Chapter 1
It's Private
Ivy
Aftermonthsofsearchingold records, Internet-digging, and even a failed roadtrip that my friend Chad wouldn’t let me forget, I sat outside a new neighborhood bar called ‘On a Lark’, determined to find my biological dad.
The neon ‘Open’ sign wasn’t lit, but I’d watched at least four couples walk through the doors, and they’d yet to come out.Rumor had it there was a soft launch going on, and another rumor said the bar’s name tied back to the man in charge.
Lark.
The same motorcycle club road name attributed to the man I was looking for: a sperm donor Mom had chosen over twenty years ago.
I inhaled slow and deep to calm my nerves.There were seven motorcycles in the parking lot.The last couple I’d watch go inside the bar had arrived on a bike.I’d never been to a biker bar.I’d watched a few movies and a long-running TV series about bikers, and even if those weren’t entirely accurate (and I suspected they weren’t) I knew this could go the wrong way.Especially since I was here alone.
A shiny, bright blue Ford F-150 pulled into the lot and parked two spots over from my car.Part of me was relieved at that because the side mirrors jutted out from the cab much farther than necessary.Three men got out of the truck, two of them loud and obnoxious.
I kept my gaze pinned to my phone in my hand hoping they wouldn’t notice me inside my car.
My head jerked up at a metallic bang coming from my hood.I locked eyes with a white man in his twenties wearing a black baseball hat with the bill facing backwards.
He laughed and grinned at one of the other men.“Scared the shit out of her.”
Chad’s words from earlier in the day raced through my mind.
Why are you doing this?
That was the million-dollar question.
I’d told him I didn’t know, but that wasn’t entirely true.
Over the years, Mom had off-handedly said she’d love to meet the man who helped make me who I was.
I’d stopped telling her thathewasn’t the man who made me who I was since that would require his presence in our lives.
Still, for some reason, ten months ago her words-slash-request had taken root in my head, and I couldn’t let it go.
I wanted to meet him, too.
Even more, I wantedMomto meet him.
Yeah, the jerk banging on my vehicle hadn’t scared me.The prospect of walking into that bar and coming face to face with Lark scared me, but if Mom had taught me anything it was to face my fears with my chin held high.
So, I tucked my keys in my pocket, grabbed my purse, and faced reality.
Three paces into the bar, I stopped short, for two reasons.
One, the set-up was wrong.I expected to open the door and wander to the actualbar.Instead, I found myself inside a small room with a glass-case that doubled as a counter and held a variety of t-shirts.
Two, the man behind the counter with his leather vest, bulging biceps, light brown hair and alert blue eyes riled my nerves more than any group of rowdy rednecks ever could.
I swallowed and pushed through my frazzled nerves.
“Hi.Is there a cover charge to get in?”
One of his eyebrows rose ever-so-slightly.“Why would you think there’s a cover?”
I hadn’t expected that.Answering a question with a question had to rank as one of my least favorite conversational gambits.
