Sinclair

I PARK MY car in the driveway of the tiny white house, taking in my surroundings with curiosity. The bikers who trail me all the time park along the street, giving my car a wide berth of space for when I'll have to back out.

This neighborhood is quiet and serene once the motorcycle engines stop throttling. Leila's yard is well maintained, probably the best yard in the entire neighborhood. The grass seems surreally green and she has well taken care of flower beds along the driveway. I remember her telling me via text that she likes gardening but this is really something else. Her lawn looks like something from a Pinterest vision board.

I step out carefully, wanting to make sure I don't topple over and face plant right into her pretty yard and make my way toward her house. Up close, I can see how well-maintained her house is, too. The paint seems fresh and the columns that hold her roof up over her porch are decorated with vines of roses that are, unsurprisingly, well-maintained.

My own house is now back to its former glory—actually, it's even better now that I've got new furniture—but it's nothing like this. Her home is like some kind of garden made to be ogled. I've never seen anything so beautiful.

Before I can even knock on the door, it's already opening and there stands Leila looking every bit as pretty as always. Her long curls are tied up and away from her face in a messily pretty bun and her smile is as infectious as it always is.

"Freyja, this is so nice. Seeing you outside of the meetings, I mean. Not that it's not nice seeing you during the meetings. Those are nice, too. I just mean—"

I hold up a hand to stop her babbling. She's a lot better at articulating herself when we're texting, her words tend to jumble up when she's talking face-to-face.

"It's good to see you, Leila," I say.

She smiles at me and steps to one side, holding out an arm in a sweeping gesture. I follow her cue and step into the house. It's cozy inside and it's every bit as neat as the outside. From this tiny hall, the rest of her house is blocked off but I can just barely make out the sliding back doors at the very back of her kitchen.

After the door closes, she begins leading me to her living room and she says, "Is it normal to travel with a group of scary looking men?"

For a moment, I don't process what she's saying but once I do, I respond, "My...um...well, this guy I'm seeing is a little overprotective."

Leila raises her eyebrows until they're practically in her hairline. "You mean Sinnerman. Er, Sinclair, sorry." When I nod cautiously, sitting down slowly, she begins her babbling again. "That's so strange. Your relationship, I mean. Not that there's anything wrong with it but more like I never expected anyone to want to date him. He's not unattractive or anything, but he's kind of scary. No offense." She bit her lip to stop herself from saying anything further.

My lips twitched as I tried not to laugh. "It's fine," I assure her. "Sinclair scares most people. If you weren't a little afraid of him, you wouldn't be a normal person."

I take the opportunity to glance around her living room. The furniture is all in tans and neutral colors and a smart TV hangs on the wall a couple of feet away from us. The coffee table between us holds familiar looking pastel pink box.

Apparently having seen me staring at it, Leila says, "Oh, these are from Dana's Donuts. Um, I work there."

This information was new to me. "Doesn't Noah own that place?" I ask teasingly.

Leila jumps in surprise and holds her hand over her mouth, looking embarrassed. I can't stop myself from laughing this time and she sticks her tongue out at me before sighing and laying back on her couch.