Page 49 of Baby for the Bikers

“Feels like a lifetime ago,” I agree, parking the bike. “Hard to believe it’s only been a month since you destroyed our rides.”

Her face falls slightly at the reminder, but I catch her hand before she can step away. “I’m glad you did,” I say, the words coming easier than they probably should. “If you hadn’t crashed into our bikes, we might never have met you—and our diner would have been a mess.”

She looks stunned, her eyes widening as she stares at me. I drop her hand, heat crawling up my neck. “That’s definitely the weed talking,” I mutter, though we both know it’s not.

Inside, the garage is already humming with early-morning activity. Lucy is at the front counter, sorting through paperwork, while Nora types rapidly at her computer.

“Well, look who decided to grace us with her presence,” Lucy calls, her smile friendly as she looks up. “The famous baker who tamed the Kane brothers.”

“Lucy,” I say, gesturing to Rowan, “meet Rowan. Lucy runs the front desk and keeps us from falling apart.”

“Nice to finally meet you,” Lucy says, extending her hand. “We’ve heard all about you.”

“I’m sure you have,” Rowan replies with a small smile, shaking Lucy’s hand.

Nora abandons her computer to join us, eyes bright with curiosity. “I’m Nora, office manager. Your cake slices at the diner are the talk of the town.”

“Thanks,” Rowan says, looking slightly uncomfortable with the attention.

“Alright, everyone, get back to work,” I say cheerfully.

“See you around, Rowan,” Nora says, heading back to her desk.

“Bye!” Lucy adds in a cheerful tone.

I guide Rowan through the main garage area and toward the back room, where we keep the bikes that aren’t currently in service. As I push open the door, a flash of nervousness hits me. Although this whole thing was initially Rowan’s idea,somewhere along the way, all three of us got invested in making it special.

“Here she is,” I say, flipping on the lights to reveal the bike sitting in the center of the room.

It’s one of our older Harleys, a Sportster 883, that’s been completely rebuilt from the ground up. The frame is painted a glossy black that gleams under the fluorescents, but it’s the tank that draws the eye.

Instead of our usual Black Dog logo, this one features a stylized rolling pin with flour dust trailing behind it, forming tiny stars and hearts in its wake. The name “Rowan” curves along the side in bold, brush-style lettering—Ryder’s work. He spent hours getting the script just right, refusing to use stencils or transfer paper.

Rowan steps forward slowly, her fingers reaching out to touch the tank as if she’s afraid it might disappear.

“This is…” She trails off, circling the bike. “You did this for me?”

“It was a group effort,” I admit. “Brick handled the mechanical rebuild—engine’s basically new. I did the base paint and detailing on the chrome. Ryder designed and painted the tank art.”

Her fingers trace over her name, and I notice they’re trembling slightly.

“All three of you worked on this?” Her voice is thick with something I can’t quite name.

“Wanted it to be right,” I say, suddenly feeling awkward with the naked emotion on her face. “If you don’t like it?—”

I don’t get to finish because she launches herself at me, arms wrapping around my neck in a fierce hug. I catch her instinctively, my hands settling at her waist as she buries her face against my shoulder.

“No one’s ever done something like this for me,” she says, her voice muffled. When she pulls back, there are tears in her eyes. “Not just for me. Not without expecting something in return.”

I brush a tear from her cheek with my thumb, surprised by the tenderness I feel. “Easy, princess. You’re looking too damn cute right now.” The tears threading her lashes make her eyes look impossibly green, and the vulnerability on her face does something weird to my chest.

“I can’t accept this,” she says, even as her eyes drift back to the bike longingly. “It’s too much.”

“It’s not a gift,” I clarify, though that’s not entirely true. “It’s a loan, like we agreed. We just personalized it a bit.”

“A bit?” She laughs through her tears.

“If you don’t like the design, we can change it,” I offer, knowing full well how much time Ryder put into it.

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