Brittany's POV

“It’s Friday night! Can you believe they’re seriously holed up in that office instead of helping out here?” Maris snaps, her frustration nearly palpable.

Across the cramped, bustling kitchen, Stellan and I exchange knowing glances. We’re stationed by the small pass-through window where orders wait under warming lights. Both of us have long since learned when to speak and when to just let Maris vent.

“You know how Jorah is, girl,” Stellan drawls nonchalantly, his tone laced with mischief. “Man can’t resist chasing tail. Let him do his thing.”

I glare at him, anticipating exactly how Maris is going to react. This won’t end well.

“‘Let him do his thing?’” Maris repeats, her voice low and sharp as she stacks plates onto a tray. Narrowing her eyes, she practically bristles with irritation. “His ‘thing’ can wait until his diner isn’t falling apart!”

With a huff, she storms off, flipping her hair in that dramatic way she does when she’s fired up.

“Was that really necessary?” I ask Stellan, shaking my head as I start gathering plates for my own table. “You know how on edge she is tonight.”

Stellan grins, unrepentant. “Lighten up, Brittany. Riling her up is half the fun of working here.” Chuckling, he turns back to the grill, focusing on the mounting pile of orders.

The evening stretches on, chaotic and relentless. Fridays are usually unpredictable at the diner—steady enough for business but manageable for the staff. Tonight, however, is a frenzy. Every seat is filled, customers are lined up at the door, and the kitchen’s tempo has ramped up to a fever pitch.

I start wondering if there’s some local event pulling in people, though I can’t begin to guess what that could be. This is Gering, Nebraska, after all. Nothing exciting ever happens here. It’s precisely why I settled in this unassuming little town.

For over two years after gaining my freedom, I wandered aimlessly from place to place. Fear kept me constantly moving, never staying anywhere more than a few months. But eventually, the restlessness became exhausting. The gaps between moves stretched from three to six months.

Then I stumbled upon Gering. It was quiet, unremarkable, and felt safe in a way nowhere else had. That was enough for me to stay. They’ll never find me here. Still, I keep everything ready—just in case I need to vanish again.

As the hours race by, the hectic pace of the diner doesn’t let up. The flow of customers barely wanes. Meanwhile, Aisby keeps slipping in and out of Jorah’s office. My patience is wearing thin. Is he really this incapable of focusing on his business?

I’ve had to stop Maris multiple times from barging into the office. If she pushes her luck any further, she might lose her job. And honestly, if she’s gone, I doubt I’d want to stick around either. Still, it’s frustrating that Jorah can’t pull himself together for one night.

By the time the clock reads past seven, the diner hasn’t calmed by much. I stand behind the counter, rolling utensils into napkins for the tables, muttering under my breath about how ridiculous this all is. We’ve got four more hours to go until closing, and I’m already out of energy.

“Excuse me.”

Startled, I glance up at the deep, polite voice speaking directly to me. The man standing in front of me radiates confidence, flashing a disarmingly charming smile. His sky-blue eyes are sharp and direct, and his shoulder-length golden-blond hair gives him a rugged, almost untamed air. He leans casually on the counter, looking right at me, and for a brief moment, I forget how to form words.

“Uh…” I manage to vocalize weakly.

His smile widens into a smirk, amusement flickering across his features. “Didn’t mean to bother you while you’re so swamped,” he says smoothly. “I grabbed a seat in my girl’s section, but I haven’t seen her yet. Her name’s Aisby. She’s here tonight, right?”

His words snap me out of my daze. My eyebrows shoot up in surprise, my mind scrambling to catch up. This man is… stunning, to put it mildly. And he’s looking for Aisby? I can’t reconcile the two.

Maris’s earlier comments suddenly resurface in my mind. She mentioned Aisby’s connection to some guy in a motorcycle club. My gaze falls to the leather cut he’s wearing. Hellbound Legion MC is stitched boldly across the back, and a patch over his chest declares him as the group’s Treasurer.

He notices my pointed glance at his vest and quickly raises his hands in surrender. “Not here to stir up trouble,” he assures me, his tone easy and earnest.

I shrug, dropping my eyes back to the pile of utensils I’m working on. “Didn’t figure you were.”

“Huh,” he murmurs, a thoughtful hum escaping him as if analyzing my reaction. The faintest hint of a smile lingers on his face.