“Who said the night was ending?” Gerard stretches his hand out to me. “I’m just ready to stretch my legs and go for a ride, if you’re up for it.”
I take his hand willingly. “I’m definitely up for that.”
The complacent look in his eyes has the fourteen-year-old girl inside me giggling her head off. Oh Jesus, Kristen,get-a-grip.
As we walk through the restaurant and toward the front door, Gerard veers left in the direction of the kitchen. It’s all open so you can see everything the line cooks and chefs are doing.
“Hey, Poker,” Gerard call’s out, gaining Poker’s attention. “Your food wasn’t shit.”
Poker laughs then throws up his middle finger. “Glad to hear it. Hey, Kristen, if he doesn’t treat you right, you know where to find me.” He winks.
“Over my dead body, bitch. Stay in the kitchen where you belong.” Gerard pulls me away. “Later,” he hollers with his back to Poker.
“Later,” I hear Poker laugh.
I look over my shoulder and give Poker a little thank you wave, before we are out the door.
“You two have a very loving relationship,” I joke.
“The loviest doviest.” Gerard picks up my helmet off the handlebar and places it on my head. “He’d kill for me. I’d kill for him.” He puts his own helmet on, and I pause. I know when most people say that it’s a figure of speech, but when Gerard says it, there is something eerily true in his tone.
“Have you ever killed someone?” The question just tumbles out. There is a heavy silence between us.
“If I have, would you still ride away with me on this bike?”
I contemplate. “Are you a masked murder?” I ask in all seriousness this time. There is no denying there is more to Gerard than he lets on. I can feel it. But he doesn't scare me.
“No,” he responds in the same serious manner. “But some of my past is dark.”
I nod, understanding. “I want to know about it.”
“I don’t want to scare you away. Not yet.” He swipes his thumb against my cheek, and I lean into his touch.
“Give me the benefit of the doubt.”
He stares at me stoically. An enigma before my very eyes.
“Let’s go for a ride and then we’ll talk,” he seems to concede.
“I’m good with that,” I agree. Gerard mounts the bike, and I immediately wrap my arms around his waist. I have been yearning to touch him, to be close to him like earlier this evening. Plastered against his broad body, we drive along the coastline, the warm wind whipping against our faces as we follow the snakelike road.
I’m not sure how long we drive, nor do I care, but Gerard finally pulls over onto a secluded overlook near Point Dume. The bike teeters a bit as we drive down a sandy pathway, but Gerard keeps control. We stop several yards away from the highway, hidden behind some trees. Point Dume has magnificent views of seaside cliffs, even at night, with the moon casting a bright glow over the calm ocean and long stretch of beach. Everything is lit up in a silvery luminescence. It’s breathtaking, hypnotic, and wildly romantic.
Gerard parks, flicks out the kickstand, and then turns to face me on his seat.
“You must be quite the ladies’ man. You know all the good spots,” I quip.
Gerard chuckles. “Nah, the only person I’ve ever taken here is Ky. He loved this beach as kid.”
“I must be lucky then. You taking me here.”
“Darlin’, I’m the one who’s lucky by you even givin’ me the time of day.”
I perk up. “Why do you say that?”
“Different worlds.”
“Just because you own an auto body shop and I own a Fortune 500 company doesn't make us that different,” I argue. I may be rich now, but I came from a blue-collar background. I know what it’s like to work for every single dollar you have. I’ll never forget that part of my life. It’s what makes me who I am. It’s what helped make my daughter such a strong, compassionate, diligent woman. It’s the part of myself I’m most proud of.
