Curvy Baker and the Vice President

The day I open my bakery, the man next door ruins it. Gage Holloway. Vice President of the Steel Saints. Eleven years older, twice my size, and allergic to smiling. He revs his engines at seven a.m. So I blast Dolly Parton at six fifty-nine. He says he doesn't eat sugar. I take that personally. But the grump who refuses me to my face is the same man who rewires my dead oven at midnight. Who wades through a flooded cellar for me. Who looks at my curves like they're something worth guarding. Then a smooth-talking stranger decides he wants both our buildings, and he doesn't care who gets hurt taking them. Suddenly there's only eighteen inches of brick between me and a man I can't stop thinking about. But Gage doesn't do soft. He doesn't do sweet. So what happens when the coldest man I've ever met starts melting for me? Steamy grumpy sunshine. Curvy baker. Protective alpha biker. Age gap. Feuding neighbors. Small town. Guaranteed HEA.