“It’s tight, but it works,” Heath said. He glanced at me like he was waiting for something. Acknowledgment? Approval?
I nodded as I paced the length of the space, getting a feel for how big it was. Yeah, this would work, as long as we kept the trainings on the small side. I was glad to see the heavy bag, too—I was already sketching out lessons in my mind, maybe bringing Tru in to demonstrate defensive kicks and blocks for the smaller members that couldn’t rely on brute force strength alone. “This’ll work well.”
“Okay,” Heath said. Some of the tension eased in his shoulders, but he wasn’t anywhere close to comfortable. “Uh, was there anything else you wanted to see?”
“Well, I’m supposed to be giving some of your brothers baking lessons,” I said. “Mind letting me check out the kitchen a little closer?”
“Sure.” Heath led the way up the stairs, back into the kitchen.
The guys had finished their breakfast and cleared out—the muffins had been decimated. The big, open main floor of the clubhouse felt suddenly quiet without the rest of the Hell’s Ankhor members talking and laughing. Heath gestured toward the kitchen, giving me the go-ahead, and then leaned against the island.
Lucky for me, and for the baking lessons, it was a big kitchen with modern, functional appliances. The gas range had six burners, and two ovens were built-in, stacked on top of each other, both with convection settings that I was certain were never used. There was a vast amount of counter space, even excluding the island. This was a kitchen that saw a lot of action; even if they weren’t making anything complicated, they were clearly used to making big meals.
From what I could tell, the only thing I’d need to bring from my own stash were my knives. And that was simply because I was picky.
Heath cleared his throat. I looked up, and he was watching me intently, lips pressed together. “Everything look okay?”
“Looks great,” I said. “Just getting my bearings here.”
“Okay,” Heath said. “I’m, uh… sorry. About all of this.”
“About what?” I said, glancing over my shoulder at him as I poked through their pantry.
“Having to make amends for something you didn’t do,” Heath said. “I’m sure it’s a pain.”
I turned around and leaned against the counter, taking a good look at Heath. Even with the kitchen island between us, Heath seemed affected by my gaze, going a little fidgety under it.
“It’s not a pain,” I said seriously, even though there were dozens of other things I could be doing with my time. “The behavior of my members—ex-members—is my responsibility. And after what they did, I half-expected Blade to boot the whole Crew out of Hell’s Ankhor territory.”
Heath looked like he was about to argue on Blade’s behalf. I held up a hand, because I wasn’t done speaking, and Heath closed his mouth.
Interesting. He was so responsive, even to the gestures I did unconsciously. I needed to keep a tight rein on my own behaviors and not let this get out of hand without either of us realizing.
“As far as reparations go, it could be a lot worse,” I said. “I get to train and bake. Two things I love to do, and things I’d be doing anyway. And now, there’s the added benefit of tightening the relationship between our two clubs. I don’t really see a downside, honestly.”
A slow, careful smile spread on Heath’s face. A really lovely smile—his cheeks dimpled, his brown eyes shrank to crescents. He was gorgeous when he wasn’t so closed off. I was already hungry to see what other expressions I could coax from him.
And fuck. Watching Heath smile, knowing I couldn’t make that smile mine—well, I was beginning to see the downside.
6
Heath
The next morning, I had the day off work at the shop, and only one class ahead of me in the mid-afternoon. I was grateful for the quiet of the clubhouse—most of the members were busy with the day’s tasks already, working, enforcement, or errands. Only Raven was in the clubhouse now, stretched out on the couch with his laptop open, typing away.
He pulled one headphone out of his ear and peered over the back of the couch. “Whatever you’re doing over there, it smells good.”
“Scones,” I said, as I moved them from the rack they were cooling on to a paper bag. “Want one?”
I’d spent the morning feeling frustrated with myself, anxious and annoyed, and doing something with my hands always helped