Page 53 of King
Dante: You are very welcome. I’m glad you liked them.
Ten minutes later he sent another text, this one with a selfie of him holding an almost-empty jar of carrot cake jam. The pitiful expression on his face looked remarkably like Ethan’s onthe one and only occasion I’d seen the little boy pouting about something.
Dante: These bastards don’t just steal my cookies. I overslept and didn’t have time for breakfast at home, so I brought this to the clubhouse this morning so I could have it on some toast as soon as my officers’ meeting was over with. Viking spotted it and helped himself, then it apparently became a fucking free-for-all. By the time I got ready to make my toast, the damned jar was almost empty. You now have 3 bikers who want to buy some from you. You also received a marriage proposal from Bull, and an offer from Skid to give you his non-existent (as far as I know) first-born child. I took the liberty of declining both of them for you.
Once I stopped laughing, I texted him back.
Me: I’m sorry that your friends were mean to you. I have plenty of jam left, so I’ll be happy to sell them some. I’ll give you another jar, too, that you won’t have to share with anyone else. Now, I don’t need any more kids, but tell me about Bull. Is he handsome?
His response was immediate.
Dante: No, and the fucker will be even uglier if he tries to propose to you again.
Well, OK then. Our lighthearted conversation took an unexpected turn.
Deciding I needed to get some actual work done, I set my phone aside, thendug into the business of creating the logo for a new boutique opening on the northside. I loved this part of the process, when I could let me imagination flow. Before I knew it,two hours had passed, and I was interrupted by my cell phone ringing.
I picked it up and answered without even looking at the screen to see who was calling, my mind still engrossed in selecting just the right shade of blue for the graphic I was working on.
“This is Ella Chadwick,” I greeted automatically.
“It’s good to hear your voice, sugar. Do you have time to go to lunch?”
I suppressed the urge to say yes. “No.”
“No problem. I’ll just have it delivered to you.”
He hung up before I could say another word. I was debating whether to call back or just send a text when my doorbell rang.
I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or scream when I opened the door to find Lincoln on my doorstep holding up a bag of food.
“I’m sorry you went to so much trouble, but I can’t accept this,” I said, shaking my head.
“He told me you might say that. I’m supposed to tell you that it would be a shame to let good food go to waste. Also, you shouldn’t skip meals.” He thrust the bag at me with a grin, then turned and hurried down the steps of my front porch. Before I could gather my wits about me and offer an objection, he was jumping into the passenger seat of Dante’s truck, which was idling at the curb. Dante leaned out the window, smiled, and waved as he pulled away.
I closed the door in a daze, then noticed the Shapiro’s Delicatessen logo printed on the side of the bag. I started drooling when I peeked inside to find a Reuben sandwich witha side of macaroni and cheese, along with a thick slice of carrot cake. There was also a folded piece of paper.
“I heard these are your favorites. I’m partial to pastrami on rye, myself, with Swiss cheese and a little spicy brown mustard. Their carrot cake is delicious, but your jam is even better. Enjoy your lunch, sugar.”
That night, I sent a text to the group chat with Camille and Kim. The barrage of daily flower deliveries, sweet texts, and surprise visits were getting to me, and I needed reinforcements. Their responses were less than helpful.
Me: Help! I’m getting too weak to resist him much longer.
Camille: Mayday…S.O.S…Emergency Alert…Getting weak…Must have dick to revive her.
Kim: We should call King to the rescue!
Me: No.
Camille: Come on, do it just like the song says, Save a Horse, Ride a Biker.
Me: That’s not how the song goes. It’s Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.
Kim: I’ve ridden both. Trust me, go with the biker unless you want a man who actually smells like a horse.
Camille: She just wants a man who’s hung like a horse.
Me: Wait…when did you have sex with a biker? Or a cowboy???
