Page 7

Dani

“We had a run on the garlic olive oil. Can you grab a few more bottles from the back?” I asked Stan and brushed my hair back from my face as I rang up a customer at the register.

“You got it,” he called from across the store. “I’ll grab a couple of the Tuscan, too. I’ve been pushing the sample and sold a few bottles this morning.”

I nodded and flashed a polite smile at the older woman in front of me as I bagged her wine and cheese. “Enjoy your weekend, Mrs. Collins.”

She grinned. “Oh, I will, dear. You know how my book club gets.”

I chuckled. “Absolutely. See you next week.”

With a final wave, she walked out, and the bell above the door chimed softly in her wake. The afternoon sun streamed through the large front windows and cast golden streaks across the polished wood floors. Friday afternoons were always like this—busy, lively, and filled with the low hum of conversation as customers stocked up for the weekend.

For a second, I’d almost called Stan this morning to let him know I’d be late and headed to the Iron Fiends’ clubhouse instead, but I hadn’t. The shop needed me, and besides, I figured the tire could wait.

I moved around the store and straightened a row of wine bottles, my fingers trailing lightly over the labels, making sure they were all straight. I checked the cheese case and rearranged a few wedges to make the display more appealing. Two customers wandered through the shelves, debating on whether to go with a red or a white, and I gave them space while pretending not to listen in on their conversation. They should go with a white with the cheese they had picked, but I could always help steer them that way if they asked.

Stan emerged from the back room with the olive oil bottles in hand. “Got ‘em.”

“Thanks,” I said and took them. “Can you also grab a few bottles of the balsamic? Mrs. Collins just bought two. And we need to think about topping off the sun-dried tomato olive oil keg.”

Stan nodded and headed back to grab them. I put the bottles of olive oil on display and barely had time to get behind the register before the bell above the door chimed again.

I looked up, and my heart nearly stopped.

Yarder walked in first, tall and broad-shouldered, and his presence filled the space like he owned it. But that wasn’t what had my pulse jumping—it was who walked in behind him. Smoke.

And they weren’t alone.

A group of six women followed them inside, all of them chatting excitedly as they fanned out into the shop.

“Oh, this place is so cute,” one of them gushed and twirled in place to take it all in.

“Cheese,” another whispered excitedly.

“So much cheese,” her friend agreed with wide eyes and made a beeline for the display case.

And then there was Smoke.

He moved toward the counter with that easy, confident stride, like he belonged here just as much as I did. His dark jeans fit just right, and his white T-shirt stretched across his chest in a way that made it impossible to ignore. Over it, his black leather cut hung open. My eyes drifted to his hands that rested on the counter—RIDE FREE—inked boldly across his knuckles with the dark letters standing out against his tanned skin.

I swallowed hard and crossed my arms as I tried to calm my racing heart. I had not expected him to show up here with his friends. I figured I had a day or two before he decided to track me down.

“You didn’t show up,” Smoke said. His voice was low and rough that cut straight through the noise of the store.

I forced a casual shrug. “I had to work.”

He arched a brow and was clearly not impressed with my excuse. “Figured.” He glanced around and watched the women as they poked at cheese samples and chattered about pairing options. “Busy day?”

“Always is.” I leaned against the counter.

Smoke wasn’t one to let things slide, though. He looked back at me. “Told you I’d take care of the tire, angel.”

My stomach flipped at the way that nickname rolled off his tongue like it was second nature. I crossed my arms tighter. “I appreciate it, but I can handle it. It’s just a tire, Smoke.”

He smirked, and his dark eyes locked onto mine. “You say that like you don’t know me.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know you.”

His smirk widened. “Fair.” He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping lower. “But I don’t let things slide, especially when they shouldn’t have happened in the first place. That blowout? It was from debris from the explosion, Dani. That’s on us.”

I exhaled slowly and felt the weight of his words settle deep in my chest. “You don’t have to—”

“I do,” he interrupted, and his eyes held mine. “And I will.”

Before I could argue, one of the women—long hair, tall, and wearing ripped jeans and a tank top—bounded over and held a block of brie in one hand and a wedge of gouda in the other.

“Dani, right?” she asked with a grin.

I nodded. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“I’m Sloane,” she said and placed the cheese down. “This place is amazing. I’ve been dying to check it out ever since Yarder mentioned it.”

