As we navigate through the thinning crowd, I keep alert for any sign of Dylan or his friends, but the fairgrounds seem peaceful. Most families with young children have already left, leaving mostly teenagers and couples enjoying the late-night atmosphere of the midway.
The hot chocolate stand is a small wooden structure with a hand-painted sign and Christmas lights strung along its awning despite it being the middle of summer. An elderly woman with white hair piled high on her head presides over a row of simmering pots.
"Lilly Parker!" she calls out when she spots us. "I was wondering if you'd make it by tonight."
"Wouldn't miss it, Ma," Lilly responds warmly. "Three of your specials, please."
"Coming right up, honey." Ma's eyes travel over me curiously. "And who's this strapping young man? Don't think I've seen you around these parts before."
"This is my brother, Tank," Lilly introduces.
Ma surveys me with shrewd eyes that miss nothing. Not the cuts on my knuckles, not the patch on my back, not the way I position myself to keep sight lines clear.
"Well, anyone who's kin to our Lilly is welcome here," she finally says. "First cup's on the house."
Before I can protest, she's already pouring thick, dark chocolate into three oversized mugs, topping each with a generous swirl of whipped cream and a dusting of cinnamon.
"Best enjoyed while it's hot," Ma advises as she hands them over.
We move to a nearby picnic table, the last patrons at this quiet corner of the fairgrounds. The first sip of hot chocolate is a revelation—rich and velvety, with hints of something deeper than just cocoa.
"She adds cayenne," Katty explains, noticing my surprised expression. "And a splash of something stronger, though she'll never admit it."
"It's good," I acknowledge, taking another sip. The heat and spice cut through the sweetness, creating a perfect balance.
"Told you," Lilly says smugly, already sporting a whipped cream mustache. "Worth staying for, right?"
I have to admit it is, though I'm not sure if that's because of the hot chocolate or the company. Sitting here in the glow of the Christmas lights with Lilly happy and relaxed beside me and Katty across from me, her face softened by the golden light, I feel something unfamiliar—a moment of peace, maybe. Or belonging.
It's dangerous to get used to this feeling. I have responsibilities waiting for me. As the newest member of the inner circle, I'm in charge of training the prospects, showing them the ropes, making sure they understand what it means to wear the patch. The club is counting on me.
"You've got a little..." Katty points to her upper lip, looking at me with amusement.
I swipe at my mouth with the back of my hand, but based on her laugh, I've missed it.
"No, it's—here," she says, leaning forward across the table.
Before I can react, her thumb brushes across my upper lip, wiping away the whipped cream I'd apparently been sporting. The casual touch shouldn't affect me the way it does—a jolt of electricity running through my face directly into my throbbing bulge.
"Thanks," I manage.
Her eyes linger on mine a beat too long before she sits back. "Can't have the big bad biker looking less than intimidating," she teases.
Lilly snorts into her hot chocolate. "Too late for that. You should see him at Christmas. He wears this ridiculous sweater our grandma knitted him with reindeer on it."
"Lil," I warn, but there's no heat behind it.
"What?" she asks innocently. "It's cute! You're not always scary, you know."
Katty's watching this exchange with a small smile, whipped cream dotting her upper lip now. Without thinking, I reach across the table and brush it away with my thumb, the same way she did for me.
Her skin is soft under my touch, her lips parting slightly in surprise. I let my thumb linger perhaps a second longer than necessary, memorizing the feel of her.
"Can't have the badass librarian looking less than intimidating," I echo her words back to her, my voice low.
Lilly makes a choking sound.
"Oh my God," she sputters. "Did you just…? You never do that. For anyone."
