Page 46 of Baby for the Bikers

He nods, accepting this without pushing further. It’s one of the things I’m starting to appreciate about Ryder—he doesn’t demand more than I’m ready to give.

As I slide the loaves into the oven, Ryder moves closer, his hand settling on my hip. The casual possessiveness of the gesture makes my pulse jump.

“Thirty minutes?” he asks, nodding toward the bread.

“About that.”

His thumb traces small circles on my hip bone. “That’s enough time.”

My breath catches. “Enough time for what?”

The corner of his mouth quirks in what might be a smile. “To start the coffee.”

I laugh, feeling some of the tension dissolve. “Coffee sounds good.”

We move around each other in my tiny kitchen with surprising ease. The coffee has just finished brewing when Ryder’s phone rings. His expression doesn’t change as he checks the screen, but something in his posture shifts.

“Maddox,” he says, answering.

I can’t hear what his brother is saying, but Ryder’s responses are minimal, even for him. “Yes.” “No.” “Later.”

Then, with a glance at me: “She’s fine.”

My cheeks heat at the implication that they’ve been discussing me. Ryder ends the call and pockets his phone.

“Everything okay at the diner?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

“Busy.” He accepts the mug of coffee I hand him. “They’re managing.”

“Should you go help?” I try to ignore the disappointment that rises at the thought of him leaving.

Ryder takes a deliberate sip of his coffee. His eyes meet mine. “Do you want me to go?”

The question catches me off guard with its directness.

“I don’t want to get you in trouble with your brothers,” I hedge.

“Not what I asked.” He steps closer, backing me gently against the counter. “Do you want me to go?”

His proximity makes it hard to think. “No,” I admit finally. “I don’t.”

Something like satisfaction flickers in his eyes. He reaches past me to set his mug on the counter, his body brushing against mine in a way that can’t be accidental.

“Good,” he says simply.

The oven timer saves me from having to respond. The bread looks perfect—golden brown and fragrant.

“That smells amazing,” Ryder says, watching as I set the loaves on a cooling rack.

His phone rings once more before I can respond. This time, his expression darkens slightly as he answers. “What?” His voice issharper than before. He listens for a moment, then sighs. “Fine. I’ll be there.”

When he hangs up, I can see the reluctance in his eyes.

“You have to go,” I say, trying to keep the disappointment from my voice.

He nods, his expression apologetic. “Problem at the garage.”

“It’s okay. I understand.”

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