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At night, I lie in bed next to him, sore in places I didn’t know I had muscles, and wonder if this is what happiness is supposed to feel like.

On Monday, I roll out of bed early, plant my feet on the cold wood floor, and just listen for a second. The house is dead quiet. Bones is still in the shower, steam drifting out from under the door. I pad down the hallway to the kitchen and pour us both coffee. Then I take my mug out to the back patio, curl up in a chair, and just breathe.

The sun isn’t even up yet, but the sky is starting to go pink. In the distance, I can hear coyotes howling. In the next room, I can hear Bones humming to himself. My plant is sitting on the edge of the patio, already perking up in the morning light. I take a sip and taste the little bit of cinnamon Bones likes to add.

My life is nothing like I thought it would be. And I wouldn’t trade a minute of it.

When Bones comes out to join me, wearing his typical uniform of black tee and jeans, I raise my mug in a salute. “You making breakfast, or am I?”

He grins, leans down to kiss me on the head, and says, “You made coffee. I’ll do the rest.”

I’m not about to argue. Bones tears it up in the kitchen. And in the bedroom. Actually, he’s pretty freaking perfect. God. I’m so freaking in love with him that I can’t see straight. It’s getting harder and harder not to blurt it out.

Later, when we leave for work, I see my motorcycle parked in the garage. Bones has parked it right next to his, letting me know it belongs there. Just like I belong here.

I slide into the passenger seat of his truck, and as we pull out of the driveway, I reach over and lace my fingers through his.

This is what it’s like to have a home. To have someone to come home to. And I never want to let it go.

We’re almost at the garage when Bones lifts my hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to my knuckles. His lips are soft, hot. My heart skips, then pounds.

“You know I love you, right?” he says, so low I almost miss it.

I freeze. The world tilts. For a second, I don’t know what to say. I’ve never heard those words said to me, not by anyone. Bones says it like a fact, like he’s stating the color of the sky.

He doesn’t look at me. He just keeps his eyes on the road, thumb stroking the back of my hand.

It’s the opening I’ve been waiting for. “I—” My voice is rough. I clear my throat. “It’s crazy, but I love you, too.”

He grins, slow and wolfish. “Crazy or not, you’re stuck with me, Eden.”

I squeeze his hand. “That’s the plan.”

We pull into the garage lot. Bones parks and kills the engine. For a moment, neither of us moves.

Then he turns, really looks at me, and says, “This is it, sweetheart. You and me. Always.”

There’s nothing I can say to top that, so I just lean over and kiss him, slow and deep, until someone pounds on the hood and yells for us to either get a fucking room or get our asses inside.

We get out, hands brushing, and walk in together.

This is what it feels like to finally belong.

The Boneyard Garage used to be a disaster zone, but not on my watch.

The garage office is now my domain, and everyone knows it.

Every chance Bones gets, he finds a new reason to pop into the office. Sometimes, he just walks in, leans against the doorframe, and watches me type. I pretend to ignore him, but it’s like trying to ignore a lion in your living room.

This morning, I’m mid-voicemail, phone wedged against my shoulder, when he breezes in with a paper bag in one hand and a look that could melt iron. He drops the bag on my desk, right in the middle of my carefully organized workspace.

I hang up the phone. “What is it?”

He grins. “Cronuts. The fancy bakery downtown. I thought you could use a treat for all your hard work.”

“Oh my goodness, they smell good.” I grab the bag to my chest. “Don’t tell anyone about this. I’m not sharing.”

He just smirks down at me. “I got another bag for the assholes to fight over. Enjoy your treat, sweetheart.” He leans over, drops a kiss on the top of my head, and walks out before I can protest.

For the next few hours, it’s a typical busy day. I answer calls, chase down unpaid invoices, and handle the scheduling for the week.

In the early afternoon, I take a break. The shop is buzzing with the usual mayhem—Jax swears at a stubborn transmission, Chris tries to fix a tire with stripped lug nuts, and Diesel is hunched over a custom bike, cussing about how some people treat their machines.

Bones is under a car on the far lift, only his boots sticking out. I can’t resist standing at my office window, watching for a moment, the way he works, focused and unhurried, every movement controlled. Then Diesel’s shadow falls across my desk.

He stands there for a second, staring at the clean rows of files like he’s expecting them to attack him. “Never thought I’d say this,” he grunts, voice barely above a growl, “but I’m glad Bones found you.”

I blink, startled. “Uh, thank you?”

He shifts his weight, arms crossed. “Shop actually runs like a business now. Not a zoo. That’s good.”

I wait for the punchline, but there isn’t one.

“Thanks, Diesel. That… actually means a lot.” He gives the tiniest nod, then stomps away, the heels of his boots echoing through the office. I watch him go, a weird flutter in my chest. I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me in a work setting.

I glance out at Bones, who’s helping Chris with the frozen lug nuts. He glances up, catches me watching, and winks. Like we have a secret.

I sink back into my chair, happiness fizzing through me. For the first time in my entire life, I don’t feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m not just surviving; I’m actually living. Maybe even thriving.