I smiled politely. “Thanks.”

Sloane leaned in with a grin. “I’ll take these, but I think I need to grab a basket for everything else we are going to get.”

I shot a look at Smoke, who just shook his head, clearly amused. “These are great choices,” I said as I looked at the cheese. “Grab a bottle of Chenin Blanc to go with the brie.”

“I will!” Sloane winked before wandering off again and leaving me alone with Smoke once more.

He tapped his fingers against the counter. “Your tire gonna make it home tonight?”

The man was relentless. I met his gaze and tried not to let him see how much his concern affected me. “Yeah, it’ll be fine.” I didn’t really have anyone who cared about me. I mean, I had Stan, but he probably just cared about me because I was the one who signed his paychecks.

Smoke didn’t look convinced. “Right.” He nodded toward the women now happily browsing through the store. “Looks like we’ll be here a while. You might as well let me fix it while you help the girls figure out what they want.”

I sighed and realized I wasn’t going to win this battle. “Fine,” I muttered. “But I don’t know how you are going to fix it with it sitting in the parking lot.”

He held his hand out to me. “Keys.”

I rolled my eyes but dug into my purse to fish out my keys. With a sigh, I slapped them into Smoke’s waiting hand, expecting him to just take them and go. But instead, his fingers curled around mine and held my hand in his warm, steady grip.

A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face, and it sent a shiver down my spine. “Good call, angel.”

I swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close he was and how his voice seemed to wrap around me like a warm blanket. “You aren’t really giving me much choice,” I whispered, my voice betraying more than I wanted it to.

Smoke’s dark eyes locked onto mine, and a flicker of something dangerous and thrilling danced in them. “You’ll always have a choice with me, angel,” he said as his thumb grazed the inside of my palm before he finally let go. “Just... some of the time, I’m really going to let you know which choice you should make.”

His words hit me like a slow burn, sinking in and settling deep. Smoke had this way of getting under my skin—he was intoxicating and infuriating all at once. He could take control without even trying, and damn it, I was letting him.

“And what if I still don’t want to make that choice?” I asked and tilted my chin up defiantly.

Smoke’s smirk widened. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

And just like that, he let go of my hand, pushed off the counter, and strode toward the door without another word. I watched him go with my heart pounding wildly in my chest, and I hated how easily he could mess with my head.

“Whoa!” Stan’s voice cut through my thoughts as he came out of the back room with his eyes wide at the sudden crowd in the shop. “When did we become the weekend hangout spot?”

I smirked and shook off the lingering heat from my encounter with Smoke. “Looks like we got invaded.”

Before Stan could respond, one of the women in the group—tall and curvy—walked up to him with a block of cheese. “Hey, what would I do with a dill Havarti?”

Another woman held up a bottle of garlic olive oil and chimed in. “Is olive oil good to drink every morning? I like garlic. Can I drink this?” She stared at Stan earnestly.

I sighed and moved to help him before he got overwhelmed.

Before I could help, a loud whistle rang through the shop.

Everyone turned to Yarder, even the poor customer who was by the jarred olives and crackers.

“You guys are giving me a goddamn headache,” Yarder said and pointed at the olive oil woman. “You’re not drinking olive oil, Poppy. No way in hell you’re kissing me after drinking that.”

Poppy wrinkled her nose and pouted. “But what if it’s good for my health, Yarder? We could drink it together.”

Yarder turned his exasperated gaze to me and silently begged for help.

I cleared my throat, stepping toward Poppy. “Uh, well... I’m not too sure about it being good for your health, but if it is, I don’t think this is the one you should be drinking. Unless, of course, you’re trying to keep vampires away.”

“I Googled it,” another woman interjected and held up her phone. She looked at me with a grin. “I’m Olive, by the way.”

I blinked. Olive. Of course, the woman researching olive oil was named Olive.

Sloane, who had been inspecting the cheeses, pointed at the rest of the group. “That’s Dove, Adalee, and Fallon.”

I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to remember all of those names.

“Olive oil is good for your health,” Olive continued, oblivious to my amusement. “You should have one and a half tablespoons a day. Though, you don’t have to drink it straight—cooking with it works too. It helps lower the risk of coronary heart disease.”

