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She smiled and echoed, “Yeah.”
Not just yeah, but fuck yeah. “Gonna text you when I’m on my way.”
“That sounds like a plan,” she answered with a smile.
That definitely sounded like a plan. He also liked that fucking smile. He liked it a whole hell of a lot. He’d like it even better if that was all she was wearing.
Dinner before dick, he reminded himself. She’s probably used to being wined and dined by someone with a fuck-ton more social skills than him.
He opened the door but stopped again when she called out, “Whip.”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for your help. I really appreciate it.”
“Ain’t nothin’.”
No, it was something.
She was something.
He grinned and stepped back outside, closing the door behind him.
Never in his fucking life had he looked forward to dinner this much.
Not fucking ever.
As he headed back to the shop, he couldn’t wipe that grin free.
In the end, he didn’t even bother to try.
Chapter Six
The restaurant Whip took her to was packed with locals so Fallon figured it had to be good. As it turned out, it was better than good. Whip had been spot on.
The food wasn’t fancy but it was all freshly made unlike a lot of diners Fallon had stopped at along her trip, where nothing had been homemade and everything simply heated or reheated.
The grilled chicken salad she was eating had a house dressing that, surprisingly, was to die for. The warm rolls were baked on site. And on their way to their booth in the corner, they had passed a dessert case that almost made her sweet tooth ache.
Truthfully, she hadn’t felt this excited about a dinner in a long time. Probably because she hadn’t eaten with anyone in just as long.
Not that this was a date or anything.
It wasn’t.
He was simply kind enough to keep her company. That was all.
He also didn’t seem to be an arrogant prick like some of her past dinner dates. Men full of themselves. Their conversation—hell, their life—focused on nothing but success, money and appearances.
The same as she had been.
Thinking back about it now made her queasy. She had concentrated on all the wrong things. But then, if she hadn’t, right now she wouldn’t be free to do what she wanted.
Like travel across the country on Agnes.
She could go where she wanted, when she wanted and take the scenic route as she did so. She could change her mind simply on a whim.
What she had not changed her mind about was having dinner with the very cute, young mechanic sitting across from her, who made her panties a bit damp.
It had to be the sexy smirk.
Even before she’d heard the rumble of his Harley outside her door, she had already decided she’d be buying him dinner tonight. Giving him a proper thank you was the polite thing to do.
It was crazy that fate had dropped a motorcycle mechanic at her feet when she needed him the most. When she and Agnes were stranded along that mountain road.
She was slowly shedding the “step on someone to get ahead” mentality. Not everyone thought like that.
Today reminded her that kind and decent people still existed who weren’t all about getting ahead. People simply willing to step up and help out others without stepping on them and trying to only make themselves look good in the process.
Yes, the garage was getting paid to fix Agnes, but still… Whip had stopped to help her when he didn’t have to. He also insisted that she ride back with him to the garage instead of leaving her to wait alongside the road, and then Reilly kept her entertained. She also didn’t have to call in the reservation for Fallon and Whip didn’t need to give her a ride to the motel.
Both had gone out of their way to help.
Not only were those gestures unexpected, Fallon truly appreciated them. Maybe while they were at Dino’s Diner, she could grab Reilly a gift card. This way she and her “ol’ man” could have a meal on Fallon.
A small payback for her help and kindness. The same reason she was buying Whip dinner.
Even though he didn’t know it yet.
When they had walked into the diner, the staff knew him by name, so he must be a regular. Nobody blinked an eye at his leather biker vest, something he called a “cut.”
It was basically the same as the one the motel manager wore. Only Ozzy’s looked a lot more worn and had an embroidered rectangular patch on the front with the word “Original.” Whip’s did not.
And of course, like Ozzy, Whip had a patch with his nickname on it. His “road name.”
Fallon was quickly learning that bikers had a language of their own.
Not unlike the financial industry. Terms she used to use every day, but now only needed when she logged into her investment accounts, to either check the stock market or make a trade.
