Page 9 of Claimed By the Biker Brothers

“No, ma’am. Like I said, they saved me.”

The conversation dies there. Maybe it’s because of my tone or maybe it’s because I’m too focused on applying the zirconia gems on the right nails, I don’t know. But I am grateful for the silence. Only the buzzing of Rita’s file lingers somewhere to my left along with the humming of the neon lights overhead.

“These came out beautifully,” Marlo declares once we’re done. “You truly are an artist, Robyn. I’m always impressed with your attention to detail.”

“Thank you,” I reply.

“Have you ever considered branching out on your own?”

“Not really. I mean, I’m not sure I could, not in Redwood anyway. This place dominates the market.”

Marlo smiles broadly. “Redwood is constantly expanding. And with the kind of projects I’m about to invest in, I can tell you one thing for certain: It’s only going to get bigger. So, if you do decide to open your own salon,” she says as she fishes out a business card from her insanely expensive purse, “give me a call. This is my private number. I’d love to invest in your potential, Robyn.”

She gives me the card, and I stare at it for a few seconds while she goes over to the reception desk, where Rita swoops in to process her payment. “I appreciate it,” I tell Marlo once she’s back. “I do. Thank you.”

“Just think about it. You could go places with me, kiddo,” Marlo says, then winks and walks out.

As soon as she’s gone, oddly enough, I feel as though I can fully breathe again, as if I’d been holding in the air the whole time she sat in front of me.

“Are you okay?” Rita asks me. “She’s a piece of work, huh?”

“Marlo Hughes? Yeah, a piece of work,” I mutter.

The end of my shift brings a bright pink and deep red sunset stretching over the sky as I walk out of the salon and look both ways. There’s my Prius, patiently waiting in its parking spot across the street. A couple of cars farther down, there’s Paulie, typing away on his phone and chuckling at the replies. At least he’s not bored.

And he’s close enough to intervene if Calvin comes around.

But I haven’t seen him. My phone has been quiet too—with the exception of a couple of text messages from Jagger to check up on me. Even his words read softer after the kiss from last night.

After-school daycare at Kyra’s school is open for another hour, so I’ve got enough time left to grab a latte from my favorite café and maybe a couple of scones if there are any left. Kyra loves the blueberry ones, and Morris usually puts one or two aside for us.

“There she is!” Morris says and gives me a bright smile as soon as I walk into the café.

“Here I am,” I laugh, glad to see the place is almost empty at this hour.

They’ll be closing soon, and the pastry display looks pretty empty, with the exception of a small takeaway box with a transparent lid. I move closer and recognize the puff pastry with its blooming baked blueberry filling.

“You know I saved you both a piece,” Morris quips, following my curious gaze. “How are you doing these days, Robbie? I haven’t seen you since Monday.”

“Oh, I’m okay,” I reply, walking over to the counter. “Just busy, as usual.”

“I hear the nail salon’s going to be packed before the weekend.”

“Yeah, the Roxbury wedding.”

“Caramel latte?” he asks.

“Yes, please. And a babyccino for Kyra, of course.”

Morris nods and gets to work behind the espresso machine while I watch him perform his barista magic. His hands are steady, his movements smooth—almost like poetry in motion; it soothes my heart.

“The whole town is already talking about it, you know,” he says.

I laugh. “The wedding? Yeah, I heard. It’s like the royals are getting married.”

He gives me a long, worried look. “No, about Calvin. The word is out.”

“Oh, yeah. Marlo Hughes said the same thing earlier when she came in to get her nails done.”

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