Page 21

chapter

fourteen

The truck’s engine rattled as they crested a hill, and Solace spread out below them like a postcard from a different era.

Main Street stretched through the center of town, lined with picturesque brick buildings.

The mountains framed it all, making the town look small and fragile, like they might swallow the whole place if they ever decided to close in.

Jax wasn’t sure what he was doing here, why he’d agreed to come. But as Ghost guided the truck down the winding road toward town, he found himself scanning the buildings until he spotted the bakery with the green awning, teal door, and monster with eyelashes on a sign swinging gently in the breeze.

Ghost pulled the truck up to the curb half a block from Nessie’s Place and cut the engine. Jax didn’t move immediately. He scanned the street first, checking doorways, alleyways, and rooflines. Old habits. Even in a town this small, danger could lurk in shadows.

A sheriff’s cruiser sat outside the hardware store down the street, and Jax’s muscles tensed involuntarily. But it wasn’t Goodwin behind the wheel, just some fresh-faced deputy scrolling through his phone.

“You going in?” Ghost asked, already sliding out of the driver’s seat.

Jax hesitated and looked at the bakery, taking in the weathered awning, the hanging flower baskets framing the doorway, the chalkboard sign advertising today’s special: lemon poppyseed muffins with blueberry drizzle.

Through the windows, he could see a few customers at tables, but not the lunch rush he’d expected.

“No,” he said finally.

“Bullshit,” Ghost said, point blank. “Your eyes landed on that bakery the moment we turned onto Main Street. You want to see her. That’s why you came.”

Jesus. Was he that transparent? Or was Ghost just that good at reading people?

“She doesn’t need the trouble I’ll bring her.”

Ghost regarded him with those unsettling gray eyes. “Sometimes you don’t get to decide what other people need.”

They stood on the sidewalk, the morning sun warm against their backs. Main Street was quiet. A few shoppers moving between stores, an old man sweeping the sidewalk in front of the barber shop, and a woman walking a small dog that looked like it might blow away in a strong wind.

Ghost started walking toward the hardware store without another word, leaving Jax alone with his indecision. The smart thing would be to follow Ghost, buy whatever supplies they needed, and get back to the ranch. Keep his head down. Stay invisible.

But his feet carried him toward the bakery anyway.

The bell above the door chimed as he stepped inside, and the familiar scent of cinnamon and coffee wrapped around him like a warm embrace.

The chatter of conversation mixed with the hiss of the espresso machine and the soft clinking of ceramic against metal.

Chipped mugs hung from hooks behind the counter, and that ridiculous sea monster logo beamed from the wall, its exaggerated eyelashes somehow both absurd and charming.

And there was Nessie behind the counter, a rag in her hand, wiping down the worn surface.

Her dark hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, with a few strands escaping to frame her face.

She looked up at the sound of the bell, and he watched surprise flicker across her features before settling into something more cautious.

Not quite a smile, but not unwelcoming either.

“Jax,” she said, his name a statement rather than a question. “Didn’t expect to see you in town.”

He shifted his weight, suddenly aware of the other patrons watching him with poorly disguised interest. A gray-haired woman at the corner table whispered something to her companion, both of them stealing glances his way.

“Ghost needed to run errands,” he said. “I came along.”

He tried to shut the door behind him, but it stuck halfway, refusing to close completely. He gave it another push, harder this time, and it grudgingly swung shut with a protesting squeal.

“Sorry about that,” Nessie said, moving around the counter toward him. “It’s been sticking for weeks now. I’ve been meaning to call someone.”

Jax glanced at the door, immediately spotting the problem. He looked back at her. “I can fix it. If you want.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind.” Physical problems he could solve. Mechanical issues made sense in a way people never did.

“Well... okay. Thank you. There’s a toolbox here under the sink.”

Jax retrieved the ancient red metal toolbox, its surface scratched and dented from years of use. He knelt by the door and examined the hinges. The bottom one had come loose from the frame, the screw holes stripped and useless.

He laid out the tools methodically—screwdriver, pliers, a small hammer, a handful of wood screws—each item placed within easy reach.

His hands knew what to do even as his mind drifted.

He’d worked in the prison’s woodshop before being accepted into the dog training program, and this was a language he spoke fluently—fixing, building, making broken things work again.

