Sandy
She hadn’t been on a motorcycle before, and she was pretty sure that wasn’t a surprise to the big biker she currently had her arms wrapped around.
This bike scared the hell out of her, almost as much as the biker who was riding it.
The bike roared to life like making her bones rattle and her pulse race, all at once—much like the biker sitting between her legs.
Nick was solid beneath her hands, warm even through his shirt, and the low rumble of the engine vibrated through her chest. She found the entire ride both thrilling and terrifying all at once.
Thankfully, the ride was short. It was just a few miles down the winding road to a small roadside diner with flickering neon lights and a crooked sign that read Maggie’s Diner.
Nick parked in the back of the lot and helped her off his bike, leading the way into the diner.
She had lived in town for a while now and never noticed this place.
She quickly looked around the place and smiled to herself. The place had the fifties vibe going for it. She was always a sucker for a fifty’s diner. It smelled like coffee, bacon, and nostalgia, and she had to admit, she loved the place at first sight.
“I hope this is okay,” he whispered to her as the waitress showed them to the booth that he had requested in the corner.
“It’s perfect,” she breathed as she slid into the booth across from him.
A few locals sat in booths scattered across the diner, watching them curiously.
Sandy could feel the weight of their stares, and she wondered if it was her or the biker sitting across from her that seemed to fascinate them so much.
Maybe it was a combination of the two of them.
She looked Nick over in his leather cut, and then back to herself in her polished leather boots and notebook in hand.
They didn’t fit together, not even a little bit.
But somehow, that made her like being there with him even more.
The waitress was a middle-aged woman with pink hair and too much eyeliner. She handed them both a menu and smiled knowingly at Nick. “Hey there, sweetheart. Haven’t seen you in here for a while.”
“Hey, Maggie,” Nick said. “Two specials and a couple of coffees,” he ordered.
“You got it,” she said, smirking at Sandy before heading off. Sandy wanted to protest and tell the woman that she could order for herself, but before she could get a word out, the waitress was gone.
“So,” Sandy said, flipping open her notebook. “You ready to tell me why a man who hates Christmas volunteered to play Santa?”
He arched a brow. “Didn’t you hear?” he asked. “I guess you weren’t paying attention back at the Road Reapers. My Prez gave me no option.”
“Yes, but why you?” she pressed. “You said it yourself—you hate Christmas. Wouldn’t that make you the worst Santa ever? Why wouldn’t Mace just pick someone else in your club? You do have other bikers in your club, right?” she teased.
“Of course, we have other bikers in the club,” he insisted.
“Mace said that the other guys would be bringing their kids to the party, and as one of the only single guys, with no kids, I guess that made me his only option.” Sandy was wondering how she’d work in her question about his dating status, but he’d answer that question for her.
She tried not to seem too giddy hearing that he had no wife or kids waiting at home for him.
Not that it mattered since he was a story for her, and not a conquest.
“So, Mace chose you because you’re single and childless?” she asked, noting Nick’s wince at her word choice. “His choice had nothing to do with you being a good Santa, or anything like that?”
“Aren’t these all questions that you should be asking Mace?
” he grumbled. “Or even the kids? Honestly, I guess it all depends on the kids,” he said, leaning back in the booth.
“Maybe I’ll be the kind of Santa that doesn’t sugarcoat things.
I’ll teach them that life’s not all snowflakes and candy canes.
Sometimes, life throws a grinch into your Christmas plans, and I guess this year, I’m the grinch. ”
She scribbled something down on her notepad and looked back up at him when she was finished. “Wow—how inspirational,” she teased.
Nick laughed—a deep, rumbling sound that made her pulse jump. “You got a smart mouth, you know that?”
She smiled back at him, not sure if she thought he was funny or insulting.
“I’ve been told,” she grumbled, deciding that she found his honesty refreshingly funny.
Their coffees arrived, and for a few moments, silence filled the space between them.
She usually found silence to be uncomfortable, but for some reason, she found the quiet with him to be comfortable—almost.
“Why’d you really come to this town, Sandy?” he asked suddenly, his tone softer. “Doesn’t seem like your kind of place.”
She looked down at her cup, tracing her finger along the rim, and smiled back over at him.
“I thought that I was the one who was asking the questions here,” she teased, trying to avoid his question.
She never liked to answer questions about herself.
Maybe that’s why she liked journalism—she got to be the one to ask all the questions and never had to answer any herself.
“Well, fair is fair,” he insisted. “If I have to answer your questions, you should have to answer a few of mine.”
“Well, I rode on the back of your death trap, and you said that you’d answer my questions if I did, so I feel as though I’m being very fair here, Nick.
” He sat back in the booth and crossed his arms over his chest, taking up most of his half of the booth.
She could tell that he was settling in to wait her out, but she could do the same with him.
Her mother used to tell her that she was the most stubborn person on the planet.
When she realized that she was playing at a losing game, she sighed and sat back. “Fine,” she grumbled. “I guess I was just looking for a fresh start. I wanted to live somewhere quiet. Somewhere I could stop feeling like my past was waiting for me around every corner.”
Nick nodded slowly, his expression unreadable.
“Yeah,” he said. “I know that feeling.” When their food came, they ate in companionable silence, though every so often, she’d catch him looking at her, like he was trying to figure her out.
And maybe she was doing the same as him.
She couldn’t help wondering what had really made him hate Christmas so much—or why a man who pretended not to care looked at her like he might want to.
And for the first time in a long while, Sandy felt something spark in her chest to follow this story until the bitter end.
Maybe it was her undeniable hope that everyone had good in them, or maybe it was the fact that she was curious and couldn’t let a sleeping dog lie. Or maybe it was just Nick—gruff, broken, and far too tempting for her own good.
Sandy shoved her half-eaten plate of chicken potpie that Nick had ordered for her, away from herself, and sighed.
“What do you do for a living—you know, besides playing Santa?” she asked.
If she was going to get to the bottom of why Nick hated Christmas, she was going to need to start asking questions.
Not just any questions, but the right ones.
Sooner or later, she was going to get lucky and land on the right combination of questions, and she’d finally have her news story.
At least, that was what she was hoping for.