Page 13 of Jingle Belle's Biker

“It all sounds so perfect,” I say to him. And it does. Maybe it’s too perfect. “But they have nowhere to go.”

“There’s always cheaper accommodation.” He sighs heavily. “The signatures won’t stop me building on the land around the crumbling building. Now?—”

“What would Esther say?”

He offers his movie star smile. “She put all this in place, the handling of the building through her company to stop anyone manipulating things, like I said. She’s hands off.”

“Because she’s no longer with us.”

“Yes.” He leans in. “The building’s mine. It’s in her will. But I’m not ripping it down. Even though that’s the best thing, she wants—wanted—what’s best for the people and being priced out isn’t. “

I huff. “You’re happy hurting people?”

“I’m happy improving things.”

“Like your already fat bank account.”

He winces and dips his head. I swear the light bounces off his golden hair like a halo. “I have a vision.”

“To price people out.” Angel my ass.

“I’m creating jobs. A lot of jobs. And if you got off your high horse, we could resume the engagement, and I could show you a better life.”

His phone lights up with a call. The name isn’t one of his many friends I recognize.

Nicholas.

I almost ask him who it is as he moves the phone away, but I don’t. It’s just getting dragged into things I don’t want to be dragged into. “I’ve no interest in being a show pony of a wife.”

“I think you mean trophy wife.”

“I know what I mean.” I take a breath. All this new information swirls in my head, but I grasp something. “One thing you could do, considering this building is yours, is to go easy on people with rent. There’s a policy . . .”

“Where late equates eviction? I’m more than aware.”

“Maybe you could back off on that over the holidays? It’s Christmas.”

“You should spend it with me,” he says. “And I would, but I can’t back off. As I said, hands off, protocols.”

I push back my chair as I catch Hannah’s eye. She motions her head to the door. “I need to head home. Think about it.”

“I’ll do my best,” he says.

I try as I might, I don’t believe him.

After a quick chat with Hannah, who left when I did, I walked home. After the storm, the weather’s cooler, bordering on cold, but we’re nowhere near snow weather. It’s a funny little quirk of Sweetwood in that it can be mildly cold even in December.

Still, I’m glad for my coat.

My heart warms as I approach Secret Gardens. It’s a throwback to more romantic times, and I always wonder what it looked like back in the day with a manicured courtyard and the garden that lives in the center of the building lovingly tended to by someone full-time.

The hexagon shape has a hollow center where I can see the garden and my neighbors’ windows.

I suddenly come to a stop when I near the big front doors.

To the left, in the shadows, is a big black and chrome beautiful bike. It looks familiar to me.

So is the man who comes out the front doors, making them look small.

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