Page 2

Jazz wanted to hug the woman but knew better.

She lifted the heavy baking sheets and slid them into the oven.

Madge would stay there until the morning rush died down, then walk two streets over to the row house she and Bill owned.

She’d cook the local favorite of dippy eggs and scrapple for Bill, then help him get dressed and wheel him over to sit in the bakery for the afternoon.

The man’s lungs were shot from breathing toxic air while working in the steel mill for over forty years, and now the coffee shop was the only income they had outside the pitiful settlement pension and meager social security.

At one time, they had a nice-sized savings account, but that was stolen from them.

It was one of the major reasons Jazz had joined up with the online group of scammer hunters and shielders.

Madge shuffled her bulk to the front counter. “Just about time.”

She slid open the top and bottom door locks just as the first wave of factory people started in. “Morning, boys. Come on in.”

For the next hour, Jazz made coffee to keep the self-service carafe full and worked the espresso machine for fancier drinks.

Madge served pastries, rang up purchases at the register, and chatted with the men.

Some were on their way home, and some were headed to the mill for the day shift.

The coffee shop had become a neighborhood staple, and a big part of their business happened during these morning hours.

Jazz glanced up at the clock. Almost seven. Her heart fluttered a bit. It was about time for?—

The bell rang over the door, and her breath caught as a thrill buzzed through her stomach.

Wolf stood in the doorway, all six feet of him.

It was all Jazz could do not to sigh at the hunk of sexy gorgeousness she looked forward to seeing every day.

So many men sported long bushy beards now, but he kept his trimmed short and close.

The style accentuated his high cheekbones and square jaw.

His dark brown waves were tied back at the nape of his neck and perfectly showed off the narrow gray streak that flowed from the top left side of his forehead.

Jazz wanted to ask him about it, but the words never formed when his green eyes landed on her.

Green was the closest color description she had.

Sometimes they looked blue, sometimes gold, but always with a greenish hue.

She could stare at his eyes for hours.

Wolf came in every morning, and from what she’d figured out, he usually came directly from his job.

He didn’t work at the steel mill, but his cut showed his membership in a local motorcycle club, the Iron City Knights.

They had some sort of machine shop down the street right next to the strip club they owned.

Jazz had never been inside either place.

Reason one? The only bike she owned operated by two pedals and a chain.

Reason two? She was not a stripper, and her body didn’t have the assets to be one.

The neighborhood was rough by some standards, but the coffee shop, the Comers’ house, and surrounding businesses had the protection of the biker gang.

Correction: biker club .

Jazz set up the espresso machine for double shots as she heard the velvety tones of Wolf’s voice. “Morning, Madge. Bill up yet?”

“Nah. Too early. I gotta go get him in about an hour. It’s too slippy for him right now.”

The hiss of the steamer drowned out anything else Madge and Wolf said.

Jazz took a breath as she made the latte in a paper go-cup.

Wolf never stayed unless Bill was there.

Then the two men would sit at one of the square tables, sometimes getting into a chess game and conversing.

On Bill’s bad days, Wolf would simply sit in silent company with the old man.

He never paid any attention to Jazz other than a random “Thanks” when she handed him his morning cup of joe. In fact, he seldom noticed her at all. She bit her lip as she wiped off the stainless-steel nozzle. I bet he doesn’t even know my name.

She finished the latte and popped a lid on top before handing it to him. His fingers brushed hers as he accepted it, and the contact sent another jolting zap through her body, already mega-aware of his presence.

Gah, Jazz, quit doing the schoolgirl thing. You’re a friggin’ grown-ass woman. Act like it!

She managed to smile at his disembodied “Thanks” and moved back to the machine to start the next order.

“Hey.”

It was a single word, but it came out as an attention-grabbing command.

Her heart flipped over and started doing burpees in her chest. She swallowed the sudden rush of saliva in her mouth and turned with a bright smile.

Don’t show him you’re nervous, don’t show him you’re nervous, don’t show him you’re… “Yes?”

“Wrap up a couple Danishes for me, yeah? Raspberry.”

Her brain short-circuited. Sure thing. No problem. “No thing.” Holy frig! “I mean, sure problem.”

She felt her face flame as she bent low behind the counter to hide while she wrapped two of the biggest pastries in waxed paper.

“Bill’s callin’ me to get ’im now.” Madge slid her cell phone closed. “Can’t stand not to be in the middle of things. Mind helpin’ me?”

Wolf grabbed the paper bag Jazz set on the glass display case without looking in her direction. “I’ll walk over with you.”

Jazz breathed easier after they left. She made herself a latte in one of the big white china mugs and swirled an elaborate leaf pattern in the top. Wolf’s effect on her dissipated, and her self-castigation started.

Why do you have to be such a dummy dork around him? Stop this moony crap and be an adult.

Ugh. Perhaps someday she’d get over her crush on the man and move on.