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“Good morning,” Jazz greeted the customers. “What can I get for you today?”
“We need to see Brooklyn.”
With a frown, I grabbed my cappuccino and went out front. Jazz was warily eyeing two men who were standing at the counter. One guy had a black eye, the other a split lip. They both were wearing leather cuts, jeans and had inked forearms.
Jazz was throwing me a look that I pretended I didn’t see.
“How can I help you?” I inquired.
The man with the black eye said, “We’re here to apologize.”
The other picked up the conversation. “Things got a little heated between us last night, and we didn’t mean for you to get caught in it.”
“Caught in what?” Jazz demanded, her brown eyes lit with interest.
The guy with a black eye looked at her and smiled. She flinched.
My tired brain finally made the leap. These were the guys who’d been fighting at the clubhouse.
“How did you know I was here?” I asked.
“Doc mentioned it. I’m South Paw,” the guy with the split lip said.
“I’m Crow,” the other said, his gaze dragging back to Jazz.
“We wanted to apologize in person,” South Paw remarked.
“Apology accepted.”
“Doc said you were okay,” Crow said.
“Yeah, I am.” I nodded. “Would you guys like something to eat?”
“Nah, we’re good,” South Paw said. “We’re gonna get out of here.”
When it was clear Crow was still busy staring at Jazz, South Paw elbowed him in the ribs, causing Crow to wince. They headed out of the shop, and the cheery bell clanged with the closing of the door.
“Uh, what the hell did you do last night?” Jazz demanded. “And why did two bikers come in here to apologize to you?”
“Did we have a morning rush?” I asked.
“Don’t try to divert my attention. You asked me to open the bakery for you this morning, and you come in all”—she waved her hand—“looking the way you do. And then two bikers who were clearly in a brawl sought you out to apologize. Were they fighting over you?”
Jazz wasn’t just an employee; she was also the only person I could really consider a friend, and I wanted to open up to her. I’d never been more grateful than at that moment for the lull in business.
“Make yourself a mocha,” I told her.
“Oh, this is going to be good,” she said in excitement, her brown eyes dancing with humor.
A young couple came in while Jazz was making her coffee. I smiled and rang up their order. When they were gone, Jazz faced me and said, “Okay, spill.”
“I went to a party at the Blue Angels’ clubhouse last night,” I finally admitted.
Her eyes widened. “Seriously?”
I nodded.
“Alone? You wentalone?”
