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As much as I ached to know about his pain, there was no way for me to ask him without offering the same in return. It was unethical to demand to know about his past when I was keeping so much from him.
So I was living in a biker clubhouse and deeply, deeply in denial.
I was also making coffee at the cafe’ six days a week. And helping out in the kitchen. But as much as Julian seemed to be impressed by my cooking, he was very serious about who he let use the espresso machine. Him and me. That was it. No one else was ‘approved.’
Making coffee was meditative for me, but my heart was in the kitchen. And although Swiss constantly told me I didn’t have to cook for the club—which all of the members within hearing distance argued with, good naturedly, of course—I liked doing it. They appreciated everything I cooked for them. I was currently working through The Joy of Cooking. Kind of as an ode to Julia, and to my daughter who was currently sampling wonderful French food. And a French man I didn’t entirely approve of. But she was happy. She sounded it when she called. She spoke fast, telling me everything she was doing, asking every now and again about my ‘aunt.’ Luckily, I managed to change the subject quickly.
When I was making coffee, I let myself dream. About cooking. About opening a quaint little restaurant here in Garnett. Finding a house in the desert, making it my own. Making it ours. Mine and Swiss’s.
Although I knew that would only ever be just a dream.
I liked working.
Loved it, in fact.
I adored the bustle of the morning coffee rush. The quiet, first thing in the morning. The smell of freshly ground coffee. The weight of a tray of food as I took it from the kitchen to a table.
Loved speaking to people, smiling, laughing. I adored feeling tired at the end of the day, the ache of my feet. The sense of purpose.
I got lost in the rhythm of it all, my mind not straying to places I was avoiding—like the knowledge that Violet was due back in the country in a few months, and my three-month deadline was looming. That I’d have to leave this place. The mere thought of it had my stomach lurching, despite how much I missed my daughter and needed to see her. The logistics of seeing her and avoiding Preston were keeping me up at night, no matter how tired I was, no matter how tight Swiss’s arms were around me.
The lies I was telling weighed heavily too. I was falling deeper for this man every day, forming relationships with everyone in the club. And I was deceiving them. The walls were closing in on me, and I had no clue what to do. I had no one to ask for advice, despite how close I had been to telling Swiss everything multiple times.
And Macy and Freya, who seemed kind, capable and without any kind of judgment.
But I’d held back. Because I didn’t want them to think differently of me. Less of me. Didn’t want them to think I was some weak, spineless housewife who had no idea how the real world worked. Who had no idea how to file a fucking tax return or do anything a grown adult should know how to do because her husband had made sure of that. I felt more seen and known than I ever had in my life in so many ways here, yet I also felt more of an imposter than ever before. Sure, I’d been playing a part of the ‘perfect’ wife and mother all of my adult life. But that role had been crafted out of necessity. For my survival. And I’d never been around people that cared about me like this. I’d never wanted to tell the truth as much as I did now. The fear stopped me, though.
Because the afternoon rush had slowed, I had an opportunity to ruminate on this, a pit forming in my stomach with the knowledge that there was no way that this could end well.
That was until the bell over the door tolled, and motorcycle boots thumped on the wooden floor.
My heart skipped as my eyes locked with Swiss’s. All my troubles shrank, and my body sang with his presence.
His eyes slid up and down my body slowly. My knees shook under the weight of his stare.
The café was housed in one of the older buildings in town, and it had AC that was fine if you were sitting down enjoying a coffee and something to eat, but not so much if you were running around and in and out of a hot kitchen. Beyond that, it was New Mexico in the middle of summer. The heat was dry, unyielding, and seemed to seep through every crack of the building.
Not that I minded it. I adored the summer. I hated winter. Trudging through the snow, my fingers numb if I forgot gloves, the sensation of never being able to get warm.
I was in my element here. Especially since there was absolutely no dress code at the café and not an eyebrow was raised at the frayed denim skirt I was wearing paired with cowboy boots and a slouchy black top that exposed my left shoulder.
I didn’t consider the outfit ‘sexy’ in any kind of way, but that all changed with Swiss’s eyes on me.
The New Mexico summer had nothing on the heat he emitted.
My breath went shallow, and I opened my mouth to greet him, or to declare my undying fealty to him, but he spoke first.
“Kate’s on break,” Swiss barked at Julian.
I scowled at him, a simple expression that I was only just learning I was safe to have. Along with the pissed tone I spoke in next. “You are not the boss here,” I hissed. “And you do not have the authority to tell the owner of this café when I can go on break.”
While I was saying this, Swiss was untying my apron, and I was too dumbfounded to physically fight him.
I stood in horror as he tossed the apron on the counter.
“Swiss!” I scolded. “I’ve got work to do.”
A chuckle sounded from behind us. “Sweetheart, don’t think he’s gonna take no for an answer, and I for one am not brave enough to fight him with that look in his eyes,” Julian interjected. “Plus, you’re due for a break.”
