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George put his hand on Rory’s shoulder and squeezed. “And the little lady, does she want more?”
Rory rolled his eyes. “She flipped when I tried to leave without making ‘another date’.”
“So, did you make ‘another date’?”
Rory nodded. He was about to say something about his mixed feelings regarding dating, when he became aware of someone standing in the entrance to the workshop, casting a shadow.
Tension beaded up his spine. He turned toward the shadow.
A lad was standing there under the arched entrance, a lad of no more than fifteen years old. Rory stood up and eyeballed him, assuming it was someone from Jackson’s set. “You need something?”
The lad was tall and lanky and had his fists shoved in his pockets. “Can I take a look around?”
Rory noticed his eyes were kind of spacey, like he was on something.
“Course you can,” George called out across the floor of the workshop, rising to his feet. “Just don’t touch anything. We don’t own these bikes, we’re just fixin’ them.”
The lad strolled in and peered around. He had dirty blond stripes in his hair, like a dye job had gone wrong, and his running shoes were well worn. Rory returned to the bike he was servicing, but watched the lad like a hawk.
The stranger looked everywhere, but not at Rory.
Rory couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t seem as if he’d been sent as a threat.
George followed Rory. “Don’t look so concerned,” he said in a low voice. “That was you a year ago, wandering in for a look around.”
Rory was taken aback, but when he thought about it he realized it was true.
He’d been looking at the stranger with suspicion, but it’s exactly how he’d wandered in a year before—a youth with a passion for bikes, drawn by awe to the workshop under the arches, the one filled with rows of classic bikes and an owner who looked like he’d escaped from Hell’s Angels or ZZ Top.
Jackson had done this to him, that and the existence of his USB tool kit.
His decision to go straight had set hounds on his heels and it colored his judgment of every damn thing. It had to stop. The decision to finish with the hacking was the right one, but Jackson’s pursuit of the toolkit was getting in the way. Rory had two choices, give Jackson the kit, or do as Sky suggested and destroy it in front of him. With a silent vow, he made his decision.
“I guess you’re right,” he responded to George, eventually. “It is a bit like me wandering in. What the hell did you ever see in me?”
George laughed and winked. “Beats me.”
* * * *
Sky lit up inside when she saw Rory approaching the Coffee Hut.
God, he was gorgeous. Memories of the night before made her body react, her pulse racing, anticipation and desire filling her. It felt surreal, because she needed this, the sight of him approaching, but she didn’t want to need anyone, especially a man. He’d won her over from the first moment though, with those intense green eyes, that brogue and his craggy bone structure. There was a risky side to him too, and it called to her. She didn’t have an option. She craved him.
Glancing at her watch she noticed he was a little early.
“And there was me thinking you wouldn’t turn up,” she said when he stood by at one side of the Coffee Hut. She put a cap on the coffee she’d been making and handed it over to the customer.
Rory didn’t say anything but waited there, looking at her with a frown.
She moved closer and leaned over the counter. “I’ll be done in about fifteen minutes.”
“I’m sorry. I’m going to have to cancel.”
Her heart sank. Instantly, her emotional armor locked into place. “Right. I see.”
“It’s not you—”
“It’s me,” she interrupted, annoyed. “Oh please, Rory, don’t even insult me with cliché rejections.”
