Page 1 of Stitch & Steel

One

BELLA

If Gran’s porch had a heartbeat, it would be the slow creak of the rocking chair and the sharp snap of a flyswatter.

But right now, all I could hear was gravel crunching beneath my tires as I pulled off the winding Appalachian road and up to the old cabin I hadn’t seen since I was twelve.

A place that smelled like pine needles and brewed sweet tea, with hummingbirds flitting like gossiping old women near the porch feeder.

I parked my dusty sedan beside a hulking black motorcycle that looked more like a war machine than a mode of transportation.

The thing glinted in the sunlight like it had never known a day of rust. It looked out of place next to Gran’s rusted mailbox and the hanging flower pots she still somehow kept alive.

I blinked.

So the club really did check in on her.

She’d always said they would.

I slid out of the car, stretched the road trip out of my spine, and brushed my hair off my sticky forehead. The summer air here was heavier than I remembered. My sandals sank a little into the dirt, and I walked up the steps, trying not to trip on the broken one I knew she'd never bother to fix.

Before I could knock, the screen door flew open.

“Bells!” Gran’s arms were open before her mouth even closed, and I fell into the hug like it was my first breath in weeks.

“I missed you, old woman,” I whispered into her silver hair.

She pulled back, eyeing me with narrowed suspicion. “You look skinny. They feed you up in that city?”

I laughed. “Too much grading and not enough time to eat.”

“Well,” she said, patting my cheek. “You’ll eat here. I made biscuits. Real ones. None of that tube crap.”

She tugged me inside with surprising strength, but my eyes kept flicking back to the motorcycle. “Someone here already?”

“Oh, that’s just Logan,” she said casually, like he was a stray dog she let in for scraps. “Been helpin’ with the gutters, the woodpile, little things.”

I froze halfway into the living room. “Logan?”

She gave me a look. “Goes by Diesel with the club. Big fella. Road Captain or whatever they call him now. Sergeant? I can’t keep it straight. Anyway, he’s a good one.”

Of course she’d remember every detail except the title.

“And he’s helping you... why?”

Gran plopped down in her rocker with a satisfied sigh. “Because I once sewed a man’s shoulder shut with fishing line and kept my damn mouth shut. Loyalty runs deep with these boys.”

I couldn’t argue with that.

She’d told me the story before—how one night, years ago, a man had stumbled onto her porch bleeding and half-dead, and instead of calling the law, she’d boiled water, stitched him up, and let him hide in the crawlspace until his club brothers came for him.

All she asked for in return was peace and quiet.

Apparently, that extended to porch repairs now.

I was about to ask more when the back door opened—and a shadow filled the hallway.

The man that walked in was not what I expected.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Black tee stretched across his chest, jeans worn just right. Tattoos curled around his forearms like stories waiting to be told. He had a military stillness to him—calculated, coiled—but his eyes were what stopped me.

They were this deep, stormy gray, like wet slate, and they locked onto mine like I was a threat.

Or a puzzle.

Or maybe both.

“Logan,” Gran called without looking up, “Bella’s here.”

“I see that,” he said, voice low and gravelly, like an idling engine.

I crossed my arms. “You must be Diesel.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t smirk. “That’s what they call me.”

“You have a name, you know. A real one.”

His eyes didn’t leave mine. “So do you, Miss Bella Grace.”

The way he said my name made my stomach tighten. Not in fear. Something worse. Anticipation.

Gran clapped her hands once, breaking the tension. “Now that introductions are done, Diesel—go haul that box from the car. The heavy one. I told you she’d bring her whole damn classroom.”

Without a word, he brushed past me on the way to my car. He didn’t touch me, but the heat of him raised goosebumps on my arms anyway.

I watched him go.

I was supposed to be here for peace, quiet, and rest. A summer to regroup. Recharge. Reset.

So why did it feel like I’d just stepped into something wild and burning and dangerous?

He carried the box like it weighed nothing. Muscles flexed in his forearms as he set it down beside the stairs. I tried not to stare.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

“You a schoolteacher?” he asked, casually wiping his hands on a rag from his back pocket.

“History.”

“That right?” He nodded once. “Maybe you can teach me something.”

“I doubt you’re the classroom type.”

He didn’t flinch. “I don’t sit still well, but I learn fast.”

God help me, I didn’t know what to say to that. So I stepped inside, pretending I wasn’t rattled.

Gran was humming as she stirred something in a pot. The smell of stewed tomatoes and basil hit me like a hug.

“Want him to stay for dinner?” she asked innocently.

“Nope,” I said too quickly.

“I got other stops anyway,” Logan said, nodding at me once before disappearing out the door like smoke.

Dinner was stewed okra, biscuits with honey butter, and iced tea so sweet it could stop your heart. We sat by the open window, cicadas chirping like a metronome.

Gran buttered her biscuit with careful fingers, slower than I remembered.

“You doing okay?” I asked quietly.

She didn’t meet my eyes. “Most days are alright. Today’s a good one. But there are moments, Bells. Little ones. Where I can’t remember what I walked into a room for, or why I’m standing with the kettle in my hand.”

My heart squeezed. “You didn’t tell me it was this far along.”

“I didn’t want you worryin’. You’re still young, still out there living.”

I reached for her hand. “I came to be here. Whatever you need.”

She patted my fingers. “You’ve always been good, even when you were little and caught that snake with a Tupperware bowl and tried to make it a pet.”

I laughed. “I forgot about that.”

“I didn’t,” she said with a smile. “I still got the bowl.”

After dinner, we played gin rummy on the living room rug just like old times. She beat me twice before I realized she was cheating, just like she used to.

“You always stack the deck,” I accused.

“Only when the company’s worth it,” she winked.

As the sun dipped below the hills, we moved to the window seat and watched fireflies light up the grass like tiny lanterns. Gran sipped tea while I leaned my head on her shoulder.

“Time flies,” she whispered.

“Too fast.”

“Why aren’t you married yet, Bella Grace?”

I groaned. “Gran.”

“I’m serious. Pretty girl like you. Smart. Sweet. You ought to have a man by now.”

“Men in the city are... different,” I muttered.

“How so?”

“They’re rich and fast. They use apps to find girls like they're shopping. They lie. Cheat. Sometimes date five women at once. It’s exhausting.”

Gran clicked her tongue. “You want my advice?”

“Always.”

“You need someone slow. Solid. Who sees you. Not what you can be for them.”

I looked out at the dark road where the sound of a distant motorcycle echoed faintly in the hills.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Maybe I do.”