“You’re impossible,” I muttered, but I couldn’t stop the smile tugging at my lips.
“Yeah, but you like it.” His hand slid lower, resting just above the curve of my ass, and he leaned in to murmur against my ear. “Admit it, Trudy. You fucking love it when I talk dirty to you.”
Heat flooded my face, and I shoved at his chest. “Help me with the display case before I throw you out.”
He laughed but did as I asked, moving behind the counter to grab trays of pastries. We worked together, his presence a constant distraction. Every time I reached for something, his hand was there, brushing my hip, trailing down my spine, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. And every touch sent sparks racing through me, making it harder to focus on anything but him.
“You keep touching me like that, and we’re never going to get this done,” I said, trying to sound stern.
“Good.” He leaned in, his lips brushing my temple. “Rather be touching you than doing this shit anyway.”
“Stephen.”
“Trudy.” He mimicked my tone, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
By the time we finished setting up, I was flushed and flustered and entirely too aware of him. But there was something about the way he refused to keep his hands to himself, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the room that mattered. And it made me feel alive in a way I hadn’t in years.
The bell chimed again, and I looked up to see Simon walking in with Matlock at his side. Simon owned the salon down the street, and we’d been friends for years. He took one look at Stephen standing behind the counter with his arm around my waist and grinned.
“Well, well, well,” Simon said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Look at you, Trudy Wheeler, shacking up with a biker. Never thought I’d see the day.”
I felt my face heat. “We’re not?—”
“We absolutely are,” Stephen cut in, his grip on my waist tightening.
Simon laughed, shaking his head. “Trust me, Trudy, you’re ahead of the curve. It took me six damn years to lock this onedown.” He pulled Matlock closer, his expression softening. “So yeah, I’d say you’re doing just fine.”
Matlock rolled his eyes but nodded in agreement, his expression warm. “Happy for you, Trudy.”
Matlock had only just come out last month despite being in a secret relationship with Simon for years.
“Thank you,” I said, grateful for their support even as I felt embarrassed by the attention.
Simon ordered his usual, a latte and a blueberry muffin, and I busied myself preparing it, trying to ignore the way Stephen’s hand stayed on my back the entire time.
“How’s Sadie doing?” I asked as I handed Simon his coffee.
His smile faltered, just for a moment, and something heavy settled in his eyes. “She’s doing as well as can be expected,” he said quietly. “Some days are better than others.”
I reached across the counter and squeezed his hand. “If there’s anything I can do?—”
“I know. Thank you.” He squeezed back, then forced a brighter smile. “But enough about that. I want to hear all about this.” He gestured between me and Stephen. “How long has this been going on?”
“Not long,” I said, at the same time Stephen said, “Six months.”
I shot him a look. “We haven’t been together for six months.”
“Been wanting you for six months,” he corrected, his grin wicked. “Just took you a while to catch up.”
Simon laughed, and even Matlock cracked a smile. They left a few minutes later, and I was just starting to relax when the bell chimed again.
This time, it was Beatrice Allen.
Beatrice was in her eighties, a fixture in this town, and she had opinions about everything. She walked in with her chin held high, her gaze sweeping over Stephen with obvious disapproval.
“Trudy Wheeler,” she said, her tone sharp. “I heard rumors, but I didn’t believe them. You, of all people, taking up with a biker.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Stephen beat me to it.
