Page 5 of The Biker and the Single Mom

Tonight, they're safe.

Tonight, that's enough.

CHAPTER 2

RORY

Iwoke to walls I didn't recognize and sheets that smelled wrong—not the motel's industrial bleach, but something lived-in. Safe. Then Luna's giggle cut through my panic, and I remembered: Doc's apartment. We'd stopped running.

Luna's laugh came again, followed by a deep voice: "Easy, sweetheart. We want to mix it, not wear it."

I sat up, Doc's shirt—the one he'd given me last night. I padded barefoot toward the kitchen.

The scene that greeted me made my chest ache.

Luna stood on a chair at the counter, wooden spoon gripped in both hands, stirring what appeared to be pancake batter. Except the batter was everywhere—on her hands, her pajamas, the counter, and somehow on the side of her face.

"Mommy!" She spotted me and waved the spoon enthusiastically, sending droplets flying. "I'm helping!"

"I can see that." I couldn't stop the smile.

Doc stood beside her, one hand hovering near her back in case she wobbled. He'd showered—his dark hair still damp, water droplets catching on his shoulders. Low-slung gray sweats hung on his hips, and he was shirtless, all carved muscle and the sacred medical corps tattoo on his chest.

This man was dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with the gun I'd spotted on his nightstand last night before he’d moved it.

"Morning." His voice was rough with sleep, and his gaze held mine a beat too long before he turned back to Luna. "We're making pancakes. Hope that's okay."

"More than okay." I moved closer, drawn by the domestic scene. "Though it seems you're wearing as much batter as is in the bowl."

"That's Luna's special technique." He grabbed a dish towel, gently wiping batter off Luna's cheek. "Can't argue with the results though. Best pancakes in Saint's Hollow, right, kiddo?"

"The bestest!" Luna beamed up at him like he'd hung the moon.

When was the last time someone had been this patient with her? This gentle? Matt had barely tolerated Luna, treating her like an inconvenience in his perfectly controlled life.

Doc caught me staring. The air between us hummed for a moment before Luna dropped the spoon.

"Oops." She stared down at the batter-splattered floor, her bottom lip trembling. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean⁠—"

"Hey, it's okay." Doc crouched to her level, his tone staying calm. "Accidents happen. That's why we have towels, right? No big deal."

Luna hesitated, then whispered, “Daddy used to yell when I made messes."

My stomach dropped. Doc's jaw tightened, darkness flickering across his face before he smoothed it away.

"Well, daddy’s not here," he said quietly, firmly. "And in this house, spills aren't a big deal. We just clean them up and keep going. Sound good?"

Luna nodded, visibly relieved.

He cleaned up the mess with efficient movements, Luna chattering at him about Mr. Hops and how he needed breakfast too. I blinked back the sudden sting of tears.

This. This was what I'd wanted to give Luna. What I'd been running toward—not just away from Matt, but toward the possibility of normalcy. Of a life where a spilled spoon didn't mean shouting or punishment or walking on eggshells for hours afterward.

"Coffee?" Doc held out a fresh cup, our fingers brushing in the exchange.

The contact sent warmth spiraling low in my belly. His breath caught before he stepped back, putting distance between us.

"God, yes. Thank you." I wrapped both hands around the mug.