Chapter 1
HOPE
“Large peppermint mocha and chocolate croissant for Hope!”
Pushing my way through the throngs of people to get my order, I tug the strap of my computer bag over my head so it lies crisscross over my chest, making it easier to carry my goodies.
After grabbing my latte and pastry, I stand on my tiptoes to find an open table.
A sigh of relief escapes when I spot an unoccupied table in the far corner against a window.
Perfect!
It must be my lucky day because the booth also has an electrical outlet to plug in my laptop.
I can take my time this morning and not rush because I won’t have to worry about my battery dying.
When I’m working, I tend to get lost in my current project and lose track of time.
Luckily, I’ve set up my programs to autosave my work every ten minutes to avoid losing anything. That happened once...Never again.
I slip into my seat and begin to meticulously unpack my belongings. After everything is set up and ready to go, I take a moment to enjoy the hustle and bustle of my surroundings.
Steam curls from my mug, carrying the rich scent of roasted espresso, peppermint, and mocha.
It’s only mid-November, but the speakers are already streaming Christmas music.
I don’t mind, though, because this is my favorite time of year.
The lights, the sounds, the overall joy that encompasses me.
The bells above the shop entrance jingle in time with "Jingle Bells" over the speakers, making me smile as I take a bite of the warm, chocolatey goodness.
Damn, that’s good. Now, time to work.
My laptop hums quietly in front of me, the cursor blinking and taunting me as I take a break and stretch out my stiff muscles. I’ve been typing nonstop for an hour, chasing a thought before it slips away. I pause for a sip of my mocha, listening to “Hey Santa” by Wilson Phillips in the background.
“I’d like to wish for a man to show up at my door this year,” I say with a chuckle. “That’d require a Christmas miracle.”
I gave up on men a year ago, after I found my dipshit ex in bed with who I thought was my best friend.
So fucking cliché.
I shake off the melancholy and dive back into work. It’s one of those rare, perfect afternoons. The world blurs to background noise, and I’m just… here. Writing. Focused. Content.
“Hey,” a voice says.
I glance up. A man stands by my table, coat half-zipped, coffee in hand, wearing that practiced smile that says I’m charming. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
“Can I help you?” I ask, hoping he’s mistaken me for someone else.
He gestures to the empty chair across from me. “Mind if I sit? This place is packed.”
I glance around. There are at least three empty tables in clear sight. I was so focused on work that I didn’t realize how quiet it had become. “Actually, I’m working.”
He smirks. “Working, huh? On what?”
“Something that requires my full concentration.” I smile faintly, shake my head, and start typing again, hoping he takes the hint.
He gestures toward my drink. “Can I get you another…?” His voice fades off as if I’ll tell him what I’m drinking.
“I’m good, thanks.” I try to turn back to my laptop, but he sits across from me without waiting for an answer. My stomach tightens.
This man is bold.
He leans forward, elbows on the table, grinning like we’re already friends. “You come here a lot? I think I’ve seen you around.”
I close my laptop halfway, meeting his eyes. “Look, I really don’t want to be rude, but I’m not looking for company.”
“Come on,” he says, his tone sharpening. “It’s just a conversation. Don’t gotta act like I’m some creep.”
I blink. “Then don’t act like one.”
His grin slips for a second before coming back tighter. “Wow. Okay. I’m just trying to be friendly. You still haven’t told me your name?”
“I didn’t offer it.”
“I’m Travis,” he says, totally ignoring my comment.
I lift the top of my laptop, dismissing him.
“What’s your name, beautiful?” Travis pushes.
Damn it! No such luck.
I sigh, fingers stilling on the keys. “Sorry, still working,” I say politely enough.
He forces out one of those, I’m not taking that seriously laughs. “You can’t work all day.”
I cock my head to the side, studying him. “Actually, I can. And I was doing great until about thirty seconds ago.”
His smile tightens even more. “You don’t have to be rude.”
“I’m not. I’m busy.” I look back at my screen while my fingers find the keys again.
“You asked if you could sit. I politely told you that I was working, yet you still decided to invite yourself to my booth. You also said there aren’t any empty chairs.
Looking around, I see three… make it four, that couple is leaving.
