Dante (Hell's Ankhor #6) - Aiden Bates Page 0,45

at the corners with concern.

“Yeah.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Everything’s fine.”

“Really?” Jazz asked. “I just want to make sure he’s not… making you uncomfortable, or anything. Pressuring you.”

I blinked at Jazz. I hadn’t considered what it might’ve looked like, that day in the kitchen. When Jazz had caught us almost kissing, Dante’s hand heavy on my neck. And I’d leaped away so quickly when Jazz had made his appearance, it wasn’t a surprise that maybe Jazz thought I had been uncomfortable.

“You can turn him down, you know,” Jazz continued. “If you’re not comfortable helping out at Stella’s. Or we can send an enforcer with you.”

Something in my chest warmed at Jazz’s display of protectiveness, even though—or maybe especially because—it was so unnecessary. “It’s fine,” I said. “Really.”

Jazz crossed his arms over his chest, looking exceedingly unconvinced. It didn’t seem like he was inclined to dismiss me any time soon, but now I really did need to get on the road soon.

“I… like it,” I admitted, grimacing at my feet in embarrassment. “Him, I mean. I like him, too. So. It’s fine. And he already said nothing’s going to happen. Because of the reparations and all that; we’re just friends. Nothing to worry about.”

Jazz swung his arm around my shoulder and tugged me into a half-hug. “Well, I still might worry a little. Just be careful, all right? I know you can take care of yourself, but—you know. He’s older, and more experienced, and all that.”

“I know,” I said. “Seriously, it’s fine. I’m really just helping him with his books.”

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Jazz said, as if Dante wasn’t older than he was. “Well, text me if you need me to ride down there and whoop his ass.”

I rolled my eyes, and Jazz grinned and finally headed back into the clubhouse. I couldn’t deny the little flare of gratitude in my chest, though. It hit me like that, sometimes—how lucky I was to finally have a family.

I hopped on my bike and rode the short distance to Junee, relishing the familiar rush of wind and the hum of my engine beneath me. By the time I parked my bike outside Stella’s, I was thrumming with anticipation, excited to see Dante outside of the clubhouse and outside of my duties as chaperone.

The front room of the bakery was dark, but the open kitchen was well-lit behind it. Through the glass front door, I could see Dante moving around the bench, engrossed in work. I rapped my knuckles on the door, and he started like the noise surprised him. That handsome grin I’d grown so fond of lit up his features when he saw me, and he waved his arm in an exaggerated come-in motion. When I tugged the door, I found it was unlocked.

“Hey!” Dante called from the kitchen, his booming voice ricocheting around the open space. “Thanks for coming!”

He glanced at the big clock on the kitchen wall, and then gave me a satisfied little nod as his smile became something a bit more sultry when he saw that I was three minutes early. I pressed my lips together and tried not to blush.

“Oh, thank God.” Tru appeared from inside the walk-in fridge. “I thought I was going to be stuck doing boring paperwork, too.”

He pulled his apron off and threw it, alley-oop style, into the laundry basket by the sink. For a moment, I’d felt some sinking disappointment when I saw Tru. He was funny, and sweet, and as easy on the eyes as Dante (if in a completely different way), but he also had a tendency to make himself the center of attention. And selfishly, I wanted Dante’s attention on me today. But it looked like Tru had just been waiting on my arrival to leave.

I tried to ignore the hope fluttering in my belly, nerves and anticipation both. What did it mean that Tru was leaving now that I was here? Did Dante also want us to be alone?

Nothing was going to happen, but being the center of his attention would be satisfying enough that hopefully I could keep my hands to myself for the next couple weeks.

“All right, starters are all fed, and I mixed the croissant for tomorrow,” Tru said, brandishing his hand at the walk-in. “But it’s late, so shape them last so it has enough time to rise, okay?”

“Yes, I know how much time the croissant needs to rise,” Dante said good-naturedly.

“I know you know,”

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