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“That’s certainly not how you expect your elderly widowed mother to go, but I say good for her. Who wants to die in a rocking chair watching Wheel of Fortune?” Pepper grinned and turned off the back lights. She picked up her own coat and scarf, following Sarah out onto the sidewalk and waiting while she locked the door.
Sarah just laughed at Pepper, stopping when the roar of a motorcycle got near. “I think you have a visitor on his way.”
Pepper turned toward the direction of the echoing rumble and a moment later, Grant’s black-and-chrome Harley-Davidson rounded the corner and pulled up. “You can hear him coming from a mile away,” she said.
“Fair warning never hurts,” Sarah noted. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Pepper waved as Sarah got into her car and drove off toward the bank. She took a few steps toward the curb, pausing as Grant pulled off his helmet. “Hey there, Motorcycle Man.”
“Hey, yourself,” he said. His dark hair was messy from the helmet, but that just boosted his boyish charm by a few notches.
“What’s with the helmet?” she asked. “Don’t all the bad bikers wear the kind that just covers their head?” His wrapped all the way around, covering his face, too.
“A skull cap? No, that’s not for me. I’m too pretty to leave half this face on the asphalt. Care to go for a spin?”
“After that enticing visual?” Pepper winced. She wasn’t exactly born to be wild. “I think I’ll pass.”
“If you’ve had a day anything like mine, you need it. Leave your troubles on the road. Come on. It will be fun.”
Pepper had never been on a motorcycle before, but she didn’t think “fun” would be the first word to come to mind. “I don’t have a helmet.”
Grant leaned down and unsnapped one of his leather saddlebags. He pulled out a shiny black helmet like his, only with green flames wrapping around it. “I got this for you.” She looked suspiciously at the helmet. “For me? How do you even know what size I wear?”
“I measured your head while you were asleep.”
“What?” Pepper choked, her eyes widening.
“I’m kidding,” Grant said with a wry grin. “I guessed, but I’m pretty sure I nailed it. Try it on and see.” He killed the engine and lowered the kickstand before getting off. “Hold still,” he said.
Pepper held as still as she could while Grant tugged the helmet on. Her hair was going to be an absolute wreck. The helmet was tight, but not too tight, and wrapped all the way around her face with a visor that slipped down to protect her eyes. Apparently he thought she was too pretty to leave half her face on the street, too.
Grant fastened the strap under her chin. “Shake your head around. Does it slide or move on your head?”
“No.”
“Does it feel like a vise is crushing your skull?”
“No.” Pepper laughed.
“Then it’s perfect, just as I thought. Come on.” Grant took her by the hand and led her to the bike. He helped her get seated on the back and then climbed on in front of her. “Wrap your arms around my waist,” he said. “Hold on tight.” Pepper clung nervously to him as he fired up the chopper again and pulled out into the street. They roared through the square and turned onto the street that headed out of town. By the time they reached the narrow, winding road that would intersect with the highway, she was finally able to relax.
The sun was starting to set, the sky a gold and purple mix of clouds and atmosphere. There were no other vehicles on the road. The wind was exhilarating, blowing her hair behind her, while the visor protected her face. It didn’t take long for her to understand why Grant enjoyed this. It was soothing. The vibration of the bike, the scenery blowing by, the total freedom of roaring down the road without anything between you and life . . .
She took a deep breath and leaned in to rest her chin on Grant’s shoulder. They road about twenty minutes that way, finally coming to a stop at a little restaurant along the highway she’d never heard of before. The gravel parking lot had half a dozen other motorcycles and as many trucks.
“The Greasy Skillet?” she said after pulling off her helmet and shaking her hair around. “Sounds appetizing.”
Grant climbed off the bike and then held out his hand to help her hop off. “Don’t be scared. This place has amazing food. Bertha does it up right.”
“Then why didn’t we come here for Valentine’s Day?”
He twisted his lips in thought, then wrinkled his nose. “While the food is amazing, it doesn’t exactly have the romantic atmosphere I was aiming for. You’ll see what I mean.” Grant took her hand and led her across the gravel and dirt lot to the front door. He held it open for her, letting her step inside the Greasy Skillet first.
As he’d said, the décor left something to be desired. It had plaster walls covered in old pictures and highway memorabilia. The tables were all freestanding with plastic over the top. The chairs were metal and screeched across the worn linoleum floor every time someone moved. It was clean, but not fancy, and that was fine with her. This was what she grew up with. Well, aside from the room full of bikers and country boys all with thei
r eyes glued to her.
“Pick a table,” Grant said. “There’s no hostess.” Pepper opted for a table in the back corner. Grant plucked the laminated menus out of the holder and handed her one.
