Page 22 of Jingle Belle's Biker

Then he looks away and breaks the spell as he pours himself some tequila. His is straight, and he made mine with lime, sugar, and a dash of soda water. A poor man’s mojito, he said without the mint. Which means it’s not, but there’s something so thrillingly pleasing about a man who’ll quietly remember you’re not a hardcore drinker and soften that drink.

“You need more cilantro on yours.”

“How about you make your tacos for your tastes, Saint, and I’ll make mine to mine.”

He laughs and leans back, stretching out and pushing the cat gently out of the way first. “Yeah, but if you made them how I like them, it’d make stealing bites from you more fun.”

“Sorry,” I say with a healthy heap of sarcasm.

“It’s fine. There are perks.”

Nomad looks up at him, then at me, and jumps up, curling up to rest his fuzzy black paws on my dress. I scratch him as I set the empty plate down.

“Don’t let that cat get too comfortable.”

“Nomad’s making himself at home, aren’t you?” I say as the cat starts to purr.

“My point. This isn’t his home.”

“Tell that to the cat.”

He’s silent, then he takes a swallow of his drink. “What’s the deal with this fucking place?”

“This isn’t the greatest part of town, but it isn’t the worst.”

“Yeah, it’s a mix of nice and run down.”

“How did you end up here?” Heat flares. “I just mean short term.”

“This Lance Hastings was fine with it.”

I frown. “You rented from him?”

“Yeah. He said this apartment’s in his name. Like you said, the super used to live here, so I guess that’s what it’s for normally. Why?” He looks at me.

“Esther Hastings owned this. It’s all hands off through a property company. They do rentals. I think she hung on to it because she liked the gardens.”

He frowns. “There are actual gardens?”

“Look out the back windows tomorrow. You’ll see.” The thrill of someone discovering the magic here runs through me. I love it. “They’re overgrown, and it’s heading to winter, but they’re still something.”

“I’m not one for window views. Prefer mine to be from the open road.”

“Well,” I say, easing the cat from me and getting up to collect the plates. “There are nice places around here, outside the city limits. But, rent’s due on the twenty-fifth each month. This month, it’s the twenty-fourth. Don’t be late. It’s an immediate eviction.”

I carry the plates to the kitchen and start to wash the dishes, aware he’s followed me. “I can do that.”

“You cooked, I wash.”

“You helped, I’ll dry.” He opens a few drawers before pulling out a floral tea towel. “Not mine.”

My mouth twitches. “If you say so.” I hand him a plate.

He dries it. “The no grace period seems excessive.”

“Well,” I stick my hands in the hot, sudsy water and clean another plate, “that’s because Esther had this place all locked down as rent-controlled. There are stipulations. People can be evicted, but only for non-payment or late payments. It’s why this is still here, and shinier places are around the area. So don’t be late.”

“You know a lot about it.”

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