Poppy turned to Yarder with her eyebrows raised in victory. “Look who’s wrong.”

Yarder crossed his arms over his chest, scowling. “I can cut this little field trip short, babe.”

Poppy smirked. “You’re just mad because you were wrong.”

“What about cheese?” Adalee piped up with a mischievous grin. “Will that lower my risk of... anything?”

Fallon laughed and grabbed a wedge of sharp cheddar. “It’ll help lower your risk of being sad. I don’t think I’ve ever been sad while eating cheese.”

Dove bumped Fallon’s hip playfully. “True that, girlfriend. I know I’m gonna be a happy duck while I eat my blueberry white cheddar.” She held up her prize. “I mean, if I die, guys, just bury me in cheddar, okay?”

Laughter rippled through the group, and despite myself, I found my lips tugging up in a smile.

Stan, ever the salesman, pointed at Dove’s cheese. “I’d pair that with a Lambrusco.”

Dove tilted her head. “You say that like I know what that means.” She slipped her arm through his and grinned. “Show me the way, wine man. Point me in the direction of the Lambrusco.”

Stan laughed but obligingly led her toward the wine section.

I leaned against the counter and watched the chaos unfold. The shop was packed, louder than I was used to, but there was something... nice about it.

Yarder caught my eye from across the room, walked over, and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry about the crowd. They’ve been cooped up too long, and when I said I was coming here, they practically tackled me.”

I waved a hand. “It’s fine. I don’t mind... as long as they don’t actually start drinking olive oil.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, well, this is your warning that things are never normal when all of the girls are together.”

I glanced toward the front of the shop, where Smoke had disappeared out the door. “I’m surprised you didn’t go with Smoke to work on my tire.”

Yarder shook his head. “Someone had to stay back with the girls, and Dice was going with him.”

I looked around. “I didn’t even notice Dice with you guys.”

“He stayed outside. Said there was a lesser chance of losing his hearing from all of the squawking.”

“Dani!”

Yarder held up his finger. “That would be the squawking.”

I smiled wide. I kind of liked it. “You can hang out behind the register if you want. There is a stool back there.”

Yarder nodded. “Thanks.” He made his way behind the counter and sat on the stool. He made the space back there look much smaller than it did when Stan or I was back there.

“I don’t like olives, but I want to like them,” Fallon called. “Do you think I would like the blue cheese stuffed ones?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Only if you like blue cheese.” I myself could not handle blue cheese, but Stan could. He had been the one to taste-test those foul things.

“Never had it,” Fallon replied. She looked at the jar closely. “I mean, they look good.”

“Do feet look good to you? Because that is exactly what blue cheese tastes like,” Adalee laughed.

“Oh, come on,” Stan protested. “You got to give blue cheese a chance.”

“It’s mold,” Adalee insisted. “Not a fan.”

Stan wagged his finger at Adalee. “I would like to challenge you.” He walked over to the wines and looked for a beat. “Aha! I think this will change your mind.” He grabbed a bottle and came back over to Adalee. “A ruby port always pairs well with blue cheese. The sweetness counteracts the strong cheese.”

“Or you could just not eat the strong cheese,” Adalee laughed, winking at Stan. “But I do have an open mind. I’ll let you try to blue cheese me, wine man.”

Stan chuckled and shook his head as he moved behind the counter with Yarder. “It’s Stan, and that is all I ask.”

The girls gathered around the front counter and leaned in as Stan grabbed the bottle of Ferreira and began working on the cork with practiced ease. Fallon, standing closest, held up the jar of blue cheese-stuffed olives and wiggled it at me.

“Can I open these?” she asked, and her eyes sparkled with curiosity.

I nodded. “Have at it.”

“I promise I’ll buy them,” she added quickly, and twisted off the lid with a satisfying pop.

“Only if you like them,” I said and held up a hand. “I’m not going to force those things on anyone unless they actually enjoy them. If you hate them, Stan can take them home. I’d rather you buy something you love and come back for more than buy something you don’t and never step foot in here again.”

Fallon smiled warmly. “I like you. I can see why your shop is popular.”

I laughed and shook my head. “Popular might not be the right word. It’s probably more because I’m the only place like this within fifty miles.” I winked and started toward the back room. “I’ll grab some toothpicks.”

