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Then Margaret enters. My father clears his throat, tugging the ends of his motorcycle jacket before smoothing his hair down. When Margaret extends a hand, he takes it and presses his lips to her knuckles.
A screw in my chest tightens, which makes guilt worm through my veins. I should be happy for my father. Any normal person would be delighted to see two people falling for each other.
Margaret turns the same shade of blush pink as her tweed suit jacket. Meanwhile, Dorothy is calling out for coffees all around, Trina looks like she’s about to faint, and Shitstain Kevin has turned red with anger. His fists open and close, eyes darting to me every few seconds.
Finally, the short, sharp-tongued woman with the helmet-like grey hair waddles in—Agnes, I think—sneering at Dorothy, who ignores her, and letting out a huff. “What’s this racket about? It should be illegal for you bikers to come roaring through a quiet town like this. I was having a quiet coffee in the bookstore, and you lot—”
“Oh hush, you boring old hag,” Dorothy says with a smile on her face. “You wouldn’t know fun if it slapped you on the ass and called you Bonnie.”
Agnes rolls her eyes. She’s the first one to spot Kevin across the room, and she walks toward him, stopping a few feet away before crossing her arms. “Who the hell are you?”
He starts. “What?”
Agnes drops her arms to the side, looks over her shoulder to meet Dorothy’s gaze, and rolls her eyes. I don’t understand the relationship between these women. They insult each other, but they also go drinking and are able to communicate with nothing more than a look. Agnes turns those admittedly slightly scary eyes back to Kevin and speaks slowly. “Who…the hell…are you?”
“Agnes, this is my ex-husband, Kevin,” Trina cuts in. “It’s his weekend and he’s here a day early, and we were just figuring out our schedules for the next couple of days.”
His weekend? Does Trina have kids? She hasn’t mentioned them. She mentioned her cat, but not her kids… But now that I think of it, I vaguely remember her mentioning some names when they were planning their night at my father’s bar. I frown, glancing at Trina.
I only met the woman a couple of weeks ago. She has every right to keep her kids away from anyone she chooses. Still…I’d like her to trust me.
I clear my throat, drawing everyone’s gaze.
Dorothy squeezes the older man’s elbow and points at me. “Eli, that’s Mac. Isn’t he handsome? I told you he was handsome, didn’t I?”
“He’s a looker,” Eli responds, and Dorothy’s lips curl into a smile.
She claps. “Well, what are we waiting for? Hamish, you’re supposed to be offering to take us out on those mean machines out there.”
“Is that so?” my father answers with a grin and a wink at Margaret.
“Yes, that’s so. You can’t come roaring into town and not offer us a lap around the block on those things. Look! Marge is wearing pants. We’re all set.” Dorothy points at me. “You take Eli. I’ll go with Harold. Marge, you’re with Hamish. Agnes, you take that young stud over there—”
“My son, Lee,” my father cuts in with a small smile tipping his lips.
“Well, Hamish, you sure do know how to make ‘em pretty,” Dorothy says. “Lee, unfortunately you’re stuck with Agnes. I’d say she doesn’t bite, but I don’t like to lie.” Then she looks at Trina. “And you take care of yourself. Yeah?” Then Dorothy looks past my shoulder to the counter. “Get our coffees ready. We’ll be back in ten minutes. Coffee’s on me, boys!” She ushers everyone out, holding the door open as she glances back at me. “Yoohoo, Mr. Handsome! Come on, Eli isn’t going to ride himself around the block!”
I can’t help the grin from tugging at my lips. Glancing at Trina, I lift my brows. “You okay?”
The harsh lines of Trina’s face soften, and I wonder how often she’s had to stand on her own without anyone checking on her. She nods. “I’m good. You okay? You don’t need to drive them around if you don’t want to.”
“He’s fucking fine,” Shitstain Kevin cuts in. “What I want to know is why he thinks he has the right to fucking talk to you like that?” Aggression is written in every line of his face, carved into every muscle of his soft frame. “You’re fucking him, aren’t you?”
Before I can do anything, the old ladies move. Dorothy comes flying in the door, followed by Agnes and Margaret, already wearing their motorcycle helmets. They form a line between him and Trina, and Dorothy lifts a finger. “You watch your mouth, buddy. One more word, and you’ll be barred from every business in town.”
Kevin splutters. “You can’t—”
“Oh, would you look at that,” Margaret cuts in. “Unfortunately, we double-booked your room. You’ll have to find somewhere else to stay for the weekend.” She looks up from her phone, which I can see is just a blank screen. Out of the three of them, she’s the last one I’d expect to threaten someone.
Fighting to hide my grin, I glance at my father.
He’s standing in the doorway, looking as smitten as I’ve ever seen him, hand clutched to his heart.
“Ladies, it’s fine,” Trina says, putting a hand on Margaret’s shoulder. “Go. Enjoy your motorcycle ride. I’ll be okay.”
The ladies give Kevin one more nasty look, then shuffle out toward the waiting bikes. My father whispers something in Margaret’s ear, and I can’t help but notice the extra swish in her hips as she makes her way toward his bike.
Trina glances at me and gives me a nod.
