Page 67 of Dirty Mechanic

“Derek…”

I park, kill the engine, then step out and circle around, tugging her door open.

“C’mon,” I say, holding out a hand. “I want you to see it properly.”

She’s blinking fast, eyes glistening and hands fluttering like she’s not sure where to put them. Her eyes sweep the painted trim, the fresh flowers in the planter boxes, the sign overhead.

“What is this?”

I grin and offer my hand. “Wedding gift.”

She stares at me like I’ve handed her the moon.

“You didn’t.”

“Oh, I did.”

She follows me to the front, and I swear, her whole body vibrates with disbelief. The key in my pocket feels heavier than usual. Maybe, because it holds more than access. It holds her future.

I unlock the door and push it open. Inside, the space smells like fresh paint and second chances. Shelves line the back wall. Fridges hum softly in the corner. Everything’s ready.

It’s waiting for her.

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” I say, leaning against the fridge inside.

Her eyes are huge. “Bad first.”

“You’re gonna have to bake a hell of a lot more pies after this weekend.”

She blinks.

“Good news?”

I smile. “You own a bakery now.”

Her hands fly to her mouth. “Derek.”

“I closed the deal yesterday. Everything’s stocked. Signed over. Your name’s going on that window next week.”

She walks in a daze, fingertips skimming the countertop. “You did this for me?”

I step in behind her, voice low. “I did this for us.”

This isn’t just a gift. It’s a vow. Wrapped in paperwork and pink paint.

“This is my dream,” she breathes and turns around.

“And now it’s your address.”

She throws herself into my arms. I catch her easily, lifting her off her feet, her laugh vibrating between disbelief and joy. She buries her face in my shoulder. I press a kiss into her hair and breathe her in—cinnamon, sugar, and fierce resolve.

Then she pulls back just enough to look me in the eye. “What about the orchard? How are you pulling this off?”

“I’m winning the race,” I say simply. “And now that we’re married, the trust opens. Between that and the purse money, we’re covered.”

She stiffens in my arms just as the front door creaks open.

“Well damn.” Blake’s voice is all slow grin and lazy timing. “If this ain’t the prettiest opening act of the day.”