Epilogue
epilogue
GREER
This can’t be the right place. My aunt warned me that this was a very important customer, so I expected a nice house. Maybe they work here. Rechecking the address on my phone against the one painted above the door, I pull in a nervous breath before walking inside.
The smell of rubber and motor oil fills my nose as I step into the auto supply store. A man in a black leather vest, the type that bikers wear, is behind the counter. His name patch identifies him as Keebler. He must have gotten the nickname from his pointed ears.
“You need something, lady?” he asks.
Placing the white pastry box on the countertop, I respond, “I’m dropping this off for the Bordelon-Williams wedding.”
He coughs out a laugh, then reaches for a pocket knife, his lips still tipped into a sly smile. After breaking the seal, he looks inside.
“Bring it this way.”
He leads me into the back, and down a hall, stopping midway. All too eagerly, Keebler bellows, “Darcy, delivery.”
“Go ahead and sign for it,” a feminine voice answers.
“Nuh-uh, this one’s special, you gotta come get it yourself.”
I linger, feeling out of place while the pair talk back and forth until a woman about my age comes out of the office. Dark straight hair falls to her waist, almost hiding the beginning of a baby bump.
She smiles in welcome. “You have something for Darcy?”
I plaster on a fake smile in return and try to act professional. “I’m delivering those samples from Marcel’s Bakery that you requested.”
Darcy’s smile vanishes faster than a babysitter’s boyfriend when a car pulls up. She purses her lips and says in a flat tone, “Lemme guess. Wedding cake?”
I’m horrible at this. Seriously the worst. Remembering my aunt’s gentle reminder to stay upbeat and chipper when dealing with brides, I start to ramble.
“Yes, is there a problem? We picked out the ones we thought would pair best with the red velvet groom's cake he already selected.”
“He ordered already?” Darcy asks as she stares at me with wide eyes, mouth agape.
“You’ll have to ask the owner for any particulars I’m afraid.” In the short time I’ve helped out, I’ve learned not to tell the bride anything she doesn’t already know. You’ll catch the backlash.
I might not have taken the order, but I saw the mock-up of the Harley-themed pastry before it was approved by the groom. Three layers of red velvet with cream cheese frosting. It’s Harley-Davidson themed, with a funny “groom dragging the bride” topper my aunt was happy to finally sell.
With a tight expression Darcy holds out her hands for the package. “Please tell the bakery we’re in no hurry to finalize our order.”
“Should we cancel the September twenty-second delivery?”
I’m not sure how to side step trouble with this one. The bride is saying there’s no rush, but the groom…
Her shoulders drop and an eyebrow quirks up. “He set a firm delivery?”
“I mean, I’ll have to check with the owner…”
We never take a deposit without a date so we don’t overbook, especially with an order of this size. Dessert for five hundred guests, more than double what we normally produce for weekend weddings.
She shakes her head frustrated. “That man. What a way to find out your wedding date. ‘Get planning’ he tells me, then he goes and does it because I’m not doing it fast enough.”
Reaching into her pocket, Darcy pulls out some bills and hands them to me. “Thank you for your time. I’ll be in touch. If I’m not in jail for homicide.”
She marches past me, straight out the door, a woman on a mission.
Someone is in hot water.
This is probably one of the weirdest customer interactions ever.
I follow right behind, scurrying back to my car to get away from whatever is about to go down. With the beautiful weather, I have the top down on my baby—a powder blue VW convertible.
My cousin Allie watches me approach from the passenger seat of my car, heart-shaped sunglasses covering her eyes.
Turning to her I say, “Brides are crazy. Please get better soon so you can deal with them.”
She points to the walking boot on her right foot. “I’m trying. The doctor should clear me to drive next week.”
I don’t mind helping out until I start my new job. I enjoy it even. I just hate talking to people I don’t know.
As I turn to look over my shoulder to pull out, I’m not surprised to find the bride, Darcy, having it out with a tall man with long brownish blond hair. He’s wearing a motorcycle vest over his massive shoulders, just like Keebler.
Darcy’s making big swooping hand gestures as the man watches patiently, tattooed forearms crossed around his body. Her voice carries across the street, but the words are muddled over the radio.
They’re not the first engaged couple I’ve seen argue in the last three weeks. This pair is different though. As Darcy airs her grievances, the man isn’t angry at all, nor condescending. He’s quiet, his eyes trained on his wife-to-be. In the handful of pre-marital spats I’ve seen, not one of the grooms watched their soon to be spouse the way he does Darcy. Even while being read the riot act, he’s staring at her like she’s the sun on his face and the air in his lungs. You know a couple are in love when even their arguments make you heartsick with want.
