Page 28

Out here, the night had a weight to it. Not threatening. Just a stillness, like the whole world had settled in and was waiting for morning.

The truck's headlights swept across the gravel lot before I slid into a parking space and killed the engine. The sudden silence settled over me as I listened to the soft ticking of hot metal cooling beneath the hood. Then I climbed out, shut the door behind me, and headed for the oak door.

I hadn’t thought twice about wearing my Howlers MC leather cut. I never wore it when I was at the shop. Townsfolk had mixed opinions about the Howlers, and I didn’t want my business suffering because of narrow-minded people.

Also, Phineas had never seen me in my cut, and I wondered how he would react.

Inside, Jawbones smelled like beer, old wood, and something salty frying in oil. Low music drifted from the jukebox, a sad guitar twang that made every bad decision sound poetic. A few heads turned when I walked in then turned away.

Phineas saw me last.

He sat at the end of the bar with a glass of water in front of him, both hands wrapped around it like it was a sacred object. His white T-shirt was slightly wrinkled, his hair was mussed like he’d run his fingers through it too many times, and his cheeks were flushed pink from alcohol.

When his eyes landed on me, his whole face lit up.

Motherfuck.

I stopped for a second in the doorway like an idiot, my hand still on the handle. That smile hit harder than any punch I’d ever taken. It wasn’t polished or cautious. It was bright, unguarded, and aimed right at me.

“There he is!” Phineas announced to the bar, lifting one hand and nearly losing his balance on the stool. “That’s him. That is Croissant Man.”

Dominic, the bartender, looked over at me, beard twitching. “You’re Croissant Man?”

“Apparently.” I walked toward them, letting my gaze run over Phineas long enough to check that he was upright, breathing, and mostly contained.

“’Sup, Drift. Been a minute,” Dominic said from behind the counter. “Your boy negotiated safe passage for a spider.”

“I heard.”

Phineas lifted a finger like he was about to make a point. “Aleister Crawly is the bravest and coolest spider I know.”

I stopped close enough to catch the warm smell of beer on his breath and the lingering fragrance of laundry detergent. “He make it out alive?”

Phineas leaned toward me, swaying a little. “He’s in witness protection now.” He pressed his index finger against his cheek and made a shushing sound. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Dominic snorted and set a towel over his shoulder. “He informed the entire bar.”

Phineas squinted up at me, and then his gaze dropped to my cut. His mouth formed a small O. “Plot twist.” The S came out as a hiss.

My face split with a grin. “I’m a member.”

“You ride a motorcycle.” He said it like I’d confessed to owning a dragon. “They go vroom, vroom.”

“Yeah, they do.” The cautious, flinching Phineas had been replaced by a buffer-free version. He was more open, expressive, and friendly.

His eyes went wide and glassy, wearing a drunk-awed expression. “That’s so cool! You’re so cool. I’m Phineas Drunk. I work with spreadsheets.” He stuck out his hand like this was our first introduction.

“Nothing wrong with that.” I slid onto the stool beside him, close enough that our knees nearly touched, and shook his hand. “The world needs smart people.”

“He thinks I’m smart,” Phineas said to his glass of water.

“Hey, Dom.” I nodded toward Phineas. “What’s his tab looking like?”

“Four beers, one water, and one dramatic spider theater.”

“Those last two on the house?”

“Obviously.” Dominic’s beard twitched. “What can I get you?”