After I deposited a load of dishes in the sink and scrubbed them clean, the biker was gone. His table was empty, with his dirty dishes stacked neatly together. To my surprise, a twenty-dollar bill was tucked under the mug, which was far too generous, but I appreciated it nonetheless.
As I stowed the cash in the pocket of my uniform, my gaze strayed to the window. I scanned the parking lot, thinking maybe I could catch one final look of the biker before he disappeared.
There was no sign of him.
For the next two weeks, my heart skipped a beat every time I heard the bell over the door jingle. Maybe the biker had returned for another cup of coffee and a slice of pie.
Then my heart would sink a little when someone else was standing at the door, waiting to be seated, instead of the biker.
That hopeless romantic streak will get you in all kinds of trouble, Keely,Dad would tell me.
I couldn’t help it. I wanted to be so madly, deeply, crazy-in-love with my soulmate one day. I wanted a husband who never left without a good-bye kiss, then raced home to kiss me senseless again. I wanted someone who hated to fight with mebut craved the nastiest, sweatiest, kinkiest make-up sex that came afterward.
Obviously, I didn’t think this biker was The One. That would be foolish and naive since I only met him once and I didn’t even know his name. But I couldn’t deny the warmth of attraction I felt, and I didn’t mind basking in the fantasies that flooded my thoughts a little while longer.
The chances of seeing that biker again were pretty much nonexistent anyway.
With a sigh, I made a mental note to check the dating apps again after my shift tonight. It wasn’t easy being a lover girl who yearned and pined and longed for romance in a world full of people who werejust trying to keep their options open.
I wasn’t afraid of commitment. The problem was finding someone willing to commit to me. It washappily ever afteranduntil death do we part, or nothing at all.
By the time a month had passed, I had mostly forgotten about the biker.
During a busy lunch hour, my feet ached, my lower back was killing me, and I could feel a tension headache throbbing to life in my temples. Nearly every table in the diner was taken. I juggled a heavy tray laden with burgers, fries, and milkshakes, when the bell over the door chimed, almost completely swallowed by the din of conversation and the clatter of silverware.
“We’re almost full up,” I called absently, too preoccupied with not spilling the milkshakes. “I’ll find you a seat in a minute! Don’t run out on me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of doing that.”
My breath caught in my throat at that bass timbre like melted chocolate, with an edge of gruffness. I knew that voice. I’d only heard it once, but I knew it anyway.
Glancing up, I met the biker’s dark blue eyes. He lifted his chin with acknowledgement casually, as if my heart wasn’t leaping out of my chest at the sight of him.
“Hey,” he said. “I was hoping to put in a group order for takeout.”
Takeout.
That means he’s not staying, I realized with a faint sting of dismay. Not that it mattered. I couldn’t imagine someone like him—tattooed, muscled, smoking hot—would be single anyway. Besides, what were the chances he remembered some no-name waitress like me?
Shaking myself out of my daze, I hurried to offload my tray and came over. Shoving my whirlwind of feelings aside, I plastered on a professional demeanor.
“Sure. Depending on the size of your order, the wait time might be a while though. Will that be a problem?”
He shook his head as he retrieved a crumpled piece of paper from his jacket pocket and smoothed it out, handing it over.
“There’s no rush.” He paused and swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Then he added, “It’s worth the wait when the cherry pie was that good.”
I brightened. Hedidremember me. Butterflies bloomed in my stomach and a pleased blush crept up my neck. I ducked my head to hide a small smile and forced myself to focus on the list he had provided. Then my eyes widened.
“Whoa. Holy shit, are you feeding a small army?”
He huffed with amusement.
“Something like that. A herd of bikers can turn into a hungry pack of wolves in no time.”
“Oh, that sounds like an emergency,” I replied. “I’ll see what I can do about putting a rush on it.” I paused and wetted my lower lip with my tongue, preparing myself for what I was about to say next. “Can I get a name for your order?”
A normal, routine question to ask, I reasoned. I did it all the time at the diner. But I caught myself holding my breath anyway, waiting.