I walked into the back room, and the familiar scent of aged cheese filled the air. I found the sample tray we had set up for tastings—neatly arranged with toothpicks, small tasting glasses, napkins, and the mini trash bin we used for discarded picks.

I hadn’t been lying earlier. Stan and I prided ourselves on letting customers sample before buying. We wanted people to love what they were getting, not just tolerate it. Stan always said an honest experience kept people coming back, and so far, it had worked.

I balanced the tray on one hand and walked back out into the shop. The lively chatter of the girls filled the space, and as I approached, the rich aroma of the pungent blue cheese hit me immediately.

Stan had the bottle of Ferreira open and carefully poured small servings into the tasting glasses. Fallon had already fished an olive out of the jar and was eyeing it skeptically.

I set the tray down and resisted the urge to scrunch my nose at the overwhelming scent. “Alright, ladies,” I said, grabbed a toothpick, and gestured toward the tray. “Let’s see who’s brave enough.”

Fallon popped the olive into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Her eyes widened, and she made a face as she struggled to swallow. “Oh no. No, no, no. That’s... wow. That’s strong.” She grabbed a glass of wine and downed it. “Oh, that is so much better than that foul little thing. I like the wine, but the olive can kick it to the curb.”

Poppy stood next to her and cautiously took one. She sniffed it and nibbled at the edge. “Ugh!” She groaned, wrinkling her nose. “It tastes like... feet.”

Sloane, already regretting her decision, swallowed hers with a shudder. “Oh my god, why? Who thought blue cheese inside an olive was a good idea?”

Dove laughed, took a hesitant bite, and grimaced. “Nope. Absolutely not. I need to cleanse my mouth with, like, an entire baguette.”

Olive, on the other hand, chewed slowly, contemplating. “I mean... it’s not awful. It’s kind of... interesting. But I wouldn’t go out of my way to eat it.” She took a sip of her wine. “I mean, the wine made it more than good. I would eat that again only if I had Stan serving me a ruby port.”

Stan winked at Olive. “See, you’re seeing things my way.” He popped an olive in his mouth. “Delicious.”

Dove raised an eyebrow. “Olive, your name is literally Olive. Of course you think it’s interesting.”

Adalee popped one in her mouth and closed her eyes, savoring it. “This... this is fantastic.” She picked up her wine glass and took a sip, and her face lit up. “Oh wow. That’s actually amazing together.”

Dove watched her and hesitantly followed suit. She bit into the olive and washed it down with the Ferreira. Her expression changed instantly. “Oh. Okay. That... actually makes it better. I might be converted.”

I shook my head and laughed. “I’ll stick to the wine, thanks. Stan’s been trying to turn me into a blue cheese lover for a year, and I’m still holding firm.”

“Because you have no taste,” Stan teased and raised his glass in a mock salute.

Fallon pointed at me with her toothpick. “You’re right, though. If I’d bought this without tasting, I would have been pissed.” She grinned. “Now I know to avoid it like the plague.”

Before I could respond, Yarder reached over, grabbed an olive, and popped it into his mouth without hesitation.

Poppy gasped. “You’re supposed to eat it with the wine, you heathen.”

Yarder shrugged and chewed easily. “Not into wine, and I’m driving.”

Poppy rolled her eyes and reached up to gently caress his cheek. “I don’t think a little shot of wine is going to mess up your driving, babe.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips. “I’m sure you’re right, but I’m not looking to test it. Precious cargo.”

Sloane clutched her hand to her heart. “Yarder thinks we’re precious, girls. Here, I always thought I was just annoying.”

Yarder glared at Sloane. “You are annoying.”

The girls giggled, and I couldn’t help but smile. Despite their wild energy and loud opinions, they were a fun bunch.

Stan poured another round of wine and raised his glass. “To trying new things. Even if some of them taste like feet.”

Everyone laughed, clinking their glasses together before taking another sip.

“Alright, ladies, what’s next? Are we feeling brave enough for the pickled okra or honeycomb?”

Fallon groaned. “Why do I feel like you’re just trying to torture us now? I’m in for the honey, but the okra does not sound good.”

I grinned and headed to the shelf to grab the pickled okra and honeycomb. “It’s part of the experience.”