” I gesture toward the newly vacated table.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m on a deadline.
” Peering over the screen, I address him once more, “Anything else I can help you with?”
He doesn’t move. “You think you’re better than me or something?” he says finally, voice lower, rougher.
“No. I just don’t want to be bothered,” I respond with a bite.
His jaw ticks. “Lady, I’m trying to be nice. You don’t gotta act like such a—”
“Excuse me,” A deep baritone voice says behind him.
Travis turns around to crane his neck to see who addressed him.
The newcomer is tall, broad-shouldered, and wearing a black leather vest with a dark, fitted thermal Henley underneath.
A motorcycle helmet dangles from one hand, gloves in the other.
His expression is calm, but his eyes darken when he takes in my face.
“She said she doesn’t want to be bothered,” the biker says. “That’s the part you missed.”
Travis scoffs, but I can see the way his shoulders stiffen. “Mind your business, man. We’re just talking.”
“Doesn’t look like she’s talking,” the biker says evenly. “Looks like she’s trying to work.”
The man shifts his weight, glances at me like I’m supposed to back him up. I don’t.
“Whatever,” he mutters, grabbing his cup. “This place is full of stuck-up—”
“Careful,” the biker says quietly.
Biker man doesn’t make any threats, but the weight of that one word is enough that Travis shuts his mouth and stalks off toward the door. The bell above it jingles again, too bright for the tension it leaves behind.
The biker watches him go, then turns to me. “You, okay?” he asks, his voice softer than it was with Travis.
I nod, trying for a small smile. “Yeah. Thanks for that.”
He gives a single nod, like that’s all he needed to hear, and moves toward the counter.
“Wait,” I call. He turns around to face me. “What’s your name?”
He smirks. “Thought you didn’t want to be bothered, sweetness.”
“You’re kinda my knight in leather armor right now,” I tease.
“Frost,” he states.
“Huh?”
“You asked for my name. I’m giving it to you. I’m Frost.”
I laugh. “Oh my god, please tell me your first name is Jack.”
“Like Jack Frost?” he asks, confused.
“Yep.”
He places his palms on the side of my seat and leans in. “Frost is my road name, darling.”
I squirm in my seat at his closeness. “I’m Hope.”
“Hope… Beautiful name for a gorgeous woman.” He smirks. “Well, Hope, I’m glad I could be your… How’d ya put it, ‘knight in leather armor’, but I should let you get back to work.”
Frost turns away once more. I reach out and lightly touch his arm before I can second-guess myself. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee… You know, to say thank you for saving me from that douche canoe?”
Frost throws his head back, laughing. “Did you say ‘douche canoe’?”
I nod. “I would’ve called him a fucking douche canoe, but I didn’t want to offend you with my language.”
“Darling, I’m a biker,” he explains. “Nothing offends me.”
“So can I buy you a coffee?”
He shakes his head. My shoulders drop in defeat. “My mama raised me better than to let a woman pay for my drink. I’d like to buy you another, though.” He gestures toward my empty cup.
Don’t freak out, don’t freak out!
“And they say chivalry is dead,” I mutter.
“What was that?”
“Your mom sounds like a very smart woman.” I give him one of my mega-watt smiles. “Peppermint mocha, please.”
His eyes sadden for such a brief moment that I barely catch it.
Wonder what that was about? Maybe I imagined it.
“Coming right up, Hope.” He drops his helmet and gloves in the seat Travis vacated before heading to the cash register.
I show restraint and resist the urge to fan myself. That man could melt butter with that voice.
Now, to play it cool, Hope. Play it cool. This is an excellent setup for a new novel. A biker walks into a coffee shop… saves a writer from a jerk, orders her favorite drink. It kind of writes itself.
Too bad romance like this only happens in books. Frost, because of course his name would be Frost, will drink his coffee, nod politely, and disappear before I can even thank him properly. Oh well, I’ll enjoy the eye candy while I can and then dive back into my fictional world.
I close the lid on my laptop, brushing my fingers over the smooth cover like it's a sleeping baby. “I’ll be back soon, boys,” I whisper to my fictional characters. “Right now, I’m gonna live in the real world.”