Page 10

Birdie

The low rumble of a Harley shook my front porch just as I was pouring coffee. I froze, staring through the window like a raccoon caught in the glow of porch lights.

Was he serious?

I tiptoed over and peeked through the curtain.

Yup. Serious as sin and twice as tempting.

Rocky sat there on that big ol’ black beast of a Harley, boots planted wide, thick arms crossed over his chest like he had all the time in the world. His cut flapped in the morning breeze, and his eyes, those glacier-blue eyes, were unfortunately shaded behind mirrored sunglasses. He looked like trouble wrapped in leather, and I’d never wanted to unwrap trouble more in my life.

My phone buzzed with a text from him.

Rocky: You up? I’m outside. Don’t need to dress fancy. Just grab your laptop. I’m takin’ you to work with me.

I blinked at the screen, then at him.

Work?

I stepped onto the porch in my pink robe, clutching my coffee like a lifeline. “Rocky, you are aware it’s 8 a.m., right? ”

He pulled off his sunglasses, tucking them into his collar. “Sun’s up. World’s turnin’. Surprise, Sunshine, today’s your lucky day.”

I stared at him. “You’re telling me this is... what? Take your girlfriend to work day?”

He grinned. “Exactly that.”

“Are you even allowed to do that?”

“I’m the boss when it comes to flyin’ tourists up over the Smokies. I make my own damn schedule. Now get dressed. This ain’t a PJs-on-Zoom kinda job.”

Oh. Right. Helicopter pilot. Big, rugged, tattoos-for-days pilot .

“Lemme get dressed,” I said, turning back toward the house. “And I mean, like, actually dressed.”

“Take your time,” he called after me. “Just not too much, I charge by the hour.”

Fifteen minutes later, I was back on the porch in jeans, a flowy button-up, my laptop bag over my shoulder, and my signature red sunglasses perched on my head. My nails were pink. My lips were glossed. I may have been climbing on the back of a motorcycle, but damn if I wasn’t doing it in style.

Rocky handed me a helmet.

“Does this clash with my vibe?” I teased, pulling it on.

“You’re a vibe all on your own,” he said, real low, helping me fasten the chin strap .

“Smooth,” I muttered, but my cheeks burned.

“Hold on tight,” he said, nodding toward the seat behind him.

When that engine roared and we peeled off into the winding roads that climbed through East Tennessee, I didn’t think about the woods. Or the nightmares. Or the looming weirdness that was now my life.

I just held on and breathed him in.

By the time we pulled into a small airfield in Sevierville, my legs were jelly, my hair was tangled, and I was pretty sure my heart had fallen somewhere around mile ten.

Rocky parked the bike, killed the engine, and turned to me. “Welcome to work.”

I pulled off the helmet, shaking out my hair. “You fly outta this ?”

The hangar was modest, tucked beside a long stretch of open field, with a few helicopters gleaming in the sunlight like giant dragonflies. A small office building sat off to the side, and a few tourists were already milling about with phones in hand.

“Sure do,” he said, dismounting and helping me down like a damn gentleman. “Don’t let the size fool you. We fly over Pigeon Forge, Gatlinburg, sometimes all the way into Cherokee.”

As he led me toward the building, heads turned.

Every woman in the place, and I mean every single one , looked at him like he was a damn movie star. One of the receptionists practically tripped over her own feet trying to get to the counter before we walked in.

“Rocky!” she squealed. “You’re early.”

“Got someone special with me,” he said, placing a hand on the small of my back.

I smiled politely. The girl blinked at me, clearly recalibrating her flirt settings.

“Oh! Well. That’s nice.”

Rocky didn’t elaborate. Just kept his hand on me as he walked me past the front desk and into the staff lounge.

“She’ll be hangin’ around today,” he told the others, a group of guys in flight gear who nodded and waved.

Rocky was different here. He wasn’t scowling or barking orders. He laughed with his crew, gave instructions without ego, and checked over his copter with a precision that made me stop and stare.

