Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Callie

“ I can’t believe this,” I mutter as I place my car in park, tilting the rearview mirror down to get a better look at the stain on my sweater. My white sweater. Or it used to be before hot cocoa spilled down the front of it ten minutes ago. The mocha-colored blob looks horrendous, and I don’t have a choice but to suck it up and head inside for my appointment.

There’s no way I have time to head back to my apartment and change before my meeting with the Shifted Misfits MC president, Spike. Knowing he’s going to see me like this only increases my irritation. Of all the days to bump into someone and ruin my outfit, it had to be today. I just hope I’m able to soak it later before I try to get the stain out. It’s one of my favorites and I’m not sure I’ll be able to find another one like it.

With a sigh, I readjust the mirror, gather up my purse and the folder of information I collected, and open my door. A cold blast of wind whips my hair around my head as I shiver, slamming the door shut as I balance everything in my hands. I’m hoping the lot isn’t full of ice because the last thing I need is to slip and fall after the disastrous start to my morning.

I don’t have to worry, though, because the lot is freshly shoveled, and salt covers every available inch, ensuring no one slips. I appreciate that attention to detail since I’m a detail-oriented type of girl. Organization is my life. It’s what I do for a living. Helping people rid their lives of clutter gives me a happy boost.

My gaze sweeps the front entrance of the Misfits property. It’s far bigger than I anticipated, not that it’s a bad thing. The place was a ski resort at one point, but it’s been remodeled. I love the open floor plan. I can see through the wide windows as I step up to the front door, revealing the clean lines and polished wood.

Before I have a chance to knock, the door swings wide. My vision is filled with easily the biggest man I’ve ever seen. He’s almost the same size as the guy from the coffee shop. A big behemoth with shoulders so wide they fill up the entire doorway, which has to be larger than a normal build. He’s stocky but not overweight, and I see tattoos peeking out from the long sleeves that stretch to his wrists.

“You must be Callie. Cheryl said to expect you.”

I blink at his deep, raspy voice which sounds like he’s smoked two packs a day all his life, but something tells me he isn’t a smoker. He seems like the type that works out every day since he’s got to maintain all that muscle. For some reason, I think of the guy from the coffee shop. When we collided, I noticed the bulging muscles on his arms and bounced right off the solid wall of his chest. He only wore a tee shirt and a red flannel despite the winter weather. How odd.

“I’m Spike,” the biker continues, and I cringe as his gaze sweeps over the stain on my sweater. “Rough morning?”

“You have no idea.”

He chuckles, and somehow, it eases the tension I feel. “Get in here. It’s cold as shit out there.”

He’s not wrong. I step through the door and shiver as he closes it. “Thanks.”

“I figure we can sit in the kitchen. It’s warm from the ovens being in use this morning.”

“Okay. Lead the way.”

I follow Spike, and we end up in an enormous kitchen. It’s the size you would expect to see in an assisted living facility or a hospital. Everything is stainless steel. The commercial feel contrasts with the plants hanging from the ceiling close to the big window above the double sink that’s probably used for prep and utility as much as dishwashing. It’s clean too. Spotless. Like someone regularly wipes it all down to ensure no fingerprints smudge the smooth surfaces.

It’s silly I notice things like this, but my eye is drawn to it because of my career. There’s not a thing I would change in this room from an organizational standpoint. Shelving with neatly stacked pots and pans, closed cupboards, arranged spices in a rack, and various fresh herbs growing in little pots all lined up in a row on the deep windowsill meet my standards for cleanliness and orderliness.

Spike clears his throat and gestures to a square table with four chairs across from the entry to the kitchen. The dark wood adds a bit of warmth to the room. It’s a nice touch with all the stainless steel and matches the cabinetry on one wall. In the center of the table is a deep wooden bowl filled with peanuts. I noticed a bulk bag of them on one of the shelves.

“Peanut is fond of,” he chuckles, “peanuts.”

“Peanut?” I ask, wondering if he’s referring to one of his biker friends or someone else. Surely, they don’t have a pet elephant on the premises. This property is huge, so it’s not like I’ll notice, especially if they keep one indoors. I can’t think of any other animal that likes peanuts enough to buy them in bulk.

“He’s a member of the Shifted Misfits. My Enforcer.”

I nod, not really understanding what an enforcer is or why he’s needed. “Ah, okay.” I settle across from Spike and relax in my chair. The room is warm and cozy. I can feel the heat, like the ovens are warming the kitchen, but they’re not. I blink when I realize most of the heat is coming from the big guy across from me. He gives a whole new meaning to the term ‘hot-blooded’.

It’s not important. I have his attention, and I need to make the most of the minutes he spares me today. Cheryl mentioned the president of this club is a busy guy, and he can only spare an hour of his time. I open the folder and hand him the flyer I made, not wasting any time.

