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“You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need. I mean that.”
“Thank you for everything you’ve done. Really. You’ve been amazing about all this.”
“I’m sorry my brother is the way he is.”
“I can’t believe he had me so fooled. I really thought he was a great guy. I thought we’d have that happily ever after.”
“I get that, but that was all a façade. Maybe you don’t feel that way now, but I’m glad you got out in the nick of time.”
I stare at my hands.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
“It’s okay.” I lift my chin to the lights of a diner down the street, glimmering in the darkness. “That place any good?”
“It is. They make a fantastic burger, and their onion rings are out of this world. Great milkshakes, too.” He stares at me for a moment. “How about we walk down and get dessert? You can even bring Rosie. We can sit on the patio.”
“I’d like that.”
I put Rosie on her leash, and we walk down the street, taking our time and letting Rosie smell every tree, until I’m laughing and apologizing. “She’s usually not like this.”
“No problem.”
The restaurant is cute, with a walk-up window for outside diners. We get a table, and Dylan goes up and places our order, then returns with our shakes and a small bowl.
“This is for Rosie. They keep doggie ice cream on hand. Can she have it?”
“Sure.”
He sets it down, and she digs in.
“You’re making fast friends with her. She’ll be lying next to your chair before I know it.”
“Nah. She looks like a loyal dog.” He scratches her ears, then lifts his head to look behind me as the sound of several motorcycles come up the street.
I spot three bikes turning into the lot. The men climb from them, and I see the patches on their backs. The top rocker reads, Royal Bastards. The bottom rocker reads, Colorado.
“How’s your shake?” Dylan asks, drawing my head around.
I take a sip. “It’s really good.”
“Rosie finished?” he asks.
I lean to look, and when I straighten, I think I catch Dylan making a motion with his hand. I turn behind me, and see the three bikers heading to the window, glancing toward our table.
“So, maybe we should take these to go,” Dylan says, standing.
“Oh, okay.” He seems a little nervous, and I wonder if it’s the bikers showing up.
He holds his hand out to me, and I slip mine in his grasp. He seems in a hurry, so I don’t say anything, just follow him to the street.
I look over my shoulder. “Are those guys trouble?”
“They can be.”
“Are there a lot of them in this town?”
“About a dozen. They pretty much stick to themselves. It’s best to avoid them.”
