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Either way, it felt like the first real breath she’d taken in days.

Chapter 4

Brooks caught himself checking his phone. Seventh time in the last hour.

He wasn’t that type of nigga. Never had been. Since when did he check for a woman like this? Being tender for a woman wasn’t him.

It had been a week since he’d heard from her, and he still couldn’t shake the image of Taylor curled up, sleeping like an angel peaceful as hell in his guest room. He couldn’t forget the way her perfume clung to the hallway long after she’d gone. Floral.Sweet. Familiar now.

She was a runner. He could tell.

He’d messed up taking her to that damn diner. Sitting across from her, listening to that melodic-ass voice, watching her close her eyes over the best pancake in town like it was damn near holy was torture.

Now his mind was stuck on loop. Replaying every small thing he swore he hadn’t noticed, her laugh, the way she rolled her eyes, how she looked at him. Genuinely interested in the things that made him, him.

“Shit,” he murmured.

At thirty-seven, he trusted his gut. He never bet against the house. That same instinct had built Bishop Towing from one truck to a fleet of over fifteen. Took the bones of his father’s old trafficking hustle and turned it into legitimate enterprise. When it came tobusiness, his gut never failed him. But his thoughts about Taylor weren’t business. At least not the business he could solve without batting an eye.

He didn’t just run Bishop Towing anymore. There was the body shop, the club, the vending routes, and now ice machines scattered across two counties. But she was the furthest thing from any of those.

He’d let a woman, a beautiful, slim thick, fine woman, sleep in his home, touch his space, shift the whole damn energy. And now the house felt… off. As if it knew she was missing.

Right now, his gut wasn’t to be trusted. And he couldn’t shake it. Why hadn’t she called?

“You in that woman’s business a little heavy, boss,” Marco said from the doorway, one eyebrow raised.

He shot Marco a look that could cut glass. “Ain’t nobody’s business but mine, though.”

“Nah you checking your phone like a teenage girl waiting on a callback is definitely my business.”

Brooks grunted and looked away.

“Wasn’t it you and Melanie, telling me I needed to get out and meet somebody. Now I’m trying and y’all tripping. Make up y’all mind.”

Marco was more than someone who worked for him. He was family. A friend of his late father who trusted him to handle the business. Brooks was grateful he’d stay by his side. As the general manager of the towing operation Marco was his right hand.

“Yeah, that was me. My fault. Anyway, I found it,” Marco said, throwing his hands in the air as a surrender. “Her car is at Mack’s Auto. They’re claiming two weeks minimum to fix that bitch. That’s crazy, fam. I told hisscamming ass that too.”

Brooks leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. He should’ve known. The whole situation irritated him more than it should’ve, but there was no denying it: he cared.

“Yeah, that’s insane and it sounds like some bullshit. I don’t know why she just didn’t bring it to me,” Brooks replied, he also owned a repair shop. He would have fixed it for her.

He turned to look out the window at the yard below. He’d built something to be proud of but lately, it all felt hollow. He was slowly realizing success wasn’t just about what you owned but who you came home to.

“You want me to handle it, bro?” Marco asked when Brooks stayed quiet.

“Nah.” Brooks stood, grabbing his keys. “I got it. ‘Preciate the help. And keep this between me and you.”

Brooks was still trying to protect her privacy. No one wanted to broadcast their failures or low moments.

Marco watched him for a second, then said low, “You know it’s more than business, right?”

Brooks paused.

Marco tilted his head.

“You moving like you already made your mind up.”