Page 5 of Property of Scythe (Kings of Anarchy MC: Ohio #1)

“ T here’s a haunted hotel tour?” I ask, blinking at my colleague, Mark Miller, who looks thrilled to inform me of every spooky thing associated with Raven’s Crest.

Mark’s giving me a ton of information as I hang items in the room, organize cubbies, and clean all the desks, arranging them as I like best. I’m one of those teachers who likes to see everyone’s faces looking at me during lessons.

“Well, that’s fascinating,” I tell Mark, the third-grade teacher whose classroom is beside mine.

I’m teaching second grade this year. I’ve taught Kindergarten, third, and fourth grades in the past. This is my first time with second graders. I’m really looking forward to it.

“You should think about doing the tour sometime. I’d be happy to pick up some tickets.”

Tickets. Plural. Yeah, he’s hoping I’ll go out with him. Getting into a relationship is the last thing I need. I try to let him down as politely as possible.

“You know, I just moved into town and all I’ve had time to do is unpack a few boxes.” I smile, but keep it friendly, not flirty. “I want to explore, but I’m just not ready for it. There’s so much to do to prepare for the start of school this week.”

Mark nods. He doesn’t appear offended. “I understand. If you ever change your mind, let me know.”

“I will.”

“Since our classes are next door, we’ll take the kids to lunch at the same time and line them up in the hall. You’re new to Raven’s Crest Elementary. Let me know if you need anything. I’m happy to help.”

“That’s kind of you. I appreciate it.”

“No problem. I’m going to finish up in my room.” He thumbs to the right where his classroom borders mine. “Nice meeting you, Lottie Bishop. Welcome to the staff.”

“Thank you, Mark.”

He finally leaves me to work, and I focus, finishing up faster than I anticipated.

I gather my purse and phone and close the door to my classroom, leaving quickly so I’m not detained by anyone.

It’s not that I don’t want to meet my colleagues, but I’m still tired from the trip and I’m not at my best.

When I’m seated in my car, I turn on the air conditioning and look over my paperwork.

There’s a schedule and a list of field trips.

September and October are going to be busy months.

I’ll be taking my class to the local fruit farm, corn maze, hayride, apple and pumpkin picking, a petting zoo, the public library, and a few other locations.

I glance at the clock, and see it’s early.

Despite my reluctance to spend time meeting all the staff at work or touring the school, I do feel up to exploring my new town.

It’s only three in the afternoon, and I still have one more day before school starts on Wednesday.

My classroom is ready, and I feel prepared after receiving all my paperwork.

I’ll walk the school building tomorrow and familiarize myself with the layout before classes begin.

There’s not much else for me to do, so this is my only chance to relax until the weekend.

There’s a bakery I want to check out, and I’m hungry enough to stop at Tillie’s Dine-In since the food is delicious.

I’ve eaten there every day, and it’s probably going to be my go-to food option since there’s not much else.

There’s a corner store that’s also a liquor store, a pizza and pasta restaurant that also serves wings, an ice cream parlor, and a few other restaurants that are all locally owned.

I decide to head to the town and explore the shops, going to Butter Bliss Bakery last. It’s the name that caught my eye, along with the display of yummy goodness visible from the front windows as I drove past the other day.

It’s an enjoyable afternoon, but I can’t help feeling like I’m not alone.

There’s this odd sensation that I’m being followed.

Strange.

I almost have a panic attack when I check out at multiple shops, and each of the owners tells me that my bill is already paid. I have bags of stuff, and I haven’t spent a dime. I’m grateful, but also suspicious. Why would someone do that? And why wouldn’t they want me to know who they are?

Well, not they. Him. A mystery man.

It’s almost too much. I take all my bags to my car and contemplate leaving, but I really want to check out the bakery.

Besides, I’m starving now. I never ate a snack.

When I park my car and open my door, my senses are assaulted by the delicious aroma of sugar, vanilla, cinnamon, and sweet frosting coming from the building ahead.

I can’t wait to see inside and rush toward the entrance, nearly colliding with a stranger as I see his hand reach for the door handle.

A large, tattooed hand with black ink. Four of his knuckles create a word, spelled out with four letters.

FREE. I instantly want to know what that means to him and why he’s inked it on his skin.

There’s an image above the words, too, but I can’t tell if it’s a skull or a logo of something else.

My head snaps up, and I lock eyes with the man staring me down, curiosity brimming in the caramel brown depths. As soon as I see his face, I gasp. It’s him.

My biker.

He’s real .

How is this possible!?

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle ya,” he says with grit, and a deep, rich baritone that nearly knocks me to my knees.

He sounds as wild and sexy as he appears, wearing dark jeans, a black leather vest, and a dark gray shirt that fits him like a second skin.

It’s not tight per se, but molds the contours of his body and the muscles without clinging, hugging his bulging biceps as I lick my lips.

I’m ogling him like a tasty treat I can’t wait to devour.

Shit. Did I forget to answer him?

His eyes darken slightly and seem to glitter with humor. “After you.”

As he opens the door, I step inside. “Thanks,” I manage to squeak out.

This is mortifying.

“Welcome to Butter Bliss,” a friendly voice greets us.

“Afternoon, Granny Jo. Been thinkin’ about your cinnamon rolls all day,” the biker announces.

“Then get over here so I can box some up for ya.”

I walk toward the glass display case, taking in all the rows of treats and baked goods.

Brownies, donuts, muffins, cupcakes, decorated cookies, and pastries all fill the interior.

I smile when I see a section of finger sandwiches and petit fours.

My mom and sister would love this bakery.

