Constance laughed softly, the tension finally easing as she nodded. “I’d love to have dinner with you.” And maybe dessert later she’d thought as they headed for the door.
Chapter Seven.
They sat in a tall vinyl booth beneath an Edison bulb that cast a warm, amber glow over the table. It was the kind of place that smelled like hot grease, oregano, and burnt crust no matter the time of day. It was known for their pizza. That’s what the sign said.
He looked out of place and perfectly at home all at once—broad shoulders stretching the seams of his leather vest, the MC patch heavy on his back. His knuckles were scarred, restless around the neck of a sweating beer bottle, like they weren’t used to being idle.
Constance folded her napkin carefully in half, then in quarters, as if organizing paper might help organize her thoughts.
Frost watched her. Sitting there, he noticed the softness that clung to her—not the kind that meant fragile, but the kind born from kindness. Her eyes were sharp, observant, but exhaustion lived there too, etched deep enough to notice if you were looking for it.
“So,” he said finally, breaking the silence, “do you trust me to order dinner?”
Constance smiled, a little crooked, a little brave. “I think I can trust you to order me food.”
The rumble of the bike still clung to her, vibrating just under her skin. She hadn’t expected how much she’d enjoyed being on the back of it, arms around him, the city blurring while he stayed solid and steady beneath her.
“How long have you ridden?” she asked.
“Most of my life.”
She nodded. “I don’t know much about the biker lifestyle. Other than what I’ve seen on TV.”
Frost leaned his head back against the tall vinyl seat and closed his eyes. “Please don’t tell me you watchedSons of Anarchy.”
“No,” she laughed. “A documentary on YouTube.”
He groaned. “That might be even worse.”
The conversation remained easy as Constance asked about his life and being part of the club, her interest genuine, the kind that made him answer more honestly than he usually did.
When the pizza arrived—grease shining, cheese bubbling over the pan—they continued the conversation as they ate. The booth was small, every now and then their knees brushed under the table. Conversation came easier than expected.
He talked about the club like it was a family that chose you back. She talked about the food bank like it was a promise she refused to break, no matter how many times it got tested.
Every now and then, his gaze tracked the door out of habit, protective without meaning to be. Every time it did, she noticed, and didn’t pull away. She liked knowing someone was watching out for her now, even if he’d been sent there under the guise of keeping an eye on things.
By the time they split the last slice, the booth felt warmer. Not safe exactly, but steady. Two people who’d met through trouble, finding something unexpectedly gentle over cheap pizza and paper napkins, both wondering, quietly, if this might be the start of something worth guarding.
As they continued their conversation they both tried to ignore the buzzing of their phones going off. Finally Frost pulled his phone out apologizing for the interruption.
“Cipher, what’s going on.”
Frost listened as the brother told him that the food bank had been vandalized and that the cops were on the scene. Hanging up Frost didn’t waste any time getting the waitress to bring the check.
Tossing money on the table he waved Constance out of the booth.
“What’s wrong?” She asked as she grabbed her purse off the seat.
“The food bank was broken into. The cops are already there.” He told her, leading her towards the parking lot. Where he could get her to the food bank.
It was automatic as Constance buckled the helmet on. Frost had the bike already fired up and waiting for her to climb on behind him. As she settled in behind him, she wrapped her arms around him as he shifted the bike into gear and pulled out. The roar of the engine drowned out most of her thoughts.
It took them fifteen minutes to get across town. When they pulled into the older strip mall all she saw was blue lights flashing and a crowd of people milling around.
Frost pulled up and parked close to the building. Shutting down the bike he helped Constance to climb off by giving her his hand. He could feel her apprehension as she struggled to get off the bike.
Climbing off he pulled his helmet off then helped Constance with hers. She was shaking so bad she couldn’t get the damn thing off. Dropping both helmets on the seat, Frost grabbed her hand and walked them to the scene.
