Page 98 of Baker

I turned toward the door. “Come in, Baker.”

He pushed the door open and stood there, grinning. Wearing black skinny jeans, black Chucks, a bright red blazer, and a red felt pimp hat with white fuzzy trim, he looked ridiculously cute.

“Hi, Holly,” he said with a tip of his hat. “Merry almost Christmas.”

He faced me and rolled the brim of his hat through his fingers, and then flipped it onto his head. “My dear.”

I raised my wine glass. “I like your outfit.”

He looked at Holly. “Coming, or going?”

She gulped her wine. “Just got here.”

“How long had you planned to stay?”

“Depends on how drunk I get.” She reached for the wine. “My babysitter can stay until tomorrow. Why?”

He adjusted his hat, pulling the brim a little lower. “Care to accompany us?”

“Where are we going?” I asked.

He gave me a playful glare, and then looked at Holly. His brows raised. “Well?”

I looked him over. Dressed in his little red outfit, he looked adorable. What I was missing about Christmas wasn’t fixed, but seeing him sure helped. As he waited for Holly to respond, I fell a little more in love with the man who cared enough about Christmas to make a fool of himself.

There were times when I found it extremely difficult to believe Baker was a biker. He was different than any other biker I’d ever meet, that much I was sure of. I wouldn’t want him to be any other way, though. He was perfect just the way he was.

Holly drank half her glass in one gulp, fearing commitment. It was just like her. She was sheepishly afraid of everything that wasn’t etched in stone.

“She’ll come,” I said. “Where are we going?”

He looked at me. “For a ride.” He looked at her. “Care for company?”

She looked at me, and then at him. She downed what remained in her glass and coughed as she tried to swallow it. “One of your friends?”

“The Goose,” he said with a nod.

“Is he nice?”

Baker grinned. “He is this time of year.”

“Is he cute?”

Baker looked at me.

I nodded. “He is.”

She nodded eagerly. “I’ll go.”

Her hair was twisted into a cute bun, leaving its lack of body and box-color dye job a mystery. I didn’t know Goose well, but my guess was that he’d be pleased with how she presented herself.

“Expecting any more tenants?” he asked.

“Nope.”

He tipped his hat, turned around, and hooked his thumb against his belt. “Shall we?”

With my arm hooked through his, and Holly at our side, we walked to his parking garage. A white minivan with fuzzy reindeer antlers mounted above the doors waited by elevator.