Page 102 of Jingle Belle's Biker

We look at each other, and I can’t help it. I cross to him, put my hands on his face, and bring him close.

“I’m in love with you, too, Saint Nick.”

“That works for me.”

“Stupidly,” I add. “Painfully. Ridiculously.”

“Ridiculously?”

“You’re wearing a Santa hat.”

“Gotta match your taste in pajamas somehow, Red.”

He kisses me, long, slow, and dreamy. It’s the kind of kiss filled with love and happiness and a future undefined, ready to be painted with wonderful memories.

“I have something to show you. Nomad found it.”

He leads me through my apartment to the hall where the extra bedroom is. There’s a closet opposite, big enough to keep my washer and dryer, and a door that’s been painted shut. I always assumed it led to the apartment next to me that was empty.

“I jimmied it the other side . . . get some shoes and a crowbar.”

Frowning, I say, “I don’t own a crowbar.”

“Outside your front door.”

With a sigh, I retrieve the bag with a crowbar sticking out and shove my feet in my shoes as I head back.

He rummages and hands me a flashlight. “Need to fix the wiring.”

My curiosity is on fire.

Saint jimmies the door open, old paint cracking and floating down in small pieces. Opening it, he turns and holds out his hand as Nomad darts around us and in. I go to hand him the flashlight, but he shakes his head.

“C’mon, Red, when a biker in a Santa hat holds out his fucking hand. What do you think he wants?”

My breath tangles in my throat. “My hand.”

“The lady takes a prize.” I put my hand in his hand, and he closes his fingers around it, then raises it to his lips and kisses me. “Turn on the light.”

I do, and he leads me down creaking stairs until light and wonderful scents start to seep in.

Nomad swishes his tail and meows, turning to look at us. His eyes gleaming wild as the light reflects on them.

“Okay, fucking little rodent,” Saint says, voice full of warmth, “we’re going.”

He opens the door, and the cat saunters in.

Saint and I follow.

I’ve seen his apartment before, but I’ve never been here when it smells quite like this. The deep, savory aroma is warm, wonderful, and feels like home.

“Seems back in the day, these were two-story places. So, I thought . . . if you wanted, we could open it up. That way, there is no back and forth on the outside stairs. And one day, maybe . . . Shit, I don’t know. I’ve got money. A lot of money since I’m excellent at my job and don’t yet have a home. I thought maybe this would do. With you.”

“Just like that.”

He pulls me against him. “Just like fucking that.” The kiss is fierce and proprietary in all the right ways. “Okay, we could have it. I’m here, and you’re there, and then one day, if you want, we can turn this into our home, turn it back to a more open version of what it once was. I’m betting there are original plans.”

“You, me, Nomad?”

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