If only people were as straightforward as dogs or door hinges.

He was vaguely aware of Nessie moving around the bakery, chatting with her customers, refilling coffee cups, clearing empty plates.

A few customers left, the bell jangling as they pushed past him.

But Jax remained focused on his task, drilling new pilot holes, repositioning the hinge, and tightening each screw.

There was comfort in the work, in losing himself to the rhythm of it.

A shadow fell across him, and he looked up to find Nessie standing there, a steaming mug in her hand.

“Thought you might want some coffee,” she said, holding it out to him.

He hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t even thought about it, but as the rich aroma hit him, he realized he was thirsty. “Thanks.”

Their fingers brushed as he took the mug from her, and he swore he felt a sizzle along his nerve endings. Just static electricity from the dry air, he told himself as he pulled away. Had to be. People didn’t actually feel sparks when they were attracted to each other. That only happened in fiction.

And, yeah, okay, he could admit to himself he was attracted to this woman. How could he not be? She was beautiful and kind, funny and strong, and everything he’d want in a woman if he were looking. But he wasn’t looking. Would never be looking.

Men like him didn’t get to want things like that.

He took a sip of the coffee, surprised to find it doctored with cream and sugar. Somehow, she’d known he didn’t like it black, despite what he’d told her that first day.

His face must have given away his surprise, because she grinned. “Last time, you made a face when you drank it black. Not everyone needs to prove how tough they are with bitter coffee. It’s okay to like a bit of sweetness in your life.”

He wanted to argue with her, but he couldn’t find the words. She was right—he’d always hated black coffee but drank it anyway because that’s what SEALs did. What men did. What his father had done.

“It’s good,” he admitted, taking another sip.

Nessie’s smile widened, and something in his chest loosened at the sight. “I knew it.” She crouched beside him, close enough that he could smell her. Vanilla and cinnamon, and a sweetness he so desperately wanted in his life. It made his mouth water and his body stir to uncomfortable life.

She studied his handiwork. “How’s the door coming along?”

“Almost done.” He set the coffee aside and returned to the door, making a few final adjustments before testing it. It swung smoothly now, closing with a satisfying click. He gathered the tools, wiping each one clean before returning them to the box.

“Good as new,” he said, standing.

Nessie was watching him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. The bakery had emptied, leaving them alone except for an old man dozing in the corner booth, newspaper spread open before him, his coffee going cold.

“Thank you,” she said. “For fixing the door. And... for not being angry.”

He blinked, confused. “Angry about what?”

“About what I told the sheriff. About you being on that road. I didn’t mean to cause trouble for you.”

Understanding dawned. She still thought he blamed her for the sheriff’s suspicions, despite his assurances to the contrary when she stopped at the ranch last week.

He shrugged. “Wasn’t your fault.”

“Still.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture he’d noticed before. “Most men would be furious.”

“I’m not most men.”

“No,” she agreed softly. “You’re not. You scare me less than most men I’ve known.”

Jesus. What kind of life had she lived where he—ex-con, ex-SEAL, ex-fucking-everything—was less frightening than the men she’d known?

Before he could respond, the bakery door burst open with such force that it banged against the wall. No wonder the hinges were shot.

Jax tensed, ready for a threat, but it was just Oliver, backpack bouncing against his small frame as he skidded into the bakery.

“Mom! Mom! I got a gold star on my dinosaur project, and Mrs. Perkins said it was the best T-Rex she ever—” He stopped mid-sentence, eyes going wide as saucers when he spotted Jax. “JAX! You came back!”

The boy’s face lit up with such genuine delight that Jax took an involuntary step back. No one had ever looked that happy to see him. Not in years. Maybe not ever.

“Hey, kid,” he managed.

Oliver dropped his backpack and bounded across the bakery, all but vibrating with excitement.

“Did you eat your monster muffin? Did you like it? Did it make you feel better? Mom made the frosting green ‘cause she said monsters are supposed to be green, but I thought maybe you’d like purple better, but she said green was more monster-y and?—”

“Oliver, breathe,” Nessie said with a soft laugh. “Give the man a chance to answer.”

The boy planted himself directly in front of Jax, craning his neck to look up at him. “You’re really tall. Are you as tall as a giraffe?”