Page 41

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

COLLINS

U pdate: I hate chopped cheese sandwiches.

I never want to look at them again. Never want to make, serve, smell, or taste another one for as long as I live.

“Collins, why don’t you take an early lunch?” A red-faced Ed checks his watch as I balance a tray of empty dishes over to the kitchen. “Brunch was way busier than I’d anticipated, and you’ve barely had time to catch your breath.”

I set the tray down by the sink and walk back over to the counter. Rise Up was packed a half hour ago, but is now almost empty with no one waiting to be served.

“No busier than my usual shift,” I reply, picking up my strawberry shake and taking a sip.

Everything hurts—and not because Sawyer was inside me all night, testing every position possible. The past week has been a baptism of fire. I thought I’d worked hard at Smooth Running. It was nothing compared to the workload Ed gets through in the café.

Despite my aching muscles, I enjoy it. It’s not working with Harleys, but it is nice to have a boss who treats me right. Customers are generally kind, and in the past few days, I’ve developed an appreciation for British baked goods—something Jack likes to torment my American ass with each time he pops in. Which is basically daily.

How he gets his scone habit past his nutritionist, I have zero idea. I have threatened to rat him out though if he starts telling everyone I prefer a cherry scone to a brownie.

“Nah, you’re good,” Ed says as I begin unlooping my apron. “Take the full hour, but don’t worry if you’re a little late back. I don’t expect it to be a heavy afternoon since it’s not payday.”

Ed finishes his sentence just as the bell above the door chimes, and I spin around to serve one last customer for him.

“Hey. How can I …” I trail off when I find Sawyer standing in front of me, a bunch of pink roses wrapped in black paper in one hand.

Ugh, he looks better than the cakes in this place. Black jeans and a matching winter coat, his dark gray beanie pulled low. He hasn’t shaved since I saw him this morning either, the scruff along his jawline making him handsomer than usual.

He keeps his sparkling eyes on me when he speaks to Ed. “If it’s okay with you, sir, I’d like to borrow my girlfriend for a while. Though it might be for longer than an hour.”

From my peripheral vision—since my attention is locked on Sawyer—I see Ed wave a hand in front of him.

“Ah, what the hell? Take the rest of the day. I’ll pay you in full since you’re my hardest worker.”

“Thank you. Much appreciated,” Sawyer replies as I side hug Ed on the way over to my boyfriend.

“I know I said it already this morning”—Sawyer’s eyes flick over to Ed as he heads into the kitchen—“but happy birthday, Baby Girl.”

He sets a kiss on my lips and hands me the roses. “Can you take a drive with me somewhere?”

I inhale the floral scent and smile when I see the black gems set in the center of each rose. “I have the rest of the day, so if you want to make another stop at Lustful Luxuries, I won’t complain.”

Sawyer chuckles and takes my hand, leading me out into the freezing January air after I grab my coat and scarf from the stand by the door.

“Don’t be disappointed,” he says, opening the passenger door on his Lamborghini. “But we aren’t heading back there today.” He shuts the door when I get in and rounds the hood quickly.

I’ll never look at this car in the same way. Memories of that night in the parking lot live rent-free in my brain.

Sawyer pulls his driver’s door open and climbs inside, immediately starting the engine. “Where we are heading is way more exciting.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Be specific, Bryce.”

He shakes his head, delighted his secret has me bothered. “Nope. It’s only a ten-minute drive.” I clip in my belt, and he does the same. “And only a couple of blocks from your place, soooo … once we’re done, I can take you back home and spend an hour or two making you scream before Ezra finishes school.”

As he pulls away from the sidewalk and drives toward my part of town, my thoughts drift from wherever he’s taking me to the accident. Jesus, he was so lucky that day. Lucky the lady backing out of that space hit the brakes when she did. Sure, she still clipped Carter’s bike, but any faster, and they would’ve been thrown rather than knocked off.

On the doctor’s advice, Ezra took the week off school and has been driving Dom and Alyssa crazy with his new model-making addiction. I internally chuckle at the message I got from Alyssa last night, telling me she’s calling the shots on her grandson’s next gift since each time we do, he develops an addiction. Although this time, I’m sure she’s relieved it doesn’t result in Ezra being glued to the TV every chance he gets.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Sawyer reaches across the center section, taking my hand in his.

I smile and shrug—old habits die hard. “I think it would be a good idea if I started taking Ezra out for rides with me a little more often.”

Sawyer throws me an inquisitive side-eye, waiting for me to continue.

