“Not a chance,” Ryker replies.
“Maybe. Ed dropped off his carburetor, so I’m going to take a look at it.”
“Anastasia will be in her booth,” he says, dangling that truth out there like a carrot on a stick.
I glare at him. “Like I said, I have a carburetor to look at.” But I’ll be there, and he knows it.
Zane shakes his head with a grin on his face. “All right. See you.”
“See you.”
As Zane walks out, I gather my gym bag and head for the weights. Ryker follows me, and for once, I’m grateful for his typical silence. The only one of our group with less to say is Weston, and he’s currently busy on the ranch. So, Tank’s company it is.
“Have you talked to her since?” Ryker questions as he stands at my head to spot me.
“Here I was, just appreciating your silence.” With a grunt, I press the bar up, then lower it down. Once, twice, three times. I continue pressing out reps until my muscles begin to fail.
Then, when I can’t do any more, Ryker helps me re-rack it, and I get up so we can swap. Of course, he adds plates to each side because—as his nickname suggests—dude is built like a tank.
“I tried this morning. She kicked me out of her coffee shop.”
Ryker lies down and starts laughing. “As in?—”
“As in she threw me out. Tessa and Katelyn were there, too. I’m sure they had a great laugh about it afterward. It’ll probably be in the Stormwatch Press first thing tomorrow. Front page. LOCAL MECHANIC GETS BOOTED OUT OF TOWN SWEETHEART’S COFFEE SHOP FOR BEING A TOTAL DIRTBAG.”
He laughs. “I doubt that. They’re rooting for you, too. We all are.”
“There’s no rooting for anyone,” I insist as I prep to spot.
He pushes the bar up, hissing through clenched teeth as he does. “Sure there is.” He continues to crank them out, then replaces the bar.
“How so?”
“You’re a good guy, Sawyer. But you’ve always had one massive flaw.”
“What’s that, Sensei?” I ask, sarcasm dripping from my tone.
Ryker chuckles and stands, then removes the extra weight so I can do another set. “You see the best in everyone…except yourself.”
“Gee, thanks. You know, if the bodyguard business with Knight Security dries up, you should write Hallmark cards for sad people.”
Ryker shrugs, completely unbothered by the slight. “Denying it won’t change the facts. Now, are we going to keep gossiping, or can we finish these sets? I want to get out of town before the roads close for the festival.”
The guy doesn’t do crowds—at all. His small cabin on the edge of a wildlife sanctuary is definitely proof of that. He’ll be there all weekend, not even venturing in to go to the gym or join us for dinner at the diner. Until the festival is over, Ryker Granger will be in complete self-inflicted isolation.
“Yeah, yeah. Fine. You’re the one who brought it up, though.” But even as I try to push my body to failure…Anastasia’s face this morning remains at the forefront of my thoughts.
And those two broken words…please leave.
Stormwatch Landing’s Shrimp and Grits Festival has always been one of my favorite times of year. Not because I particularly care for shrimp or grits—truthfully, I can’t stand either—but because of the life. The town positively radiates with it as tourists and locals alike gather together for food, games, and music.
The sun has started its descent below the horizon, but that won’t dull the fun. Typically, there will be celebrating until ten tonight when the band finally calls it quits. Then again, last year, it was almost midnight before things finally shut down.
I walk down Main Street, smiling when a little girl raises a comically large hammer and drops it on a red plate. A bell dings, and she cheers, her father lifting her and spinning her in a circle before she chooses her prize.
Family. The one thing I never thought I would want.
After my upbringing, being a father was the last thing I desired. It’s not like I had any good examples. My own dad wasn’t around, and every foster dad I had was a dirtbag in one way or another. I just wasn’t lucky when it came to placement. Probably because of the record I had. Can’t really blame decent people for not wanting to take on a problem child with sticky fingers.
