Page 8 of Diesel
“Don’t touch that.”
She looked up.
Diesel stood there, arms crossed, that dark-eyed, no-nonsense expression carved into his face like usual.But something in his voice made her pause.It wasn’t harsh.Just ...careful.
“I wasn’t going to cut myself,” she murmured, brushing her hair out of her face.“I’m not made of glass.”
He crouched beside her without a word, big hands moving with surprising gentleness.He picked up each piece of the planter like it was a puzzle, as if he were already working out how to put it back together.
“You’re stubborn,” he muttered.
She blinked.“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”He reached for the last piece, turning it over in his calloused palm.“Most people would’ve taken a few days off after what happened.You’re back here like nothing’s wrong.”
Sophie straightened slowly.“If I wait around for someone else to fix things, I’ll be waiting forever.”
Diesel looked up at her then, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.The street was quiet, the morning sun warm against her back.His gaze lingered on her face, unreadable, as if he wanted to say something more but didn’t trust the words.
Finally, he stood.“I’ll take care of this.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know,” he said.“But I want to.”
Sophie swallowed.It was the first time he’d said anything like that to her, not out of obligation, not because Tom had asked him to keep watch.He wanted to.It wasn’t much, but it settled differently in her chest.Like warmth in a cold place.
She leaned the broom against the wall, brushing her palms on her jeans.“Do you always fix broken things?”
His mouth quirked slightly at the corner.“Only the ones that matter.”
Her heart did a funny, traitorous flutter.
Before she could come up with something to say, he turned and walked to his bike.From one of the saddlebags, he pulled out a small tool roll and a tube of strong adhesive.
Sophie watched, fascinated, as he returned and sat cross-legged on the pavement, laying out each tool with practiced precision.His movements were calm, careful.The same hands that could probably break someone’s jaw without flinching now held a cracked ceramic pot like it was something precious.
She knelt beside him again.“Didn’t peg you for a gardener.”
“I’m not,” he said without looking at her.“But I hate waste.Something breaks, you fix it.”
Sophie hesitated, then rested her chin on her hand as she studied his profile.He had a rough beauty—scarred knuckles, a bent nose that had clearly been broken once, maybe twice.But up close, his lashes were dark and thick, and his concentration made his expression go soft, almost peaceful.
“You’re not what I expected,” she said quietly.
“Most people say that.”
“I meant it as a compliment.”
He glanced at her.His gaze lingered again.
Dangerous, she thought.That’s what he was.Not just physically, though that was obvious, but in how easily he snuck under her defenses.She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but somewhere between coffee and muffins and quiet nights on the sidewalk, she’d stopped seeing Diesel as just her temporary bodyguard.Now he was something else.Something closer.
“You should be careful,” he said suddenly, voice low.
Sophie blinked.“Of what?”
“Whoever’s doing this, they’re not just bored.They’re trying to send a message.”
