She grabbed a mug from one of the pegs on the wall and happened to check inside. Thank goodness she had, because it was dusty. She grabbed another one. Same thing. That’s when she noticed all the mugs had something to do with motorcycles. Funny she hadn’t noticed it before. Born to Ride. I Do My Own Stunts. Keep The Rubber Side Down. Harley-Davidson. SAMCRO. Sturgis 2013. She grabbed a pink one with the Reckless logo, and only when she started to pour coffee into it did she notice it said Ole Lady on the other side.
A clatter of pots and pans came from the door leading to the small kitchenette adjacent to the coffee station. She peeked in and almost dropped her cup.
There was Asher, leaning against the counter, reading what appeared to be a cookbook.
Holy crap. I must’ve died and this is heaven.
His dark hair was tousled as if he’d just run his fingers through it. His jeans hung low, accentuating his narrow hips, and a chain looped into his pocket. With a furrowed brow, he mouthed the words as he read the instructions. If anyone could look dangerously sexy while reading a book, Asher could.
So she hadn’t been dreaming last night after all. He had come back. How was it possible that she hadn’t heard him get up this morning? She must’ve been more tired than she thought. And what happened to the morning lovemaking he’d seemed to be so fond of before? Surely she would’ve woken up for that, she thought with a smile, her inner muscles tightening.
She must’ve made a sound, because he lifted his head with a jolt. His dark gaze bore into her, a symphony of emotions playing across his face and shooting straight to her heart.
“Hi,” she said, her mouth suddenly dry. “You’re…you’re here. I heard someone and wondered—”
“What are you doing?” he snapped. A shadow passed behind his eyes, like a bruise she hadn’t seen earlier.
She took a step backward, surprised at his harsh tone. “You seem to have forgotten. I…uh…am working here now, remember?”
“I know that.” He slammed the cookbook shut and abruptly turned away.
She wasn’t sure what had just happened, but she didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure out he didn’t want her here.
Gripping her coffee mug, she walked slowly back to Mel’s desk, glad that she wasn’t able to see Asher from where she sat. Was he upset she was still holed up in his rooms and hadn’t yet moved out? That she was taking over his man-space? It would explain why he hadn’t reached for her last night or this morning.
She unlocked the desk drawer and pulled out the little notebook where Mel kept all the passwords. The best thing to do was get to work to take her mind off what had just happened, then start sleeping out in the RV till she found a place of her own. At least she had a car.
She had just signed into the Reckless email account when she heard a rustle behind her and Conry’s tail thumping on the floor. Something slid toward her on the desk. It was a plate with three misshapen pancakes, two pieces of overcooked bacon, and a rubbery-looking fried egg.
“I made breakfast,” Asher said gruffly.
She frowned, unable to process what was going on. The caffeine hadn’t kicked in yet. She thought he was mad at her. “But I…”
“If you’re not hungry, that’s fine.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“It’s probably terrible,” he said, staring at the second plate he was holding as if it was poisonous. “I’ve never made pancakes before.”
Warmth blossomed inside, spreading to her fingers and toes. This big, somewhat awkward, yet incredibly sexy man had cooked breakfast…for her. He’d done something he’d never done before…for her.
He reached to remove her plate, but she shoved his hand away. “They look perfect. It all does. And it just so happens that I’m starving.” She blinked back a tear and grabbed the fork. She’d never had a man cook for her. She’d done plenty of domestic things for various boyfriends, but the favor had never been returned.
She cut into the pancakes, swirled them into the syrup and melted butter, and took a bite.
Asher watched, a worried look on his face. “Is…is it edible?”
“If a five-star chef had made me breakfast, it could not look any more perfect or taste any better than this. It’s delicious.” His shoulders slumped in relief and she laughed. “You act like you thought it might kill me.”
He twisted a paper towel in his hand. It must be the napkin he was going to give her but had forgotten. She grabbed a tissue from a box next to the computer and wiped a drop of syrup from her chin. She’d never seen him so unsure of himself. What had happened to him while he was away?