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When the waiter walks away, he reaches for a french fry and pops it into his mouth, then chews it before swallowing. “Babe, it doesn’t bother me at fucking all.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
“So you’re twenty-three, and you have that bakery. That’s pretty impressive.”
I like that he thinks it’s impressive, but it’s really not. “I saved, but it’s not going to last long. I’ve been looking for work somewhere else.”
“Your shit is amazing. No way should you go anywhere else.”
I love that he believes in me, that he loves my food, but he has no idea how badly I’m failing, and in a couple weeks, I’ll probably be out on my ass. Arthur is a nice landlord and all, but there is no way he’s going to let me skip out on rent. And I wouldn’t want to either. I have never wanted to owe anyone anything, and that would be a favor I don’t know if I could ever repay.
“I don’t think I’m going to have a choice. As much as I want to continue with this dream, it might be just that for me… a dream.”
Looking down at my food, I move it around with my fork, thinking about his words. I love that he thinks my cupcakes are good. Maybe that could be enough for me. Running my own shop is really hard, and it’s a lot of work.
“You’ve got this, sweetness. I know it will work out. Not many people are willing to work as hard as you do or sacrifice as much as you have to live out their dreams. What do your parents think?”
His question catches me slightly off guard, mainly because I am not prepared to really talk much about my parents. Although, I guess I should be. He’s already met my brother. And feels about him the same way I do … which is that he doesn’t like him much.
“My mother thinks I’m wasting my time, money, and energy.”
His eyes widen, and his brows snap together. “What do you mean she thinks you’re wasting your time? What about your father?”
My gaze lifts and finds his, holding it for a moment. I clear my throat and swallow down the tears that somehow threaten to escape. I’ve been on my own, doing my own thing, for as long as I can remember.
My mother gave me a roof over my head, barely, but from the time I was fifteen, I’ve been working and taking care of myself. Then, at eighteen, I moved out of her home and started taking care of myself wholly.
She’s never taken much time or care to worry about anything I’ve done. And since I’ve left home, the only times she’s ever called me was to ask for money like she did a few days ago. It’s never for any other reason, only when she wants something from me.
“I don’t know my dad,” I say. “My mother hasn’t cared much about me. She’s busy doing her own thing.”
He doesn’t say anything immediately as we continue to eat. The conversation should probably make me lose my appetite, but it doesn’t. I know what my mother is like. This is not a shock or front-page news, and while it would be nice if she were different, she will not change.
“And your brother?” he asks.
Shrugging a shoulder, I lift my eyes to meet his. “He is who he is. He lives with my mother still, but probably because he doesn’t want to work and pay bills. It’s easier to live with her, and they do whatever it is they do, probably run scams.”
King chuckles. “Yeah, I got that vibe from him. I think you’re right.”
“What about your family?” I ask.
I’m ready for the focus to be off me for just a moment or two. He reaches for his beer and lifts it to his lips, taking a long pull, then lets out a heavy sigh. His food is finished, so I take this moment to finish my own as he talks.
“My mother and stepfather owned the bar. She didn’t want to stay with my dad, or maybe he couldn’t stay with her anymore. I’m not sure. He’s a biker, though, through and through, like me. Never changing. He was born into the world, generational, and he wasn’t ever leaving his family.”
“I take it you feel the same way?”
His lips curve up into a grin, and his gaze flicks to the side, staring off somewhere. It looks like he’s thinking of a fond memory. Then he clears his throat and shifts his attention back to me as he shakes his head a couple of times.
“Yeah, sweetness. The club is my family, my life. I don’t plan on ever leaving it. That is my world.”
“And your father? Is he still in the club?” I ask.
I want to ask for details about this club. What it means, what they do, and just how illegal they are, but I decide against it. I feel as though that’s a conversation for a later date. Right now, I’m going to try and ignore the million and one questions floating around in my head and focus on this moment, and at least learning the basics about him.
“I’m an only child. My father is still alive. He left East Texas a few years ago, semiretired down at the coast in Corpus Christi. He’s still technically a member. Though he doesn’t hold a title any longer.”
“I really like Port Aransas. I mean, I only went once when I was about seven, right before my dad left. He took us to the beach. It was the best weekend of my life.”