Pulling out, I drive down the main street of the small town. The painted signs are sun dulled, the ceramic planters by the doors to the market are scuffed, as if hit repeatedly with a shopping cart. It reminds me of the set of a Hallmark movie after the crew leave. Slightly scruffy and worn, but loved and still beautiful.
“I think this is the wrong direction,” Allie answers distractedly.
“I remember seeing the business with the fleur-de-lis sign before. This is the right direction,” I insist.
In a sugared sarcastic tone, Allie says, “Welcome to Louisiana. We have Mardi Gras, we have alligators, we have mosquitos large enough to carry off a small child, and we’ve got fleur-de-lis plastered on anything that’ll stay still long enough.”
“Ha ha very funny. Set the GPS will you?”
“My phone’s almost dead,” she apologizes.
If I’m going to transport Allie around while she heals, I’m going to need to put a charger that works with her phone in my car. The battery is always dead. As I become increasingly concerned that it is the wrong way, she reaches onto the console for my cell.
I creep down the road, hoping not to somehow miss my turn. “The passcode is five, eight, one, two.”
“There,” Allie says.
Over Bluetooth, the robotic voice announces, “Make a U-turn.”
“Okay so wrong way,” I admit, already pulling into a small market to turn around.
My cousin and I laugh at one another, just the comfortable goofiness that comes with close family.
“I’m glad you’re here,” she says.
“Me too. This was better than moving to North Dakota with Mom and Dad.”
“That base was surrounded by corn fields with nothing around for miles. Anything was better than moving there.”
“Speaking of moving,” Allie says. “Look at that.”
I follow the direction she’s pointing, to a coffee shop next to the market. On the balcony of the second story is a sign advertising, “Apartment for Rent.”
A bubble of excitement builds inside of me as I look around. The street is beautiful, and across the road is a small park with a track for running. It’s picture perfect, and in the center of town. With a shake of the head, I let out a resigned sigh. “It’s going to be so expensive.”
“In Parran? No,” Allie insists. “People move this far out because the rent is cheaper.”
A prickle of hope starts to grow. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to call.”
As we pass the auto supply store again, I’m not surprised at all to find the bride and the supposed groom already in a clutch. A tattooed hand is on her ass in the middle of the street and they’re not kissing, they are kissing.
“Holy smokes,” Allie says. “Did you see him?”
“Look at how he’s holding her,” I point out. She must not have noticed the couple when we drove by before. As possessive and primal as his grip is, the man’s complete adoration for his woman is obvious. Despite the fact they’re kissing like that on a public sidewalk, it feels like you’re watching something incredibly intimate. My chest squeezes again.
Nope, I’m not jealous at all.
The look I share with Allie tells me she can read my mind, my face telling a story of its own.
“I feel like I need a cigarette after watching that,” Allie says with a laugh.
“They’re so in love. You can tell she’s his everything.” My voice is dreamy even to my ears, the sappiness of my inner hopeless romantic taking over.
In the meantime, I just want a guy who sees me as special, not just “the girl he’s talking to right now.”
As I approach the only red light in town, the rumble of a bike drowns out Hozier.
The signal is red, giving us a few minutes to gawk.
Coming from the opposite direction, a heavily tatted rider sits astride a Harley while waiting. A helmet covers his hair, but a glimpse at those tanned forearms is enough to decide this man isn’t hot, he’s…God, I can’t even come up with the right word.
The muscles in his arms flex as he adjusts his stance on the bike like he’s trying to get comfortable, he cranes his neck as if to stretch it, showing off his inked throat. “Holy book boyfriend,” Allie gasps, as if she’s not already with the most perfect man ever.
You know when you take something out of the oven and it looks amazing? But you know if you cut into it, you’re gonna get burned? The fact that Allie and I are both focused on him proves that. The man probably has women swarming him. I’ve been there before with a man who had his choice of beautiful women. I hated the feeling—hoping I was the one special enough to be chosen.
But I can still enjoy the eye candy in front of me.
His head slowly turns toward my car, and I feel his gaze on me. My heart thunders in my chest, but my face turns warm at being caught checking him out.
The side of his lips draws up in a cocky grin. Yep, busted.