There was something insanely attractive about a man good at his job. Confident without being cocky. Strong without flexing. Passionate without needing to talk about it.

Surprising the hell outta me, Rocky was all of that.

Apparently, he knew how to make a woman swoon and fly a bird through mountain fog.

Hot damn .

He didn’t fly until after noon, so we shared a picnic lunch on a bench overlooking the field. Rocky had packed club sandwiches and banana pudding in a mason jar. He bought me a sweet tea from the vending machine and every kind of chip known to man.

“Not sure what kind you like,” he said, giving me an armful of silver bags.

“You made this?” I asked, digging in to the pudding first thing.

“My mama’s recipe,” he said, popping a chip into his mouth. “I ain’t terrible in the kitchen. You always eat desert first?”

I bit my lip. “Can’t always save the best for last. Never know what will happen.”

“Like what?”

“Might get too full. Those sandwiches are huge.”

Rocky was biting his lip now.

I raised my chin. “Go ahead. Say it…”

“Not the only thing that’s huge,” Rocky said, laughing.

I rolled my eyes. Men. They were all the same. But ol’ grumpy Rocky laughing for once, that was something else.

Then he settled, got all serious. “Hope you don’t save it for last.”

“Pilot. Biker. Banana pudding chef. Now, a serious flirt. What else you hidin’? ”

He looked sideways at me. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

I grinned. “I would , actually.”

“What do you want to know?” he asked, sitting down his food and wiping his gorgeous lips.

“Why do they call you Rocky?”

“Rocky Top, Rocky’s for short, and my legal name as well.”

“Rocky Top, huh? You’re Knoxville born and raised I bet.”

He leaned back on the bench. “Yep. Truth? I grew up thinkin’ I’d go pro in football. Played for Tennessee till I wrecked my knee junior year. That was that.”

“What happened?”

“Blindside hit. Tore my ACL and my hopes all in one go. Coach said I had heart. Scouts wanted numbers.”

“And after that?”

“Got wild for a while,” he said, voice soft. “Ran with the wrong crowd. Did some things I ain’t proud of. But I got outta it, thanks to Knox. Showed me how to channel all that anger.”

I studied him. “And now you fly tourists.”

He smirked.

I rested my chin on my hand. “You’re more complicated than I thought. ”

“And you ain’t the high-maintenance princess I figured.”

“Excuse you.”

“You know what I mean. All hats and heels and big-ass sunglasses. Then I catch you campin’ in the woods, fightin’ off monsters like it’s nothin’.”

I blushed. “I needed a reset.”

He nodded. “You’re good at surprises.”

“So are you.”

Our eyes locked, and the air changed. Went thick. Everything slowed down.

I leaned back just enough to look away before I did something reckless like kiss him on the damn picnic table.

Chewing the last bite of my sandwich while Rocky stretched out beside me, his arm a lazy drape over my legs. Grass, sunshine, and whatever cologne he wore filled my lungs, making me think about locked doors.

He glanced over at me, one brow raised. “Alright, Birdie Mae. Your turn.”

“My turn for what?” I asked, wiping crumbs off my lap.

He gave me that grin. The one that could melt asphalt. “Your story. You already know I was Tennessee’s golden boy till my knee blew out. Now I wrangle bikers and fly tourists over the Smokies. Your move.”

I snorted, playing with the label on my water bottle. “There ain’t much to tell. I’m not exactly a woman of mystery.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

I took a breath, staring out at the trees. “Alright… I was born in Nashville. My momma was a Sunday school teacher and my daddy sold HVAC units.”

“That all? Sounds like the PG version.”

He was right. “I grew up in a small house with thin walls and a momma who drank too much. Daddy left when I was ten. Said he was goin’ to get gas and never came back. Guess he found a better place to fill up.”

Rocky’s brows drew in just a little, but he didn’t speak.

“I used to think if I could just make people laugh, at school, I’d matter. That if I was bright enough, no one would notice the cracks.”

“You’re not cracked,” he said softly. “You’re being real.”

