I nodded, glad she’d had the help. I made a mental note to have more than a word with Marty. The man was a fucking weasel. “She have a man she’s running from?” I wondered out loud. Gunner looking into legal shit didn’t explain why she’d been so spooked the night before.
“Don’t know,” he replied. “All I know is she’s got custody of her niece. Not sure what went down with that.”
Her niece. It made sense why she looked so young. The fact she’d obviously taken on so much responsibility at a young age made me want her even more.
“Appreciate you looking out for her.” I nodded. “I’ll take it from here.”
He chuckled, his gaze swinging toward the exit Layla had marched through and back to me. “Oh yeah? Seems like you have your work cut out for you, brother.”
I grunted in the affirmative. “Somethin’ tells me she’ll be worth it.”
Chapter 5
LAYLA
Three days later, I sat in Francesca’s bakery, wanting a change of scenery while I finalized a pitch for new business here in town. I’d been avoiding the gym since the run-in with Cash and was getting cabin fever at the house. The sight of the boxes I had yet to unpack and the overwhelming quiet while Riley was in school were still taking some getting used to.
Though I had yet to meet the woman herself, Francesca’s coffee and amazing baked goods could pull me out of any funk.
When a motorcycle rumbled and my heart skipped a beat, I chided myself. There were a lot of motorcycle riders in the town of Hawthorne. It wasn’t likely to be Cash, and even if it was, I needed to control my damn self.
Or not.
When Cash appeared in the window frame, his sleeveless shirt outlining every muscle and tattoo, his powerful frame owning the bike with a masculine grace I’d never witnessed before, I had to swallow back a groan of appreciation. And curse my luck. Why did it have to be him? Of all the freaking bikers in town?
His vibrant blue eyes turned toward the bakery and locked with mine. I nearly lost my tongue.
Shit.
I looked away as quickly as I could, but in that split second, I swore I saw him grin. When the sound of his engine cut out, I realized that he was stopping. Holy hell, was he coming in here? I forced my gaze to my laptop screen, the words blurring as my heart hammered in my chest.
The door chimed moments later, and I refused to look up, both hoping it wasn’t him and knowing I’d be disappointed if it wasn’t.
“May.” I heard his deep voice greet my favorite barista. “Cup of coffee, please. Black,” he requested before taking the seat across from me as though he owned the place.
And as was typical of our first two encounters, his bravado sent my cowardice fleeing and my frustration rising. “Can I help you?” I demanded with a raised brow.
He grinned, his blue eyes shining in seeming delight. “Good to see you too, sweetheart. I’m Cash Walker, by the way. We were never properly introduced.” He held out a hand, and after a brief hesitation, I shook it.
“Layla,” I replied.
“Nice to meet you, Layla.” The way he said my name was incredibly intimate, his voice low and rough. My core clenched in response as I fought to not respond visibly.
He cocked his head to the side as though assessing his next words. “You haven’t been at the gym.”
The fact he’d noticed sent an unnecessary thrill through me.
“No, I haven’t,” I acknowledged simply as May placed a cup of coffee in front of him.
He nodded to her in thanks before turning those piercing blue eyes back to me. He leaned forward in his chair, his full, undivided attention a heady thing to contend with. “Why not?”
The fact that he looked genuinely interested if not concerned had me biting back any notion that it wasn’t his business and answering instead, “I’ve just been busy.”
He undoubtedly knew I was lying but still, his gaze softened. “You just moved from SF, right?”
“How’d you know that?”
“Small town.” He shrugged.
“I keep forgetting that.” I wrinkled my nose, earning a deep chuckle from him. “Yes, I moved here a few weeks ago with my daughter. My nan lived here before she passed away, and we’re now living in her house.”
“I’m sorry about your nan. I didn’t know her well, but she was well-liked in town and from my few encounters with her, it was clear she was a good woman,” he replied sincerely.
His words momentarily disarmed me as I swallowed back a ball of emotion. “Thanks,” I managed. “She was.”
He took a sip of coffee before asking, “How are you liking Hawthorne so far?”
“Fine,” I replied simply. His curiosity baffled me, and I thought it best to cut our conversation short. “I should get going,” I said, gathering up my laptop and putting it in my purse.
He pulled my phone toward him before I could stop him, typing something quickly.
“What are you doing?” I demanded as he slid it back my way.
“Putting my number in your phone. Next time you plan to head for the gym, text me. And if you ever need a walk to your car, you let me know. I have some making up to do,” he replied.
I looked at him in surprise. There was no bravado, no playfulness in his tone. Only complete sincerity as far as I could tell. “Okay,” I replied, despite knowing I never would. “See you around.”
He looked up at me as I stood with my purse over my shoulder. “Definitely.”
And with that one word that somehow coming from him was more of a sensual promise, I scurried from the coffee shop, trying to find my feet.
It took me another week to go back to the gym. I’d even gone so far as to see about joining the gym across town and had been shocked when they’d told me they weren’t accepting new members. So here I was, standing in the parking lot on Monday morning after dropping Riley off at school. I wasn’t going to let a cocky, hot-as-hell biker keep me from my goals. Or so I was telling myself.
I strode inside with more confidence than I felt, relieved when there wasn’t a Viking warrior anywhere in sight.
With a sigh, I went about my workout. I took it pretty easy, knowing I needed to ease back in and trying not to be frustrated that I was nowhere near where I used to be. Still, it felt liberating to move my body, to sweat out all the stress and loss of the last several weeks.
I was walking out to my car, digging through my bag for my keys, when I stopped short. Cash was leaning against my car, his muscular arms crossed at the chest, dressed in gray sweats that hung low on his trim hips and a black tee that molded to his muscular frame.
“What are you doing?” I sputtered.
“You didn’t text me.”
“No.” My tone implied his statement was crazy, which it was. “I barely know you. And I can get to the gym just fine by myself.”
His gaze swept down my frame, taking in my running leggings and tank top with an avid interest that had me fighting to do the same with him. “I know you can,” he replied, his gaze meeting mine once again. “But I’d like to spend time with you.”
“Time with me?” I sputtered, taken aback by how unapologetically straightforward he was. This was a man who was used to getting what he wanted.