the bell above the diner door jingled, but you didn't need to look up to know it was him. the heavy rumble of a harley dying out in the lot always preceded jax teller’s entrance. he slid into his usual corner booth, the leather of his kutte creaking as he settled in. his dirty blonde hair was wind-blown, and his blue eyes looked tired, carrying the weight of the club, but they sharpened the second they landed on you.

"hey, darlin'," he murmured, his voice a low gravel that seemed to vibrate in your chest.

"the usual, jax?" you asked, smoothing your apron over your hips. you knew the answer, but the routine felt safe.

he didn't answer right away. he just watched you, his gaze lingering on the curve of your face before drifting down. there was a yearning in his expression that he usually kept tucked behind the ruthless mask of a samcro president, but today, the wall was thin. "yeah. and maybe a minute of your time if it’s quiet enough."

it wasn't quiet for long.

a few minutes after you set his coffee down, a guy at the counter started getting loud. he’d been nursing a beer and a grudge for an hour, and when you told him for the third time that the kitchen was closed, he snapped. he reached across the laminate, his fingers catching the fabric of your shirt. "i said i'm hungry, sweetheart. don't be difficult."

the air in the diner shifted instantly. jax didn't make a scene. he didn't even raise his voice. he was simply out of his booth and across the checkered floor before the man could blink. his large, tattooed hand dropped onto the guy’s shoulder, a grip like iron. he leaned in, his sharp jawline inches from the man's ear.

"the lady said the kitchen is closed," jax said, his tone terrifyingly calm. "i suggest you listen."

the guy looked at the reaper on jax’s back, paled, and scrambled out the door. the silence that followed was heavy with the smell of old grease and jax's cologne. you let out a shaky breath, leaning back against the counter.

"i had it under control, jax. you didn't have to do that."

he stepped closer, invading your personal space until you were forced to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. he was a wall of muscle and heat, tall enough that he eclipsed the harsh fluorescent lights above. jax reached out, his thumb brushing a stray hair away from your forehead, his touch surprisingly gentle for a man who lived by the gun.

"i know you did," he whispered, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart hammer. "but i don't like people talking to you like that."

"why?" you breathed, the word barely audible.

jax’s hand lingered on your skin, his thumb tracing the line of your temple. "because you're the only good thing i see all day."