Page 5

Chapter four

Matty

I woke to the sound of Novo moving around in the living room. For a few disorienting seconds, I forgot everything that had happened yesterday—the courthouse, the wedding, the panic attack. Then reality came crashing back, and I clutched Patches tighter against my chest.

I was married. To a giant biker I barely knew.

Glancing at my phone, I saw it was 7:15 AM. I had a shift at the café starting at 8:30. Helena had college kids that did the early morning rush. I hadn't even thought about work yesterday, too consumed with the wedding. But I couldn't afford to miss a shift—not with my rent due next week.

Taking a deep breath, I slipped out of bed and padded to the bathroom. After a quick shower, I dressed in my work clothes—black pants and a dark green polo with the café logo embroidered on the chest. When I finally emerged from the bedroom, I found Novo in the kitchen frying eggs.

He turned when he heard me, his blue eyes taking in my outfit. "Morning," he said, his deep voice still rough with sleep. "Made breakfast."

"Thanks, but I have to get to work," I said, hovering in the doorway. "My shift starts at eight thirty."

Novo frowned, spatula in hand. "Work? You didn't mention that yesterday."

"At The Lazy Bean," I explained, fidgeting with my shirt hem. "I work there five days a week."

"Why?" The bluntness of his question caught me off guard.

"Because I need money?" I replied, confused. "The 'allowance' Harold gives me barely covers rent."

Something flickered across Novo's face—surprise, maybe, or disbelief. "You work at a café," he repeated slowly. "For minimum wage."

"Plus tips," I added, feeling defensive. "Look, I know it's not glamorous, but—"

"No, that's not—" Novo shook his head. "I just didn't expect... never mind. You need a ride?"

"I usually take the bus," I said, grabbing my wallet from the counter. "It's not far."

"I'll drive you," Novo said, shoving the eggs onto a plate with buttered toast and turning off the stove. "Eat that while I get dressed."

"You don't have to—"

"I'm not letting my boy take the bus when I have a perfectly good truck," he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Besides, I need to head to the clubhouse, anyway."

The word "boy" sent a strange flutter through my stomach. "Clubhouse?"

"Diamond Kings," Novo explained, gesturing to the leather cut hanging over one of the kitchen chairs. I hadn't noticed the name last night in all the chaos. "My MC. Need to check in, get some of my things."

"Oh." I shifted uncomfortably. "Will they... I mean, do they know about...?"

"About us?" Novo raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," I whispered. "I didn't know if they'd... approve."

Novo's expression softened slightly. "My uncle knows. He's the president. A few others. Don't worry about it."

I nodded, taking a bite of toast to avoid saying anything else. The eggs were perfect again—just like last night. I hadn't expected Novo to cook for me.

I ate quickly while Novo disappeared to change. When he returned, he was wearing worn jeans and a black t-shirt that stretched across his broad chest, the Diamond Kings cut over it. The transformation was striking—he looked every inch the intimidating biker now.

"Ready?" he asked, grabbing his keys.

I nodded, swallowing the last bite of toast. "Thanks for breakfast."

"Don't mention it."

The ride to The Lazy Bean was quiet. I kept stealing glances at Novo's profile as he drove, still trying to reconcile this man with the husband I'd imagined when Ricky first proposed this arrangement. When we pulled up outside the café, I hesitated.

"What time do you finish?" Novo asked.

"Three-thirty," I replied, hand on the door handle. "But really, I can take the bus home. You don't have to—"

"I'll pick you up," he said firmly. "Text me if anything changes."

I blinked. "I don't have your number."

Novo looked surprised, then pulled out his phone. We exchanged numbers quickly, and I felt a strange flutter in my chest as I saved his contact information.

"Three-thirty," he repeated.

"Okay," I agreed, then impulsively added, "Thank you."

Novo nodded, his blue eyes studying me. "Have a good day at work, Matty.

" I slid out of Novo's truck, feeling weirdly flustered by his attention.

The Lazy Bean was already busy with the morning rush, and as soon as I pushed through the door, I spotted Helena, who I hated working with behind the counter, her lips pursed in disapproval.

"You're late," she snapped, though a quick glance at the clock showed I was actually five minutes early. "Kevin had to leave early as he has an exam."

"Sorry," I mumbled automatically, knowing arguing just made her meaner, heading to the back room to stash my things.

"Who was that?" Helena followed me, arms crossed. "The guy in the truck?"

I hesitated, not sure how much to share. "A friend."

"Friend?" Her eyebrows shot up. "Since when do you have friends who look like that? Is he in a gang or something?"

"It's a motorcycle club," I corrected before I could stop myself. "And he's... he's my husband."

Helena's mouth dropped open. "Your what?"

I felt heat creep up my neck. "We got married yesterday."

"You got married?" Her voice rose sharply. "To a biker? Are you insane?"

"It's not—it's complicated," I fumbled, tying my apron with shaking fingers.

"I'll bet it is." Helena's eyes narrowed. "Well, your personal drama better not interfere with your work," she snapped. "Jenna called in sick, so you're covering the front and making drinks. And don't mess up the orders like last time."

I bit back a retort. Helena had been gunning for me since she started as the assistant manager four months ago. The owner, Marco, was a really kind man who'd given me the job when I was desperate. Helena had been trying to get her niece hired for days, and I was the obvious obstacle.

The morning dragged by in a blur of espresso shots and pastries. Helena hovered constantly, criticizing everything from how I wiped down the counter to how I greeted customers. By lunchtime, my nerves were frayed.

"You forgot the cinnamon on that latte," Helena said loudly as I handed a drink to a customer.

"I didn't order cinnamon," the woman said, looking confused.

Helena's smile was tight. "Our specialty lattes always come with cinnamon unless otherwise specified. Matty should know that by now."