Allie shrills, “He’s looking right at you.”
“I can tell,” I admit uncomfortably. I want to curl up and die from embarrassment. I was basically drooling on the interior. With the top down on my Bug, neither the biker nor I have the roof of a car to cover ourselves, something I didn’t consider until now. He has a clear view of me leering. I pull in a breath when out of nowhere, the biker looks both directions, then rides through the intersection. The slow predatory grin growing on his face feels like a warning, sending my heart into a far too quick rhythm and making my palms sweat.
The sudden green light feels like a blessing, and I tear out, eager to find a rock to crawl under.
I’m looking for the turn still when the deep purr of a bike grows close again. A glimpse at my rearview mirror confirms it’s him, Mr. Red Light. I feel like I’m a doe running from the wolf as I hold my foot steady on the gas.
Allie turns around. “Looks like you’ve got an admirer,” she teases.
“I’m sure he’s making a U-turn just like I did,” I answer matter-of-factly.
She looks over her shoulder, a wide-tooth grin on her face.
“Nope, he’s gesturing for you to pull over.”
“He might be good-looking, but he could still rob, kidnap, or do God knows what else to us.” It’s an excuse, and we both know it. I’m following some primitive drive inside of me that he set off to run.
Allie lets out a shameless giggle. “Listen, that man can tie me up any day of the week.”
Forcing myself not to look back, I leave the tiny town, taking the highway home. The telltale thunder of an engine confirms that he is following.
It’s flattering, and a little embarrassing at the same time.
“Don’t pull over yet. Make him work for it,” Allie decides.
I feel flustered, my stomach rolling, hands shaking as I decide what the hell I’m going to do.
After driving a few miles down the highway, it’s obvious he’s not leaving any time soon. I risk a look, and he gestures again for me to stop. There’s no way I’m leading him to my aunt’s house, or even the exit, which is just one mile down the road. There are no gas stations around either.
With a resigned breath, I turn on my blinker and stop on the shoulder.
He parks behind me, killing the engine. I stare as he pulls off his helmet, a walking thirst trap. It isn’t deliberate, not with this man. He’s just irresistible being himself.
This close, I can see a leather vest covering his torso, similar to Darcy’s fiancé and Keebler. The patches seem to be the same color blue, and I wonder if he’s in their club.
My stomach churns with embarrassment as he comes to the driver’s side wearing a smug expression. “Hey, Baby Doll,” he says in greeting, resting those damn forearms on the door. “What’s your name?”
Face flaming, I say, “Greer.”
“I’m Jude, and I would like your number.” His words are so confident and smooth, his demeanor just as appealing as his looks. The power of his hazel eyes on me makes my face feel numb, my chest unable to pull in air.
Goosebumps cross over my skin.
I stare at him for long seconds like an idiot until Allie, traitor that she is, hands my phone to him.
“Here you go, call yourself.”
My wallpaper, the Lovers of Valdaro, is visible, meaning the phone is still unlocked. So much for my plan to give him a fake number, something Allie must have sussed out, judging by the wink she just gave me.
“The eternal embrace,” Jude says, studying my wallpaper. “I just had it tattooed on me last week.” The Lovers of Valdaro are a set of skeletal remains that were found in Italy. After six thousand years, they’re still face to face, their bodies entangled. The artwork is on album covers and shirts, not that uncommon, but it’s still an interesting coincidence.
I don’t answer, but risk my first close-up look at him. He’s delicious in a pair of dark jeans and a tee that clings under his vest. As I suspected, it has the same patches as Keebler and Darcy’s fiancé. A heavy chain hooks to his jeans and dips into his pocket, a silver ring on his hand. His brown hair is trimmed into an undercut that’s smooth on top.
The right side patch says, “Band Aid.” I’m tempted to ask for an explanation when he asks, “Where are you from?”
He’s called himself, and is holding his phone in one wide palm, disappointment lacing his words.
The area code. I haven’t had it changed to a local one yet. “I’m from all over, but I live here now.”
Handing back my phone, he says, “Well, you can tell me all about that when I text for your address. Dinner, next Friday.”
He doesn’t ask if I’m free? “I could be seeing someone, you know.”
“Oh, Baby Doll, you can’t think that would stop me?” His laugh trails behind as he takes certain strides back to the sleek black Harley and kicks the engine to life. The audacity is…sexy as hell. I’ll own up to that.
It’s as I’m watching him leave, I see the large patch on his back.
A wolf.