I’ll have to bring them for tea when they visit.

Someone clears their throat, and I glance at the biker, then the sweet smile of the older woman with white hair behind the counter. They must have asked me a question.

“Sorry. I missed whatever you said. I’m trying to decide which of these scrumptious desserts to snatch up,” I admitted with honesty.

“Take your time. I’m Josephine Bliss, founder and owner of the Butter Bliss Bakery, but everyone just calls me Granny Jo.

” She pauses to give me a once-over, assessing me in a way that’s invasive but not unfriendly, like she’s trying to figure out who I am and where I came from. “You’re new in town.”

“Yes,” I confirm.

“Well, dear, the first order is my treat. Pick out whatever you want to try most.”

“That’s so kind of you. I know I want the finger sandwiches, but I’ll pay for the desserts.”

“Deal,” she confirms with a polite nod.

While Granny Jo boxes up a variety of finger sandwiches for me, she chats with the biker. He leans against the counter, facing me as he discusses the weather, his growling stomach, and Granny Jo’s granddaughter who lives in L.A. That piques my interest. My sister might know her.

“I’m so proud of her, Scythe. She won!”

Scythe? That’s his name?

“Tell Cami I said congrats.”

“I will. She’s worked hard on that baking show. I’m so happy she finished in first place.”

Wow. A baking show contest.

Scythe accepts the box of cinnamon rolls and a coffee, taking his time as I finally decide on what I want to purchase.

I give my order to Granny Jo, and she drops extra cookies along with a cinnamon roll into my container.

She’s got the cutest logo, and all her orders are packed with care, the baked goods resting on a pretty parchment liner stamped with the design.

Each item has its own delicate paper cup to keep it separated from the other sweets.

When I pay for my order, she pats my hand. “You’ll be back. I think it’ll be the finger sandwiches and the cookies.”

“For the reason I can’t resist?” I ask with a laugh.

Her warm smile makes me feel at home. “Of course.”

I hold out my hand. “Then we should be formally introduced if I’m going to come in here often. I’m Lottie Bishop.”

“Bishop.” She blinks. Her smile falters but is quick to return. “Lovely to meet you, Lottie.”

“The pleasure is all mine. I can’t wait to try these.”

“You need some tea to go with that order.” She hustles to the counter behind her and pours a steaming cup before snapping on the lid. “Trust me. You don’t need any sweetener or cream. That tea is a family recipe.”

“How much?”

She shakes her head. “No charge. Have a lovely afternoon.” Her gaze cuts to Scythe, and she nods.

Scythe winks. “See ya soon, Granny Jo.”

Scythe follows me out the door, and it clicks shut behind us. The sun beats down with relentless heat as I walk toward my car. Juggling the box and my tea, I manage to slip my sunglasses on. It’s far too bright today.

I don’t expect the biker to show any additional interest. When he speaks, it’s far closer than I anticipate. He’s right behind me.

“There’s a spot in the shade if you’re eager to try anything you bought,” Scythe suggests.

I pause. “There is? ”

“Yeah.” He ticks his chin toward a stunning and massive weeping willow tree across the parking lot.

“Oh, wow. That’s beautiful.” I missed it when I parked.

“It provides plenty of shade. Come on.”

I join him under the tree, leaning back against the trunk that has to be at least five feet across. Under the canopy, it’s a bit cooler and there’s a light breeze. It’s tolerable compared to the blazing heat of midday.

I open my box from Granny Jo and stare at the contents. It’s tough to decide which item to choose first.

“You know, I always pick dessert first. It’s a bad habit,” he laughs. Scythe plucks a cinnamon roll from his box and takes a huge bite, groaning with pleasure.

I don’t hesitate to pick up one of the pastries. It’s filled with cream cheese and strawberries and tastes divine. I lick my fingers clean as I finish it and take a sip of tea, marveling at how perfectly it’s prepared. Granny Jo was right. It doesn’t need a thing.

“This is the best tea and pastry I’ve ever had. Mom and Mel will love it when they visit.”

“Your sister?” he guesses.

“Yes. She lives in L.A.”

I don’t know why I’m sharing personal information with a stranger. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t feel like one. Not since he’s been front and center in my dreams for months.

Scythe nods. “You relocated from California?”

“I did. New job opportunity.” I gesture to his leather vest as I nibble on a cookie. “Is that a hobby or a lifestyle?”

He smirks. “Both.”

“I’m not surprised.”

This is surreal. I’m having dessert with my fictional biker underneath a willow tree. The same biker I swore to my sister wasn’t real. Oh, but he is.

“I guess the clothes give that away,” he chuckles.

“It’s the tattoos and leather,” I contradict.

“Fair enough. That’s my Harley over there.” He ticks his chin toward a motorcycle parked in front of another store in the strip mall. It’s a few shops down, which explains why I never noticed it.

“Were you craving sweets today?”

“Something like that.” A mischievous grin twitches the corners of his full lips. “I hope Raven’s Crest meets your expectations and exceeds them. It’s a great town.” He brushes the crumbs from his hands on his jeans and rises to his feet.

“I think it will.”

“I’m sure we’ll see one another around.”

He’s leaving so soon?

“What about your cinnamon rolls?” The box is closed and remains on the ground, only a foot away from where I sit.

He knocks back the rest of his coffee and tosses it in a nearby bin. “Keep them. My treat.”

“Thanks.”

“Enjoy your evening, Lottie Bishop.”

“You too.” Scythe. I add his name silently, but it’s there, fighting to spill from my lips with a familiarity that has to be rooted in my dreams.

Scythe never looks back to see if I watch him leave, but I do.