Blaze:
The sun beat down through the open windows as I set my tools down and stepped back to inspect the patch I’d just made on the living room wall. It wasn’t perfect—hell, I’m no contractor—but it’d hold. I wiped the sweat from the back of my neck with the hem of my shirt and glanced out toward the truck where Saint was unloading boxes.
He looked… at peace. Tired as hell, yeah, but peaceful. There was something in his stride, a kind of contentment I hadn’t seen in him before. Not when he was just running the club. Not even during our wildest runs. This—this whole settling-down thing—it suited him more than I expected.
“You good in there?” he called through the screen door.
“All patched up,” I said, grabbing the half-empty beer bottle I’d left on the counter. “You sure you don’t want
