Merry might not need me to share every piece of information about myself.

I just knew if he asked, I should be open to sharing.

Including whoever texted.

Especially if it was about some trouble Ryker was involved in that was happening right on my street.

I’d felt Merry gearing up to go apeshit. That feeling let loose where he actually lost it, that would be a bad thing. So I knew Ryker was not wrong.

I just hoped whatever he was up to, he’d deal with it and do it in a way so Merry never knew I even had an inkling.

And worse, didn’t share.

“It good, babe?” he asked.

I focused on Merry and not my thoughts. I did this chewing and realized he was asking about my sandwich.

“Yeah,” I answered before I asked, “You gonna let me buy lunch?”

“Women argue with their girls about who’s buyin’ lunch,” he stated. “A man takes his woman to lunch, he pays.”

I was glad he seemed to have forgotten about the texts.

But I was still uncomfortable about it.

I lifted my brows. “Is that a badass rule?”

“Nope. One of the commandments,” he returned immediately.

“You sign those in blood?” I asked.

“Yup,” he answered. “Though not ours. The man whose ass we kicked to earn membership in the brotherhood.”

“Sorry I missed the initiation ritual,” I said through a smile before taking another bite.

“It was quite the show, baby.”

I chewed and did it still smiling.

Merry took another bite and lost another quarter of filling.

I swallowed so I could laugh without choking.

I did it thinking, this is how it feels…happy.

Outside many miraculous moments with my son, which were all about lucking out by having a kid as awesome as Ethan, I had no clue.

I had no clue just sitting across from the guy who did it for you at a booth in a diner could make you so…fucking…happy.

But it did because that was what I felt, sitting with Merry, trading smartass back and forth, and eating fantastic sandwiches.

Just that.

And that’s all I felt.

Fucking happy.

* * * * *

“Shit.”

It was Wednesday evening. Darryl was behind the bar with me. He was yanking out the bins full of recyclables in order to clean them out.

When he cursed, I looked to him to see he was bent to his task but his head was tipped back, his eyes were at the front of the bar, and his face was set to displeased.

I looked that way and felt my body get tight.

She’d timed it meticulously. I was a chick so I knew that to be true. Just after six on a weekday, the bar was full of patrons who wanted to get loose after their day by throwing back a drink.

She was there at that moment because she wanted an audience. She wanted people to know she’d thrown down with me. She might even be wanting to save face.