CHAPTER THREE

LINDY

Crossing's Cups & Cakes is bustling with customers, making it difficult to find an empty table, but thankfully, a couple leaves right after we grab our drinks from the counter. Hurrying to the newly free section, the three of us plop down in relief, continuing our conversation about the mysterious flowers I received this morning, though I didn't share the contents of the note with them. I'm not sure why I withheld that detail. Maybe concern that they'd spin it into meaning something more?

Something nefarious when my brain is already threatening to spiral down that road?

"Do yellow daisies hold some significance for you?" Caroline asks, sipping her iced mocha.

I shrug then reach into my crossbody purse for my keys, displaying one of the decorative pieces hanging from the metal ring. "Not particularly. I mean I've got this keychain from a trip my family took to the Daisy Festival years ago, but why would my parents randomly send me flowers? And for a festival that was just one of many family vacations?"

"Yeah, that doesn't make much sense." Amelie tilts her head to the side, contemplating the strange circumstances of my morning delivery. Her dance class wrapped early, so she was able to join us for a quick catch-up—not that our last chat was very long ago. Amelie is at the Reaper's Wolves compound almost as much as Caroline and I since she started dating Grim, one of the MC members.

"Let's not forget the obvious answer—Lindy's not-so-secret admirer."

"Ah, Timber… Are you two still playing like you aren't more than friends?" Amelie sits back in her chair with a huff of disbelief. The odd connection between the quiet giant MC member and I is a favorite subject for my book club friends. Not so much for me.

"We're not playing anything. We're just friends," I reiterate for the hundredth time.

"Friends don't act as your personal bodyguard, Lind. Always stepping in at the least hint of trouble."

"She's got a point," Caroline says. "He could be your heart spark . Your soulmate." The town legend is a favorite of hers since she fell in love with Snow, her heart spark . "Would it be so bad giving him a chance?"

Yes.

No.

I don't know.

"Can we talk about something else?" I beg, tired of thinking about the mysterious flowers and my potential feelings for Timber. Or vice versa. The man doesn't say much, so it's hard to tell where his head is at. He just appears when I need him.

‘ Might need him' is a fairer description of the times he's stepped between me and potential danger.

All Amelie and Caroline have to go off of are his actions, which admittedly may be stronger proof of his interest than mere words anyway. But I'm not dissecting theories about Timber's romantic interest, especially with so little to go on.

Caroline sighs but nods in agreement. "What are you going to do about Martha's message? Do you think you'll see her Friday night?"

Martha Chesson works for the same company Caroline and I do. We used to be acquaintances heading towards friends back when I worked in the office rather than remotely, but that was before I started distancing myself from people because of Dean.

He didn't like my attention split between him and anyone else, which included friends and family.

I don't know why I approached Caroline to help me leave Dean rather than Martha back then. Maybe it's because Caro was unavoidable with her desk being near the company entrance, so we saw each other every day without fail.

But Martha was easy to ghost since I knew when she ate lunch in the break room, and I took a different route to the bathrooms—one that avoided her cubicle. The interoffice IMs were a bit more difficult to ignore, but eventually, she stopped trying to hang out.

Until recently.

She heard about my breakup, probably by overhearing our boss talk about it since he had to approve my decision to work remotely—a choice made to create a clean break from Everton and Dean—and reached out.

"Yeah, I think so. It'll be good to rekindle those friendships I let die under Dean's control," I say.

Martha had messaged Caroline asking if she had my new number, then after checking with me, Caroline connected us. We've texted a couple of times to catch up before Martha asked if I'd like to hang out this Friday. Since I didn't have any plans—I rarely do outside of book club—I figured what the hell?

It's been over a year since I left Dean.

It's long past time for me to ease back into the social scene outside of Suitor's Crossing and the Reaper's Wolves MC community.

Caroline reaches across the table to squeeze my forearm. "I'm proud of you for putting yourself out there again. Martha and I weren't super close, but she seemed nice enough. Go have fun, then tell us all about it."

***

Go have fun. Tell us all about it. Caroline's words ring through my head as my gaze absorbs the scene around me.

I can't believe this is where Martha wanted to go—Rust, Everton's premiere underground bar and club. The large industrial space looks like it belongs in a horror film with all the stained concrete and eroded metal. An abandoned warehouse chic vibe clings to the building. The perfect place for all kinds of degenerates.

Okay, maybe, everyone isn't a delinquent, but still… This is a far cry from what I imagined tonight would be. I wanted to dip my toes into society again, not cannonball into shark-infested waters.

Where's the classy bartop, leather booths, and warm wooden features meant for a cozy atmosphere? My black bodycon dress rides up my thighs, and I hurriedly tug it down, regretting the decision to assume we were going somewhere upscale.

You know what they say about people who assume …

"Are you sure it's a good idea to be here? Is it safe?" I whisper to Martha. Her head bobs to the music filtering through the air as she scans the crowd of people in front of us.

The moment we parked outside Rust, I tried persuading her to go to Diamond instead. At least that club is owned by the Reaper's Wolves MC, making it leagues better in my mind.

But Martha was adamant that I give Rust a chance.

"Of course, just relax! Your ex must have done a real number on you if you're this antsy about a club. You really need to loosen up." Her hand pushes me forward once she finds who she's looking for.

I stumble a bit in my heels, unused to their added height, then recover, narrowing my eyes. She didn't shove hard, but I don't like even the pretense of being forced into something.

It's too reminiscent of Dean.

Martha introduces me to a group of six people occupying a dimly lit corner couch. Everyone scoots to the side so there's enough room for Martha to settle on the lumpy cushions, but it's clear I won't fit in the tiny space leftover. Not with my wide as fuck hips.

"I'll stand. Thanks." I wave off Martha's silently raised brow.

My plan is to recede into the background while she talks with her friends. I'll wait the night out in my own little corner until we leave, privately acknowledging that this will be the last time I ever hang out here. It might be the last time I meet up with Martha, too, if this is her idea of fun.

Sketchy warehouse clubs really don't fit her work vibe, but I guess that makes sense. People wear different facades depending on their environment. I just wish I'd seen beneath hers before agreeing to step into this bad idea waiting to happen.