Page 8 of Holly's Christmas Biker

I glance up at the neon beer clock that’s near the bar and nod. “I was just going to put a food order into the kitchen then take my break when it’s ready.”

“Go ahead and double that order and I’ll take your break with you,” he says. “Had something I wanted to talk to you about if that’s alright with you.”

“Uh, okay. Anything you don’t want on your burger?” I ask.

“Nah, just get it how you do. I can always pick off anything I don’t want,” he replies.

I jot down my order on the pad next to the cash register and slide it onto the carousel at the window. Hank, the cook, looks at it and yells out so I can hear him over the music, “Give me about twenty minutes, Holly.”

“Thanks, Hank!”

Rebel follows me out back where Morris has a picnic table set up so we can take our breaks and smell the fresh, night air. When it starts getting colder, we have a break room inside we can use, which is good since I don’t smoke so I’ll stay in when the weather becomes too chilly to enjoy the outdoors. I take a sip of my soda, along with a deep breath since the bar has been hectic tonight. Which isn’t outside of the norm, even on the weekdays. After he divvies up our food, I put ketchup on the side of my plate and dip a fry before moaning as it crosses my lips and the flavor explodes on my tastebuds.

“God, I don’t know what he does differently, but these are some of the best fries I’ve ever had,” I tell him, licking my lips.

When he doesn’t immediately reply, I glance at him to see his hand stalled halfway to his mouth while his eyes… hell, I can’t decipher what his eyes are telling me right now. I may not be a virgin, but Devin’s the only one I’ve ever been involved with, so I’m clueless when it comes to the nuances of a man’s expressions.

I mean, I always knew what Devin was thinking and feeling, but that was mostly because of his scowls and glowering mannerism, but also because he was beyond vocal about every little thing. Shaking my head slightly, I ask, “What?”

“I’m glad to see a woman who isn’t afraid to enjoy food,” he finally manages to say, his tone more coarse than usual.

“Food is fuel, and I work hard enough that I’m not going to deny myself the things I like because of some preconceived societal misconception. Does that make sense?” I question.

“It does to me. Everything in moderation, but if me and the brothers cut loose and have a little too much beer, I just add another mile to my run and add another pound or two to my weights when I work out.”

“Well, between working here and my full-time gig, plus the girls and the fact I help my grandparents as much as possible on their farm, I probably expend more calories than I take in,” I reply.

“You work another job? How are you managing to do that with two little girls?” When he asks this, his eyebrows draw in. He tilts his head to the side, his eyes honing in on me as if he’s trying to probe my mind.

Shrugging, I dip another fry, pop it in my mouth, chew and swallow before answering. “I told you my girls’ father died earlier this year. Well, we lived in a house his family owned and his mother kicked us out about a month ago. My pappy put a doublewide on his land for me and the girls, and my full-time job as a CPA covers all of those bills, but Devin’s mother decided instead of selling the family home to cover his medical bills, she would rent it out instead. She presented me with a bill for the renovations.”

“Is that even legal?” he asks.

“I have no clue. Her husband, who is polar opposite to that woman, offered to pay it but she wouldn’t let him. Since I don’t want my girls to suffer because she can’t see past the end of her nose, I picked up the bartending job to help supplement my income. That way, I can still give them a good Christmas without going into debt,” I say.

“She sounds delightful,” he teases.

“Yeah, that’s not what I’ve said, trust me,” I retort, grinning at him. “She doesn’t even see her granddaughters, which is really no loss, but she’s their only living grandmother, since Grammy is their great-grandmother. At least Samuel comes and sees them, you know? But I have no use for Myra whatsoever. She never liked me, even when we were teenagers, then when I got pregnant at sixteen, she nearly lost her mind. Still, even though he and I were engaged, I could never go through with planning a wedding.”

“What held you back? I thought most women wanted the whole wedding, marriage, white picket fence thing,” he questions.

“Ha, my break’s not long enough to explain all the reasons I didn’t set a date to tie myself to him and that family,” I reply. “But suffice it to say, I think we were on the downward side of things.”

I don’t mention that the night Devin left to get his beer, he was higher than a kite, and had been for several days. Nor do I tell him that my body bore the bruises of trying to keep Devin at home that night. I’m not proud that I found myself being abused, but I had been in the process of making plans toleave when he died, so as far as I’m concerned, it’s not worth mentioning.

“So, that means we’ll lose one of the best bartenders we’ve ever had after the holidays?” he asks.

“We? What do you mean?” Before tonight, I’ve never seen him here, so I’m stumped on why he included himself into this scenario.

“The club owns the bar,” he replies, answering the spoken as well as the silent question I posed in my head.

“Well, I don’t know if I could keep to three days a week schedule, because my grandparents are helping me by watching the girls and they already raised my mom, plus me when my parents died. But that being said, maybe I could work every other week or something.”

“We’ll figure it out, okay?” He offers before blowing my mind with his next question. “Now, what I wanted to ask, but I’m not sure how it would work with your busy schedule, is if you’d go out with me?”

“Bikers date?” I question.

He chuckles at my skepticism before answering, “Normally no, but I’m attracted to you, and you’re not like the usual women I’ve seen in the past.”

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