Jessica Lemmon - Hard to Handle

But the way his father handled his mother’s passing…it didn’t seem natural. Aiden had never once seen the man cry—not when Mom took her last breath, not at the funeral, not after. Mike’s solution was to move on. When someone asked how he was, he’d offer a bit of fortune cookie wisdom or share a platitude about God’s timing. And while it could very well be true, it wasn’t easy to hear.

Aiden was grateful to have Shane. Sure he was family, but he was also Aiden’s best friend, and Aiden looked up to him as much as he did his father. What Shane had gone through—his father blaming him for his mother’s death—was something Aiden knew his own father would never do. But it didn’t make it any easier to look him in the eye whenever Mike lamented the weeks he’d lost not being at his wife’s side.

“I’m going to go to the cemetery tomorrow,” Aiden said.

Mike grunted, sliding the burgers onto four waiting buns.

Aiden accepted his plate and dragged up the courage to ask, “Would you like to go with me?”

Predictably, Mike shook his head. “No, no. Nothing but bones in a cemetery.”

He bet Dad hadn’t been to the cemetery since the funeral. Even then, he’d refused to take the chair in front of the casket, instead hovering at the rear of the crowd that had gathered. Mike had been the first to head for his car after the pastor finished speaking. Aiden stayed longer than he should have, watching as they lowered her body into the cold earth.

“Thinking of a ride later. Interested?”

Taking their bikes out was one way they’d bonded since Mom was gone. Aiden didn’t feel like riding tonight, but wouldn’t refuse his father’s request. Even if Dad’s idea of bonding was sharing an hour on the road without speaking.

“Yeah. I’m in.”

Mike smiled, the scar running the length of one cheek puckering slightly. “Good boy.”

* * *

At the entrance of Axle’s, Sadie tugged the hem of her shirt and pulled her shoulders back. She could do this. She had to do this.

The contract Aiden signed two days ago may have been a smidge overzealous. She blamed three years of pining for Axle’s stores for her campaign-esque promises. She’d given them MMS’s lowest rates, slashing her commission in half in the process, and promised to personally oversee the transition at this, their largest, busiest store, from their former parts supplier to Midwest. And while she was throwing in the cart with the horses, why not toss in the driver and cobblestone road, too? That was her only explanation for offering to buy back any of MMS’s competitor’s parts that didn’t sell over the next month. Of course, she’d assumed she’d be dealing with Axle and that she could charm a few of those extras into oblivion.

Sadie yawned. She’d spent half the night reading and rereading the contract for loopholes. No such luck. That Ericka in Legal was thorough. When Sadie woke this morning, however, she’d had a different attitude. Even if she could weasel her way out of the contract, or if she could convince Aiden to sign a new one, there was no way she would. The moment he found out he had something she wanted, he’d lord it over her, watching gleefully as she disassembled displays and hustled to sell out of her competitor’s parts. She wouldn’t have guessed Aiden was that kind of person until he attempted to trade a date for his signature on the contract. The thought made her frown.

She caught her reflection frowning back at her and plastered a smile on her face better suited to a beauty pageant contestant. Sadie Howard didn’t roll over. Sadie Howard didn’t lose. And even if she did lose, she thought as she knocked on the glass door, she wasn’t about to look like a loser.

She took in her surroundings while she waited to be let in. Axle’s sat on a highly manicured portion of downtown Osborn, cheery rows of potted flowers sitting on the brick-lined sidewalks, black light poles with waving city flags interspersed in between.

She liked this town. She liked her job, oddly enough. It had surprised everyone when she’d snuggled in at a motorcycle parts supplier after attaining her marketing degree. Probably because her father had lost his life on a bike, and Sadie refused to ride. But Sadie was good at sales and, aside from Perry being a thorn in her side, really did enjoy her coworkers. Being around people who loved motorcycles made her feel closer to her dad. She didn’t remember much about him, but his love for the open road was no secret. If only he’d have loved helmets as much.

She heard the lock disengage on the door and turned to find Aiden peering at her. He gave her a crooked smile, encouraging his dimple to appear. His shorn hair caught her by surprise again, so much shorter than she was used to seeing, though the front still fell in disarray over his forehead.

So he’s cute. So what?

Aiden pushed the door open and leaned with one arm drawn across the handle, forcing Sadie to brush by him when she entered. “Miss Howard.”

“Mr. Downey,” she clipped. She strode into the store in a pair of patent leather pumps perfectly suited to the red scarf around her neck and matching short-sleeved blouse. The four-inch heels, she hoped, were doing wonders for her backside, which she’d squeezed into a pair of tight vinyl pants.

Out of her peripheral vision, she watched Aiden’s eyes graze her outfit. It was immature, but she couldn’t help but feel smug.

Yes, sir, get a look at what you’ve been missing.

“Get lost on the way to a sock hop?”

Or not.

Sadie spun and pierced Aiden with a glare, her high ponytail nearly slapping her in the face with the movement. “I have work to do.”

Aiden shrugged. “Whatever you say, Sandra Dee.”

Ignoring the temptation to stick her tongue out at him, Sadie gathered her bag and walked to the other side of the store, where she’d be stocking Midwest’s complete line of motorcycle parts.

Sadie pulled out a pen and her notebook and sketched a rudimentary map of the store’s layout. The space was long and narrow, one entire end lined with windows facing the parking lot. In the window sat a remarkable vintage bike she knew belonged to Axle. When Axle had told her the bike was his creation, she’d marveled that he’d built it with his own huge mitts. The man was far more dexterous than she would have guessed.

Unfortunately, the bike wasn’t meeting its potential as top model. A shelf sat next to it, stocked with an uninspiring array of bumper stickers, T-shirts, and coffee mugs in random, busy colors while a mannequin in a “Biking is my Life” shirt stood guard. He’d lost an arm—which didn’t bode well for bike sales—and a creative profanity had been scrawled on his remaining limb.

She added the display to her list, jotting down to bring in some Midwest Motorcycle Supplies signage and retire the mannequin. This particular Axle’s shop was unique from its sister shops dotted around Ohio. Many customers who came here not only loved motorcycles but took pride in doing their own repairs and upgrades.

Rows of MMS parts lined in the window around Axle’s custom-built cherry Harley would have the locals drooling like one of Pavlov’s canines before they ever entered the store.

She trekked over to the parts aisles, wincing as she took in the staggered, mismatched rows. Some parts were unboxed, others marked with Post-its (really?) instead of price tags, while several others weren’t marked at all.

Since she’d promised to sell the old inventory or buy it back out of her pocket—not her brightest move—she’d have to get these parts sellable and gradually replace them with the Midwest brand. If she was stuck with them, she may be able to put them up for sale on eBay, but it wasn’t like she wanted to lug all of this stuff home with her.