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Tilting his head and rubbing his cheek against hers, he whispered in her ear, “Maybe we should try out your shower.” Then he put the helmet on her head and fastened the chin strap.
She giggled and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “Help me unpack my few boxes, and I’ll agree to that.”
Arbor’s hands found her hips and raised her off the ground. Like she was nothing more than a small child, he set her on the back of his bike so she was properly straddling it, before he climbed on in front of her. A few moments later, they were flying down the road, headed for home.
Home.
With the wind whipping around them and her arms wrapped tightly around him, Megan realized that within a couple of days, home had become Arbor. At the thought, her gut stayed quiet. She took that as confirmation she was on the right track.
TWELVE
ARBOR
AfterhelpingKittenunpackthe few boxes she had in her cabin and putting her personal linens on the bed, Arbor made Megan dinner on his grill — his famous burgers and grilled asparagus — and used the time to learn more about her.
He learned that she hated romantic comedy movies, but she loved romantic comedy books as long as they were spicy. She liked action-packed movies, and her guilty-pleasure television shows were anything reality-based. When he gave her a weird look, she said, “I’m nosy, what can I say?”
Arbor loved every bit of information he learned about her, each tidbit feeding his soul but also building his need to know more.
While they were doing the dishes together, she began asking him questions about his favorite things and his past. He told her about his shitty parents, meeting Whiskey and the Trenfells, and the roller coaster past of the club, or at least the bullet points. She was surprised that he loved romantic movies and by his comfort food of choice.
“I’ll have to try that sometime,” she commented and smiled. “Popcorn with those butterscotch chips you put in cookies and stuff? Interesting.”
“And if you’re feeling adventurous, you can add cashews.” He bumped shoulders with her. “What’s your comfort food of choice?”
“Those little mandarin oranges with bites of dark chocolate and sometimes sliced almonds.”
After they dried their hands, Arbor grabbed his keys off the hook by the door and said, “Okay. Let’s go.”
As she followed him down the stairs, she asked, “Where are we going?”
“Well, if we’re going to dive into the heavy, which we really should, then we’re going to need comfort food.”
“We’re going to buy comfort food?”
At the bottom of the stairs, he slid his arm over her shoulders and walked them toward his bike. “Yup. I need my girl to feel safe and secure, but I also need her to let me in.” He turned his head and met her gaze. “I won’t push, if you’re not ready, but… I can’t have your back, effectively, if I don’t know what we’re facing.”
“Whatwe’refacing?”
He nodded. “Are you my mate?”
“Yes.”
“Then, whatwe’refacing.”
After an interesting shopping trip that involved a grocery store, a party store, and a stop at the local fudge shop, Arbor carried the bags in one hand while holding her hand with the other.
As they climbed the stairs, she commented, “Why was everyone except the fudge shop owner giving you strange looks?”
Arbor sighed and answered, “It’s the cut. Remember how I told you the club used to be called the UpRiders MC?”
She nodded and opened the door at the top of the stairs.
As he followed her inside his treehouse, he continued, “For decades, they were a respectable club who helped the community and had a commendable mission. When the president died, the vice president was so broken up about it that he stepped down and let someone else claim power. The new president had a mission of his own. He added members who also believed in his mission until the majority were on his side. In the process, the club changed and not for the better. The mother chapter of the Howlers corrected that problem. I won’t be detailing how, because that’s club business. Just know that it took a while. Now that we’re back to what we originally were and are now patched over, the community is cautious, not fully believing that we can be trusted.”
As he spoke, she took the bags from his hands and began unpacking them on his coffee table, since it was the largest flat surface in the room. When she unpacked the stuff for their Irish coffees, he snatched them up and brought them to the kitchen area to prepare their drinks.
“What is that commendable mission? And is it the same mission you have now?”