“Some of the best and most experienced riders start out their journeys as pillion passengers. They spend a lot of time studying the road and observing how best to deal with situations. My dad used to take me out on his bike a lot, and that’s how I learned best practices. Plus, if he’s out with me, he’ll be less tempted to seek rides with other people.”

Sawyer squeezes my hand. “You never mentioned your dad was a rider.”

Rolling my lips together, I allow some of the memories to come back. Rides with my dad were some of the best. I was a similar age to Ezra too.

“He did, but I never appreciated them enough. Sometimes, you don’t know what you have until it’s gone. We have to make the most of the time we have with those we love while they’re still here with us.”

He smiles knowingly and takes a left, then an immediate right before we’re back in my part of town. But when he takes another left at the end of Fuller Street, my curiosity is piqued. There isn’t much down here other than a few previously abandoned buildings that were being restored back to …

“Wait,” I say, spinning to face him fully as Sawyer pulls up outside a large brick building with a red roller door—a bigger and flashier version of my own garage.

My boyfriend’s face is all smug and sunshine. “Yes, Baby Girl?”

He reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out a black fob. When he hits the left button once, the door begins to retract.

“Oh, holy hellllll,” I drawl, a trembling hand flying to my mouth as I reach for the door handle.

Sawyer’s hand darts out to stop me from getting out. “Let me drive you in. There’s plenty of space inside.”

“You didn’t,” I say, voice as shaky as my hand.

He chuckles and edges the car closer to the entrance before driving over the small ramp and into the most beautiful garage I’ve ever seen. “You bet your ass I did.”

I jump out of the car before he even stops it, spinning around in the vast white space. It has everything, even a huge replica BikerCollins sign across the back wall.

“Oh my God!” I squeal, pulling a drawer open on one of the many state-of-the-art Hilka heavy-duty combination chests. They’re all red, and they line the side walls of the garage.

In the center of the black-and-white checkered floor are four separate scissor lifts—something Smooth Running only had one of, which often meant I was breaking my back to work.

“Sawyer,” I croon, trying to take in the white space surrounding me. “It’s perfect.”

I set my eyes on him as he moves across to a single side door that I didn’t notice until now.

“But what will I do with my current garage?” I ask.

He changes direction and walks over to me, taking my hands in his. “Keep it—for storage, for personal use, for whatever you want. I got it, Baby Girl. Whatever you want.”

I raise a brow. “Personal use?”

He loops his arms under my ass and lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist, hands clutching the back of his neck.

Jesus, I’m so happy.

“That’s right—for personal use. Just like it’s always been. This place will be transferred into your name, and I bought it so you could do what you do best—work with Harleys.”

I audibly gasp. Oh Jesus , he didn’t just buy this garage; he bought me a business.

“I … don’t even know what to say.” I flail my hands around the space, pointing to nothing and everything all at once. “This is a dream. You are a dream.”

“One last thing,” he says, carrying me over to the door he was about to open earlier.

My heart races faster from so much excitement. “Oh Lord, what else?”

Sawyer holds me in one strong arm, reaching out and depressing the handle. When the door opens to a large closet, overhead lights come on.

The room is pristine white with the same flooring as the main garage area. But that’s not really what I’m looking at. Because I can’t look at anything else.

There, sitting in the center of the room, is a brand-new, all-black Harley-Davidson CVO Road Glide ST. She’s beautiful, stunning, perfection.

I turn to Sawyer, jaw agape.

He chuckles and kisses the underside of my chin before dropping me down to my feet. “She’s all yours, your dream bike—and if I remember correctly, my son’s too.”

My heart grows bigger, filling the space in my chest. “You’re right; it is our dream bike.”

Sawyer smiles knowingly. “Alyssa told me this model was all Ezra could talk about at a hockey game. Plus, you both spoke about a CVO when we came over to your garage at Christmas.”

I run a hand over the pristine black seat, overwhelmed by this man and his heart. “I think I want to name her.”

He scrubs a hand over his jaw. I can tell he’s recalling our conversation outside Rise Up that time—the one where I told him I didn’t name my bikes. “Yeah? What were you thinking?”

Nodding a couple of times, I continue inspecting the beauty. “There’s only one name I’d give her, one that would give your son a little piece of his mom when the wind’s in his hair. Something permanent. Sophie.”

I hear his breath as it catches in his throat, and I see the tears as they fill his eyes.

“Do you have any leathers and helmets here?” I ask.

“Yes.” His voice cracks. “Every size I could think to order.”

I walk across to him, looping my arms around his waist. “Then let’s take a ride, Sawyer. Just you and me.”