I smiled at that, though it didn’t quite reach my eyes. “No secrets unless you count an unhealthy obsession with Dolly Parton and an eye for color palettes.”

He laughed. “Dolly’s a power all her own.”

“Preach. Anyway, I went to college for marketing. Go Vols. Roomed with Eliza. A few years after you. So, yes, I know who you are, Rocky Carter.”

“Who I was,” he interjected with that chip on his shoulder. “After school?”

“I did the big city thing for a while. New York, Dallas. Bounced around. Tried to climb the corporate ladder. And then… I don’t know. I got tired of being somebody else’s accessory. Got tired of smiling for people who’d stab me in the back for a brand deal.”

His smile faded just a little. “That why you came back to Knoxville?”

“Partly. Eliza was going through it with Mark, and Emma was still real little. I figured she could use me close. Plus, I figured if I was gonna work for jerks, I might as well do it from a porch. I went freelance. Remote. Started taking influencer jobs too.”

I took another sip of sweet tea and stretched my legs out, the warmth of the sun making me feel just a little too honest.

“You know,” I said, picking at the edge of my sandwich wrapper. “I probably spent way too much time swiping on Tinder.”

Rocky looked over, one brow lifted like he wasn’t sure if I was joking or confessing to a crime.

“Swipin’? As in... lookin’ for a hookup or lookin’ for Prince Fucking Charming?” he asked.

“Both,” I said with a sigh.

He gave me a funny look.

“Quit looking at me like I gobbled a thousand cocks.”

His gaze dropped. “It’s not that. Just hearing about you with other guys… Just go on… ”

“Some nights I wanted a guy who’d send me good morning texts and ask about my work. Other nights I wanted someone who’d ruin my mascara and forget my middle name.”

That earned a low chuckle from him, but I wasn’t done.

“I dated a guy once who wouldn’t eat food that touched on his plate. Another who asked if I’d be okay with us not having a label cause he was emotionally minimalist. Whatever the hell that means.”

Rocky snorted, nearly choking on his tea. “Emotionally minimalist? Damn. That’s one I ain’t heard before.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” I said, rolling my eyes. “There was a vegan drummer who said he could hear people’s auras but still owed me fifty bucks from paying his parking. A married man who said I gave him spiritual clarity whatever that means in adulterer. And a personal trainer who thought foreplay was just stretching before sex.”

Rocky was full-on laughing now, deep and warm, the kind that made my heart thump faster than it should’ve.

“I finally deleted the app after I caught one trying to seduce me with a poem he copied off the internet. Word for word.” I shook my head. “I mean, I love a good poem but come on. Married, I can handle, but plagiarize, that’s where I drew the line.”

“Damn,” he said, leaning back on one elbow. “You’ve been through it.”

“Yeah,” I said, quieter now. “I think I just kept picking the kind of men who’d never stick. Maybe cause I didn’t think I was worth sticking around for.”

That made him go still.

Real still.

He looked at me like I’d just handed him my heart wrapped in butcher paper, blood and all.

“Birdie,” he said, voice low and rough. “I don’t know what kinda jackasses told you that, explicitly or not, but you’re wrong. You got a light in you. One that makes people turn their heads and take notice.”

I looked away, the compliment hitting too close.

“What about you?” I asked, trying to steer the ship away from tears.

“Oh, I’m one of those bad Tinder dates. Grumpy biker who was only out for one thing and never called again.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or run. “You ever been in love?”

Rocky hesitated. “Yeah. Once.”

I met his gaze. “What happened?”

“She wasn’t mine to keep.”

There was weight behind those words. A whole story he wasn’t ready to tell. I didn’t push.

Instead, I smiled soft and said, “Well… I ain’t an ybody’s to keep, either.”

He leaned in then, close enough I could feel his breath on my cheek. “No. But I wouldn’t mind earning the right to try.”

My heart stuttered.

Because suddenly, I wasn’t thinking about any of those fuck boys or their recycled lines.

I was thinking about Rocky. About now.