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Delaney was just about to ask him if he’d been serious about a job when a young girl gave a little shriek. The room quieted and turned in her direction.
“Aww, he’s cute,” the girl’s mother said, peering down at something Delaney couldn’t see in the crowd. “Don’t feed him, though.”
Delaney navigated her way to the food and sighed. Leave it to Sinbad to show up, uninvited, to the grand opening of Triple M Classics. And go right to the buffet table. He sat and whapped his tail against the floor.
“He must be the motorcycle shop dog,” the girl said. She had curly red hair in a ponytail, pale skin and copper freckles. She reached to pet him but her mother caught her hand and pulled it away.
“Ask first.” The mom nodded toward Delaney.
“He’s actually not mine,” Delaney said. “He keeps showing up, though. C’mere, boy.” Delaney grabbed a paper plate from the table and loaded it with a few meatballs. She took it to the back room and Sinbad followed. He pushed ahead of her, motivated by both the food and his dog bed, which was now a permanent fixture. “Here. This is one of the few times you’ll find meat in my shop, so enjoy.” She gave him the plate and left him in peace, bumping into Walt on her way back to the showroom.
“I remember the dog.” Walt nodded in Sinbad’s direction. He was licking and nibbling at the meatballs rather than wolfing them down like any normal dog would. “The Dude’s Bikes guys had him here. Used him in their advertising. They didn’t really seem to care about him. They weren’t mean to him but they just—” Walt shrugged “—didn’t care. I think they only got him to help sell their bikes. Part of an image they wanted to project. I overheard one of the brothers saying the dog wasn’t mean enough. They should have gotten a meaner dog.”
“I’m glad they don’t have him anymore.” Delaney watched the dog play with his food. Sinbad’s delicate treatment with the meatballs seemed less about being cautious and more like he was simply savoring good food. “This is the third time he’s shown up out of nowhere, wanting to get into the back room.” Delaney nodded at the bed. “But he doesn’t stick around. He hoofs it between here and Sunny’s dog rescue. Do you know Pittie Place?”
Walt shrugged. “The girlfriend likes cats.”
Delaney smiled as they made their way back out to the crowd, leaving Sinbad with his meal and his prized bed. “Smart. Cats are cool.” She drew her cell phone from her pocket. “I need to text Sunny and let her know Sinbad got out again.”
She’d just sent the message when she spotted two new men inside the shop. She had no idea how long they’d been buried in the thick crowd, but one of them was poking around the newly stocked shelves and the other was very close to ’33, sitting pretty and shiny in her prime spot. One of the guys was tall, bulky and bald while the other was a good four inches shorter, looked almost breakable and had a brown beard, thick as a carpet.
Delaney got an itchy feeling in her stomach as she watched these men touch everything. It wasn’t unlike the feeling she’d get in Afghanistan when a vehicle became inoperable during a convoy. She and her team would leave camp to identify the problem and tow the vehicle back. Basically, everyone had to depend on her and the crew of mechanics, which lit a fire of adrenaline and kept her on edge.
There, it served a purpose. If Delaney was on edge, she’d be alert, and her adrenaline might help keep everyone alive. Nobody was going to die today. The logical part of her brain told her that. But the primitive part was having a different reaction to these two men, who were now talking to Walt. Walt nodded in her direction, and the two men faced her with expressions that could only be described as threatened.
Delaney figured out who they were even before the larger of the two walked over and extended his hand in her direction. “Hi, I’m Dude.”
Delaney held up her hand in a wave. “Delaney.”
Dude rested his meaty fingers on his hip, pretending he hadn’t gone for the handshake. “You sure moved in quick.” He filled up the space, leaning an elbow on the counter and stretching his legs out, ankles crossed.
“I guess. Opportunity came and I grabbed it.”
An irritated glint rippled through Dude’s eyes. He straightened up a little, making himself taller. “This is my brother, Dick,” he said as the smaller guy joined the group, positioning himself in front of Dude, as if he’d calculated just how close he could get to Delaney to be intimidating without actually crossing into her personal space. His carpet glittered with what must’ve been some kind of beard conditioner.
“Hi, Dick.” Delaney still didn’t offer her hand. “Welcome to Triple M Classics. You guys into riding?”
Dick’s eyes glinted like coals, matching the sparkle in his beard. “We used to lease this space,” he said. “We’re Dude’s Bikes.”
“Oh.” Delaney nodded. “I think I remember reading about your shop. What happened? You guys just decide to pack it in, or what?”
Dude’s eyes narrowed. He held her gaze long enough to let her get a peek inside, and what Delaney saw there gave her unexpected pause. Dude didn’t particularly like her being here. This was not a welcoming visit. “Well, you’ll probably find out soon enough,” he said. “Bike shops are hard going around here. Not trying to bring you down on your opening day, but it’s probably best you don’t go into this thinking it will be easy.”
“I don’t think anything of the sort,” Delaney said. “Most things worth doing aren’t easy.”
Dick smiled, but it held no kindness. “You’ll have to excuse my brother,” he said. “He’s a little bitter about losing the shop. No, I take that back. He’s alotbitter. But I told him we needed to be nice. It’s not your fault we lost the place. So we decided to come out here and—” Dick paused, looked Delaney up and down, with no attempt at hiding it “—give you our best wishes for success.”
For a second, Delaney’s body went cold. Then she quickly shook her head and looked around at the crowd of happy, chatting people. “Well, I appreciate you guys coming out.”
“How long you had that ’33?” Dude pointed over his shoulder in the direction of Dad’s bike.
“Been in the family for generations.”
“It’s sweet. You planning on selling it?”
“Never. I’m going to enter her in the Classic Motorcycle Show, though. I think she’s got a shot.”
“Our dad has judged that show,” Dude said, his tone conversational but still not quite friendly. “It’s a tough win. Big prize.”
