CHAPTER TWELVE

LINDY

I pace the cabin porch waiting for Timber to pick me up for our date. All day, I've been mentally patting myself on the back for agreeing to go out with him, especially after my disastrous attempt to reenter the social world this past weekend.

Unsure how casual this dinner date would be, I erred on the side of caution and dressed up in an autumn-patterned sundress that flows around me every time I walk.

The dress has a silk under layer since the overlay is sheer chiffon, and the buttoned bodice creates the perfect amount of modest cleavage. Well, sort of modest. I've gained weight since first buying the dress, and it shows in the way my chest overflows the top. But at least the fluttery skirt glides over the rest of my added roundness.

A cloud of dust follows Timber's car down the gravel drive. He parks in front of the cabin and gets out before I can hop in the passenger seat.

It's unexpected since I'm already outside, negating the need for knocking on my door, but he moves to stand in front of me, and after a brief, "Damn," as he surveys my outfit, he offers a bouquet of flowers.

"I wasn't sure what you'd like, but I figured I should bring something, so um, here you go."

That's unexpectedly sweet of him.

Biting my lower lip, I accept the gift, appreciating its difference from the mysterious delivery I received a few days ago. This one is filled with tulips rather than daisies and some other flowers I can't name.

"Well, you guessed correctly because I love tulips. Most people may prefer roses or whatever, but I've always liked these." I gently rub a velvety petal between my fingers. I've always had an affinity for these simple but pretty flowers. "Hang on while I put these in water."

I rush inside, leaving Timber to stand awkwardly on the porch. I don't have a vase, so I fill a large cup with water instead. Later I'll buy a vase and cut the stems, but right now I have a sweet man waiting for me.

Sweet.

Who'd have thought I'd ever describe one of the Reaper's Wolves men that way?

Who'd have thought I'd accept a date when just days ago I was trying to convince myself that I'm not interested in a romantic relationship ?

Once I return, Timber gestures ahead of him, matching my steps to the passenger side to open the door for me.

This gentlemanly part of him is a pleasant surprise.

Is this how Snow, Alaska, and Grim treat their women, my friends?

No wonder they fell so hard.

Being treated with kindness and respect shouldn't be so earth-shattering—it's the bare minimum on how to treat a person—but a wave of unexpected tears catch me off guard, until I blink them away.

No one's put this much effort in for me in a long time.

Once Timber buckles in beside me, he drives us to an Italian restaurant on Main Street, where we're immediately seated at a table for two by the window. The waiter hands us menus then leaves after listing the specials.

The prices are no joke. I could buy meals for a whole day with what an entrée costs here.

And just like that, I become self-conscious about what to order. Timber must've known about the cost of the place before bringing me here, but what if he didn't? What if he had seen this place randomly and thought he'd try it out?

That happened once to Dean and I. We'd gone out to a fancy new restaurant to show off for his buddies. He loved having the finer things in life even if it was out of reach financially. It had been nerve-wracking witnessing his temper rise as I cautiously ordered, attempting and failing to land on the correctly priced items for him to remain calm.

In the end, I'd ended up paying for part of the entire meal along with a tip because his pride wouldn't hear of his buddies shelling out the cash. That would defeat the purpose of bragging about his ability to host a get-together at the classy restaurant.

Timber's not Dean, but I don't want him humiliated by a large bill he can't afford.

"Is everything okay? If you don't like Italian, we can go somewhere else."

"What…?" My eyes guiltily flick upward as if he knew exactly where my thoughts were. "No, Italian's good."

"So, what are you thinking? Because you're frowning." His observation jolts me into full recovery mode.

I paste a bright smile on my face. "Just debating my choices. Call it RDF: resting decision face." It's not my best work, but it seems to appease him as I mention how good the cheapest item on the menu looks—a salad with baked chicken on top.

I'll be hungry afterwards, but at least it'll be for a good cause.

Timber reads the meal description aloud. "Are you sure? You can get whatever you want. It's fine."

"That is what I want. Is there something wrong with a salad?"

He shakes his head, and my shoulders drop in relief.

The waiter returns for our order, saving me from the awkward moment. I go first then Timber follows by ordering a steak and asking if I want any wine. After I decline, the waiter leaves to place our orders.

We sit in silence as I try tallying what the cost of our meal will be.

Timber's not destitute, but I don't think he's loaded with cash either.

"You look beautiful, you know. I think I was supposed to say that when I first saw you, but I was too awestruck." The hesitant tone of his low voice draws my attention. It almost sounds like he's shy.

Is that possible?

Tingles erupt at the compliment. No one has ever called me beautiful. I'm cute, pretty on occasion, but never beautiful. And Dean never believed in compliments—unless they were the backhanded kind—once the ‘honeymoon' period of our relationship wore off.

I smile in gratitude and study Timber. Slacks with a navy button down shirt. No tie, so the open collar displays the tattoos climbing his strong neck. His beard even looks freshly trimmed.

"You clean up well yourself," I praise, ducking my head even as I lean towards him.

A handsome grin brightens his harsh features, and the ice is finally broken as we settle into a normal conversation. One that isn't stilted and cautious like most of our interactions this weekend.

When our food arrives, the portion sizes are huge, dismissing another worry of mine. Looks like I won't go home hungry, after all.

