a French toast with berries and a side of bacon on the fly.”
“On it, boss.”
On it, boss. Saul smiled and leaned back in his chair. That drawl was something. He thanked Carter again for the coffee and his stomach growled as he picked it up to take a sip. Yeah, he could eat.
He drank his coffee and checked his phone while he waited. He answered an email from Emma about the supply order he’d placed the day before. Thank goodness Emma was as much of a workaholic as he was. The shop was demanding and busy.
He also made a cocktail hour appointment with Khloe, who said she needed a hand. He wasn’t her Dom, but she didn’t have one at the moment and she was a friend. If she needed him, he’d be there.
“Excuse me. You’re the French toast?” Shocking green eyes stared at him. They seemed huge when paired with that bald head.
He stared right back and smiled, stunned by the handsome face that went with the drawl. “Actually, I’m Saul. But I’m having the French toast.”
“Good deal.” He got a smile, a nod as the plate was put in front of him. “Enjoy your breakfast, sir.”
“I always do. You make amazing French toast.” He boldly reached out and touched a triskelion tattoo on the cook’s wrist with curious fingers, keeping the man there another second. “Great ink. What’s your name?”
“Finch. Troy Finch. Pleased to meet you.”
As his gaze traveled up, he discovered the triskelions climbing up Troy Finch’s arm, some delicate and lacy, some violent and sharp-edged. It was fascinating, and he had all kinds of questions.
“I think the pleasure is really mine, Troy.” As much as he wanted to keep this lovely man talking, he lifted his fingers away. “I know you’re busy back there. Thank you for taking the time to run this out to me.”
“You’re welcome, sir. Boss is bad about letting his orders die in the window.”
“Get your ass in the kitchen. I hear you, telling lies about me.” Carter was barely holding his laughter back.
Troy snorted, but dropped him a wink. “Yes, sir. No smoke break for me?”
“Nope. Kitchen.”
“Thanks again, Troy.” Saul watched the guy take a few strolling steps toward the kitchen and then head back to work. He glanced up at Carter. “Interesting guy. Lots of pretty specific ink. Nice work.” He picked up the little glass jug of syrup and covered his plate in it.
“It is. My husband, Geoff? He did all the work.”
“Yeah? He must be pretty creative.” Who knew there were so many different ways to draw a triskelion? He’d seen at least ten or twelve and he figured there had to be more going up that arm. He started in on his French toast. “Mm. So good.” Like foodgasm good.
“Enjoy, huh? It’s on the house.” Carter grinned at him, dark eyes wrinkling with the power of his smile. “The bike looks great, man. Thank you.”