“Did Cheryl mention the reason for my visit today?” I ask, wondering how much information he learned from the call.

“Well, I know she runs Mercy Falls Refuge. Helps out families with domestic violence and orphans. She said something about needing help this Christmas. She really seems to care about the kids.”

“Yes. Cheryl is selfless. She’s got a big heart.” I point to the flyer. “That’s where we need help. These kids deserve a great Christmas. I want to help give them that.”

“What do you need?”

“A few things. Help with the toy drive and donations. Maybe gift cards for items the kids need like coats, hats, and mittens. Possibly food too but I plan to speak to the food pantry for that. Then there’s Santa.”

“Santa?” He says the name hesitantly, like he’s apprehensive.

“Yeah,” I joke. “The big guy with a white beard dressed in red who shows up to the Christmas party to brighten the children’s day.”

A boisterous laugh, deep while also rumbling his chest, startles me. “I’ve got just the man for the job.”

“Good.”

He strokes the light scruff on his jaw before looking into my eyes. He’s got a penetrating stare like he’s trying to figure out why I’m here. “You got me curious, Callie.”

“About the toy drive?”

“Not exactly. We’re helping. Not gonna turn my back on those kids.” He leans back into his chair and ticks his head at me. “But I want to know why you’re so invested. I can hear it in your voice. This means something to you, too.”

“It does,” I admit. “It’s personal.”

He slowly nods, not pushing for more, although I can see he’s still curious. “Consider it done. The Shifted Misfits will help with the toy drive and donations. We’ll send in a Santa and make sure those kids have a holiday to remember.”

I’m so thrilled I almost cry. “Thank you so much. This is awesome.”

“Where do we drop off the toys? At the facility?”

“Actually, no. I’m going to keep them at my apartment until the Christmas party. Cheryl is worried the kids might find them early.”

Spike smirks. “Yeah, I bet they would.”

“I can stop by and pick them up once a week until the Christmas party, and then I’ll come one more time on Christmas Eve in case anyone donates late.”

“Fine by me. I’ll fill in the club during church.”

Did bikers go to church?

“It’s not the type of church you’re thinkin’,” he laughs, accurately reading my expression.

Yeah, probably not.

“I’ll leave the wish list and flyer with you. It has my number since I’m the contact person for the event. If you have any questions or need anything, let me know. I’ll try to help. Cheryl has been a bit overwhelmed with the amount of need this year. I want to take some of the pressure off her.”

“Understandable.”

“I appreciate the Shifted Misfits helping our community. It’s a good look for the club, too.”

He frowns. “That’s not a motivation for us.”

Oops. “I don’t mean to offend you, but bikers don’t always have the best reputation.”

A snort follows my words. “A fact we’re trying to change.”

“This will help.”

He agrees as I stand.

“Thanks for hearing me out. I’ll see you in a week.”

Spike rises to his feet, unfolding his long legs until he’s towering over me. “Nice to meet you, Callie. Next time you see Cheryl, tell her I said hello.” He reaches out and shakes my hand in a strong grip, but it’s not painful.

“I will,” I promise, releasing his hand and leaving the kitchen, passing through the entryway and heading outdoors.

The sun is shining as I exit, almost blinding as it bounces off the piles of plowed snow. I toss my purse into the passenger seat after I open the driver’s side door and sit down. Hope blossoms in my chest as I think about the smiles on the kids’ faces on Christmas Eve. All the hard work will be worth it. For the first time in years, I look forward to the holidays, happy I won’t spend them alone in misery.

The local food pantry in Yukon Bluff is only a fifteen-minute drive from the Shifted Misfits clubhouse. I take a quick detour and head home to change out of my sweater and pull on a bright red one before heading back out into the chilly day. It’s growing colder by the minute, and I shiver as I stop at a traffic light.

Turning up the heat, I stare out my rearview mirror. A black SUV is behind me. The windows are tinted so dark I can’t see who’s behind the wheel. Odd. I didn’t think people usually tinted front windows. Isn’t that illegal?

I step on the gas as the light turns green and pull to a stop in front of the food pantry. I’m parked before I notice the black SUV across the street. I can hear the engine idling.

That’s all it takes for my past to surface. I tremble as I decide to stay in the car, waiting to see if the SUV will leave. It doesn’t. After ten minutes, I open the car door and decide to head inside the food pantry. If they don’t leave, I’ll call the cops.

I have a restraining order. My ex isn’t allowed to have any contact with me or approach me for any reason. He’s not supposed to know where I am. I moved to Yukon Bluff to get away from him and start over. It’s a small town where I can hide.

Shit. I hope I’m wrong.

The SUV finally pulls away from the curb and drives off as I let out a sigh of relief.

I’m probably overthinking this.

I click the fob on my car, lock it, and enter the food pantry, dismissing the SUV from my mind.