After we finish and decline the dessert offering, the waiter brings the check, and I restrain myself from sneaking a peek at the total, though I offer to split the meal cost.

He gives me a firm, "Hell no."

Then proves I had nothing to be concerned about because he pulls out his card and places it in the little check holder without a second glance.

I should've known everything would be alright, but hard-taught lessons are difficult to overcome.

Time to work through another Dean-centered issue in my therapy sessions.

Yippee…

"Do you want to go home? Or are you open to heading somewhere else first?" Timber asks once we're settled in his vehicle.

I opt for the second choice since it's still early in the evening, and things are actually going well between us. As he drives, I return to our previous topic. "You were in Everton for a Reaper's Revamp delivery?"

"Yep, the customer needed it for a car show this afternoon but a last minute errand took longer than expected, so he couldn't pick it up himself."

"How did you get involved with classic car restorations? Weren't you in the military like the rest of the MC guys?"

He thinks about his answer before replying, an edge to his voice. "My uncle kept a ‘69 Chevy Camaro locked in the garage. It didn't run and had a shit paint job from his amateur attempt to restore it. I always wanted to fix the car myself and use it to escape, but the bastard was damn particular about that vehicle. It's the one thing he cared about other than booze."

"So, I read a ton of car manuals," he flashes a wry grin my way, "Riveting stuff, I tell you, and memorized a lot of knowledge. During my service, I put some of that to use. We didn't have classic cars but some of those military-issued jeeps and trucks were old as fuck. Everything snowballed into Reaper's Revamp once I hooked up with the Reaper's Wolves MC."

"Wow, impressive, though I'm sorry about your uncle. He sounds like an asshole." Men like that are all too familiar. "I've never been handy with cars. I've probably been suckered into spending thousands more than necessary whenever a mechanic says I need something fixed."

"Not anymore," Timber growls. "If you run into car trouble or even if you just need an oil change, let me know. No one's going to take advantage of you again."

I resist the urge to fidget in my seat. His solemn promise has me feeling some sort of way because sincerity rings through every word.

Timber parks outside of an abandoned building at the edge of town. It doesn't look like much with its broken windows and boarded up entrances. In fact, it looks like a place where people are murdered and dumped.

Club Rust 2.0.

"Come on, don't be afraid. It'll be worth it, I promise." Timber holds his hand out for me, a hopefulness clinging to his expression. "I swear you'll be safe. You have nothing to worry about."

"If you say so…" A hesitant chuckle masks my sudden nerves.

It's not that I distrust Timber. He's done nothing to set off alarm bells in my head or heart. Nothing in the entire fourteen months I've known him.

But this building is still fucking creepy.

I place my cold hand into his warm, rough palm, and he gives it an encouraging squeeze before leading me inside. We climb concrete stairs, overstepping trash and fallen debris until we reach the top, and Timber lets go to peek out the door.

I'm not sure what he's checking for, but he must see it because he leans back in and tells me to close my eyes.

"Trust me."

I feel like Jasmine being led by Aladdin.

It worked out for her, didn't it?

Sighing, my lashes slowly slide shut.

Timber takes both of my hands and guides me until, by the sound of things, we're outside again. His body shifts behind me, and a frisson of fear snaps to attention before I squash it.

He's not going to hurt me.

Before my brain can launch a full-scale rebuttal to that belief, his whispered breath ghosts over the back of my head.

"Open your eyes."

They widen at the sight before me. The sun is setting over Suitor's Crossing, peeking through the mountains guarding its western side. The pink and orange colors wash everything in a soft, flattering light, and this building has the perfect vantage point for it all.

"How'd you know about this place?" I ask in awe. Clearly, the warehouse's dilapidated demeanor dissuades visitors—it practically shouts Stay out! —yet Timber ignored the warning and discovered a slice of beauty amid the garbage.

He shrugs. "I found it on one of my long cruises around town. It's easier to think up here." His boot rests against the edge of the building.

"Makes sense. It's pretty peaceful… Once you get past the dangerous downstairs," I joke as I bump his elbow with mine.

"Yeah, this probably wasn't a good idea for a first date, now that you mention it. But hell…" Timber runs a hand through his hair. "I have no idea what I'm doing when it comes to these things. Or you, for that matter."

I'm taken aback by his uncertainty. The whole night he's been calm, confident, except for those tiny snippets of hesitancy to show he was more than just a giant, unshakeable bodyguard. He's human, too, with all the vulnerable emotions I have. The only difference is Timber hides them ninety-percent of the time.

Maybe because he feels he has to around me?

I admit his stoic and strong presence has always made me feel safe, but this gentler side is endearing, too. It doesn't detract from the alpha protective vibe he's usually got going on. It adds to it.

"You've been doing fine so far, including this stop," I say, licking my lips. His brown eyes drop to the motion. "I can't tell at all that you're new to this. Besides, I'm new, too."

A half-smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. "Which means you wouldn't know a bad date from a good one."

"Trust me, Timber, I'd know. I haven't been living in a convent all my life." And Dean's dates revolved around him schmoozing at upscale bars or skiing resorts. Wherever he could go and have people fawn over his role as a ‘civil servant'—my eyes threaten to roll heavenward at the reminder—or build connections with the people who could advance his career.

Timber's not like that at all, based on the way he keeps checking in to see how I feel.

This date is about me .