Page 57 of Tempest’s Torment

"Exactly," he says.

I blink.

"What?" He asks.

"You've known me a week," I repeat.

"I know." He tells me, not seemingly caring.

"And?" I question.

He shrugs.

"You still came back." I point out.

He takes another drink of his coffee. "Natalia will be there."

I frown. "Ghost's wife?"

He starts counting them off on his fingers. "Evangeline, Willow, and probably a few of the kids."

"I don't know any of those people."

He doesn’t seem fazed by my words at all. "You didn't know me."

I glare at him. He’s driving me crazy. "Stop saying that."

"It's true."

I sigh. "I'm not biker material."

His brow furrows slightly. "What's biker material?"

I wave a hand at him. "You know what I mean."

He shakes his head. "No, I don’t."

I look at him and he holds my gaze, eventually I sigh again. "I'll say the wrong thing."

"No, you won't."

"They'll think I'm awkward."

He shrugs. "They'll think you're quiet."

I gape at him. "That's not better."

"I like quiet." I look at him and see that he's still looking at me, like he hasn't realized what he just admitted.

"You do?" My voice is small and low.

He shrugs. "Doesn't bother me," he says, and something warm settles low in my chest. He reaches for his mug. "It's just a couple of hours,” he says but I don't answer. "Natalia will be with you," he says. "Evangeline too. You'll have somewhere to sit, someone to talk to."

I look at him. "And you?"

"I'll be in church." At least he doesn't pretend otherwise. "When church's over, we'll head home."

I don't correct him, don't even notice it until we're both standing up. That’s when I realized he never said apartment; he said home. Home.