Ch. 10 – Salty & Sweet
1004 Words
I’d seen the way she looked at me.
Not just a glance. Not curiosity.
Her eyes had lingered.
Tracing every line of my arms, the ink carved into my skin like warnings I couldn’t take back. Her lips parted just a little when she followed the tattoos across my chest, as if she wanted to ask where each one came from—but didn’t dare.
And then she saw it.
The scar.
The long, jagged mark that split the designs in half, running diagonally over my heart like a signature carved by violence itself. The scar that carried every ounce of my shame—the reason I left that life, the reason my best friend was dead, the reason I couldn’t stand to look in the mirror some nights.
Most people who saw it turned away.
Some women stared with lust, mistaking it for danger, for thrill.
But her eyes… they softened.
No fear. No disgust.
Acceptance.
And for one dangerous second, I let myself think: Maybe she could accept me. Maybe she could even accept all of it—the past, the scars, the mess.
The thought stuck like a splinter under my skin.
And yeah, of course I looked back at her.
At the way her ass shifted when she bent over the counter, the soft swell of her breasts pressing against that damn apron, her thighs practically begging to be held down. Of course I wanted her.
But she didn’t catch me looking.
Or maybe she just couldn’t imagine a man looking at her that way.
“I gotta head out early, man,” Kyle’s voice cut through the haze of memory. I lifted my head from the engine I was tearing apart, saw him swaggering over with that cocky grin plastered on his face. And clinging to his arm—a girl. Petite, wide-eyed, wearing too much lip gloss and too little sense.
Kyle’s hand gripped her waist, holding her like a trophy he was too young to own.
I wiped my hands on a rag and stretched one toward her. “Good to finally meet you, Crystal. Kyle doesn’t shut up about you.”
The reaction was instant. Her face twisted, the light in her eyes flipping to fire.
“Crystal?! Crystal?!” Her voice cracked across the garage. She shoved his arm away like it burned.
“Fiona—wait! It’s not what you think—” Kyle sputtered, chasing after her.
She spun on her heel, her hair whipping like a whip, and stormed out into the street.
Kyle whirled back to me, betrayal stamped across his face. “Thanks a lot, man!” he hissed before running after her.
I leaned back against the hood of the car, a slow grin spreading across my face. For once, the kid’s smirk had been wiped clean. He needed it.
I almost felt proud.
I was just sliding back under the hood when I heard it—
“Blaine?”
Her voice.
Soft. Sweet. Hesitant.
It stopped me cold.
I turned slowly.
She was standing there, framed by the doorway, golden curls bouncing around flushed cheeks. No apron this time. Just jeans hugging curves that deserved better than the shame she wrapped them in, and a blouse that made her skin glow in the afternoon light. Her lips were painted soft pink, so glossy it took everything in me not to imagine the taste.
And in her hands—a white box tied with a red ribbon.
“It’s not cake this time,” she blurted out, almost apologetic. She popped the lid, revealing cheddar and chive scones. Not neat, not perfect—rough around the edges. But still beautiful. Still hers.
“I don’t usually do savory,” she rushed on, “but I wanted to try something new. And since you don’t like sweet, I thought maybe you’d—well, you don’t have to, of course, but you’ve helped me a lot and I just thought I should—”
Her words tumbled so fast she could barely breathe. I lifted a hand to stop her. Reached in, picked up one of the scones. Smelled it. Bit down.
Sharp cheddar. Warm bread. The bite of herbs.
Perfect.
“This is…” I swallowed, then went for another, bigger bite. “…incredible.”
Relief washed over her face like sunlight through storm clouds. And then she smiled.
God, that smile.
Soft. Pure. Radiant.
For a second, the whole garage changed. No grease. No shadows. Just her.
“You… really mean that?” she asked, her voice fragile, like the answer mattered more than it should.
I nodded. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”
She laughed softly, the sound filling the garage, brushing against places in me I’d thought were long dead. She reached for the box, but when our fingers brushed, neither of us pulled away fast enough.
A spark shot up my arm.
She gasped, almost stumbling against the bench. Instinct had me there before I thought—my hand on her waist, steadying her, pulling her just a little too close.
Her body stilled under my touch, warm and soft. Her eyes lifted, locking on mine. The world narrowed down to that moment—the scent of her hair, the rise of her chest, the unspoken question hanging heavy in the air.
For a heartbeat, maybe two, I thought I might close the distance.
And God help me, she didn’t look like she’d stop me.
Then she stepped back, cheeks burning. She closed the lid on the box and placed it firmly on my workbench.
“You keep it,” she said quietly. “They’re yours.”
Her curls bounced as she turned and walked away, leaving the ribbon-tied box behind.
The door shut behind her, but the sweetness she left clung to me, heavier than the scent of oil and steel.
And all I could think was how close I’d come to doing something I swore I’d never let myself want.
- Writer
