mitigate those feelings. I’d been such a dick to Dante the whole day yesterday, and not in a cool way. I’d been cagey and scared and—distracted.
Because the more I’d talked to him, and watched him move carefully and attentively around the kitchen, the more I’d noticed him. I’d noticed his broad shoulders, muscled forearms, confident posture, and the happy, warm look in his eyes when he saw the double-oven setup in the kitchen. And when he’d spoken to me in that low, focused voice when we cleared the air—it was so easy to just… do as he asked.
And he’d looked so pleased when I did, too.
What did that say about me? Why did I want his approval so badly? I’d been assigned to be his chaperone, not his errand boy. Blade trusted me to act as a responsible, fully patched member. I had to stop getting so… So… So overwhelmed when Dante looked my way. Or asked me to do something. Or told me to do something.
“Of course I want one,” Raven said. He levered his long limbs off the couch and abandoned his laptop in order to snatch a scone off the cooling rack. “Oh,” he said around a mouthful of pastry, “this is really good.”
“They better be,” I said. “They’re the only thing I can bake.”
“That’s about to change, though,” Raven said. “I feel like we’re all going to get roped into Logan’s baking lessons.”
“You’re probably right about that,” I grumbled.
But that didn’t have to be a bad thing. I couldn’t change the way I’d behaved yesterday, but Dante had made a point to start over between us, so I’d decided I’d take a peace offering to show him I was fully on board, too. It wasn’t his fault that I had some shit to figure out, and that he happened to make me feel way too much, way too intensely. If he could get his act together, so could I.
“What’d you make them for?” Raven asked.
My cheeks heated slightly. I didn’t want to tell Raven I’d made them for Dante—how ridiculous was it to take pastries to a literal baker? But I hadn’t had any better olive branch ideas.
I still felt a little fragile, though, and if Raven were to tease me about it, I was sure I’d back out. So instead of telling him the truth, I shrugged. “Just had some extra time, I guess. I’m taking them to class.”
“Instead of leaving them for the club?” Raven demanded incredulously, with faux-offense.
“You all got muffins yesterday,” I said. “Don’t get greedy.”
Raven sighed and flopped back onto the couch. “Fine. Next batch is for us, though.”
“Who says there will be a next batch?” I grinned at Raven as I finished packing up the scones.
“I do,” Raven said primly. “Have fun in class. Better you than me!”
He put his headphones back in and disappeared back into his laptop. I had just over an hour before class began. I packed my things into the saddlebag of my bike—it was a smaller, sleeker bike than most of the members’, meant for around town more than long haul rides. I’d started riding when I got the job at Custom Ankhs—I figured if I was going to talk to customers about bikes, I had to know how to handle them myself—and I’d fallen in love with it. The freedom was exhilarating, as was the confidence that came with handling a bike on the highway.
Junee was a short ride from Elkin Lake. When I got to the main stretch of the little town, I saw that Stella’s wasn’t empty, but it was quiet—at mid-afternoon, it was just a few hours until it closed for the day. I parked my bike out front and pulled the scones from the saddlebag before bracing myself to walk to the door. Inside, a chipper young woman with box braids piled into a bun atop her head greeted me with a broad smile. “Hi! What can I do for you?”
“I, uh.” I glanced over her shoulder into the big, pristinely clean kitchen. Dante stood at the wooden bench in the center of the kitchen, his attention focused intently on the dough he was shaping. Flour dusted his skin up to his elbows, and he was wearing a frayed white apron over his t-shirt and jeans. “I’m with Hell’s Ankhor—is Dante available?”
The girl’s eyes lit up. “You must be Heath!” She leaned into the kitchen. “Earth to Dante!”
Dante started slightly, and then glanced up, like he’d forgotten the front of