I forced a smile. "I'm so sorry. Would you like me to add some?"

The customer shook her head and moved away, leaving me to face Helena's glare.

"This is exactly what I'm talking about," she hissed. "You're careless."

"The customer didn't want cinnamon," I protested, picking up my own drink.

"That's not the point." Helena leaned closer. "So tell me about this sudden marriage. Is it for a green card or something?"

My coffee cup froze halfway to my mouth. "What? No."

"Then why would someone like you marry someone like him?" She gestured vaguely in the direction Novo had driven off. "He looks dangerous."

I remembered how Novo had looked after me yesterday, held me through the panic attack. "He's not," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. "And it's none of your business."

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"I said it's none of your business," I repeated, heart hammering in my chest. I'd never stood up to Helena before.

"Watch your tone," she snapped. "I'm your boss."

"You're the assistant manager," I corrected. "And my marriage has nothing to do with my job."

Helena's face flushed an ugly red. "Maybe I should call Marco and tell him how you're speaking to me."

"Go ahead." The words came out braver than I felt. "He knows I'm a good worker."

For the next hour, Helena made sure I got the most difficult customers and complicated orders. During the lunch rush, she assigned me to handle both the register and drink-making while she disappeared into the back "to do inventory."

By two o'clock, I was frazzled and exhausted.

I didn't have time for a break, just guzzled black coffee, which we were allowed.

My hands were shaking from stress and too much caffeine on an empty stomach.

When the door chimed, I looked up automatically, hoping it wasn't another rush of customers, and my heart dropped somewhere into my boots.

Mrs. Kazinsky was a friend of Helena's and the most demanding and nit-picking customer I'd ever met.

I was sure she only visited to make my life hell.

I looked up to see Mrs. Kazinsky approaching the counter, her designer purse clutched in her manicured hand. Her face was already set in that pinched expression that meant trouble.

"Matthew," she said coldly. "I'll have a large skim latte, extra hot, with exactly one and a quarter pumps of vanilla. Not too much foam, but not too little either."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, forcing a polite smile as I rang up her order. "Anything else today?"

"A heated blueberry scone. Make sure it's warm all the way through this time." She slid her credit card across the counter with two fingers, as if touching the surface might contaminate her.

I processed her payment and turned to make her drink, feeling her eyes boring into my back as I worked. My hands were shaking so badly I had to concentrate on each movement.

"I heard you got married," Mrs. Kazinsky said, her voice dripping with disdain. "Helena tells me he's some kind of criminal."

I nearly dropped the milk pitcher. "He's not a criminal," I said quietly, focusing on steaming the milk to the exact temperature she preferred. "He's in a motorcycle club."

"Same thing, isn't it?" She sniffed. "I always knew you'd end up with someone... unsuitable. Birds of a feather, after all. Where did you meet?"

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but my personal life is just that." When I turned to hand it to her, she reached across the counter and grabbed my wrist.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you respect," she hissed.

Her sudden grip startled me, and the hot latte tipped, pouring over the counter and her purse. She shrieked, leaping back.

"You did that on purpose," she screamed. "Look what you've done. My Hermès scarf. My phone."

"I'm so sorry," I gasped, grabbing napkins and rushing around the counter. "You grabbed my wrist, I didn't—"

"He assaulted me," Mrs. Kazinsky announced to the now-silent café. "This employee deliberately threw coffee at me."

Helena materialized from the back room as if summoned by the commotion. "What happened?" she demanded, then saw Mrs. Kazinsky's stained scarf. "Oh my god, Elaine. Are you alright?"

"No, I am not alright," Mrs. Kazinsky seethed. "Your employee attacked me with scalding coffee. He could have burned me. I'm going to sue this establishment for every penny."

"It was an accident," I protested, still clutching the napkins. "She grabbed my arm while I was holding the cup—"

"How dare you blame the customer?" Helena's eyes flashed with fury. "That's it. You're fired, effective immediately. Give me your apron."

My stomach dropped to my feet. "But Helena, it was an accident—"

"Now," she snapped, hand outstretched. "And don't expect a reference."

With trembling fingers, I untied my apron and handed it over. The entire café was watching, some customers looking uncomfortable, others openly curious. Mrs. Kazinsky was still making dramatic noises about her ruined belongings.

"I'll be speaking to Marco about this," I said, my voice barely audible, even knowing I wouldn't. Marco was a sweetheart and looking after his wife Isabella full time. He didn't need my troubles.

Helena's smile was cold. "Go ahead. Who do you think he'll believe? Me or the irresponsible boy who just assaulted our best customer?"

I grabbed my bag from the back room, trying desperately to hold back tears until I was outside. The moment I pushed through the door into the afternoon sunlight, my vision blurred. I stumbled to a nearby bench and collapsed onto it, my hands shaking so badly I could barely pull out my phone.

It was only 2:15. Novo wouldn't be expecting to pick me up for another hour and fifteen minutes. I stared at his name in my contacts, finger hovering over the text button. What would I even say? 'Hi, new husband I barely know, I just got fired because I'm a complete disaster?’

Taking a deep breath, I started typing.

Hi. I'm done early. Something happened. Don't rush though.

I hit send and immediately regretted it.

God, I sounded pathetic. He was probably busy with his club stuff anyway.

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, trying to pull myself together.

I could walk home. It wasn't that far, and the fresh air might help clear my head.

I sent him another text saying I would walk and see him at home.

I stood up, shoving my phone back in my pocket, when a sound made me look up. An engine revved loudly—too loudly—and I turned to see a black sedan accelerating directly toward me, jumping the curb where I stood.

Time seemed to slow. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't even scream as the car barreled toward me. This was it. I was going to die on a sidewalk outside the coffee shop that had just fired me.