The Biker Needs A Nanny (Thirteen Bikers for Christmas)

CHAPTER ONE

Grace—

I fasten the last few buttons on my blouse and sling my cross-body bag over my head.

Sliding the door open a crack, it’s evident the landing is clear of my landlord. I step into the hallway and close the door with a soft click. The orange eviction notice glares at me. I rip it from the wood and crumple it into a ball. Then jog down the flight of stairs.

“Grace!” The yell carries from above. “Rent was due three days ago!”

“I got it, Mr. Ramone.” I call but don’t stop my descent.

“Grace, I mean it. If I don’t have it by close of business today, you’re out.”

“Mr. Ramone, when have I ever failed you? My tips today will cover the difference.”

“Five pm. That’s it.” Mr. Ramone leans over the railing. He has worn, tan skinned, and his mustache is curled in a snarl. “Five pm,” he says with finality.

Hopefully, my meager job at Nick’s Diner will come through with four hundred dollars.

But walking into the diner twenty minutes later reveals it isn’t promising. There are three patrons sitting atop metal stools at the long counter and a couple of older ladies chatting in the red cushioned booth. The rest of the place is empty. Music pipes through the diner, and Dolly Parton sings Hard Candy Christmas in the background. Right now, that’s just how I feel.

The smell of coffee and bacon hits my nose, and my stomach grumbles. I haven’t eaten since that pack of Ramon noodles I had last night. Hopefully, I’ll have a little extra left over money, and I can grab a pack of hot dogs and some buns.

I sneak a piece of crispy bacon off a pan as I punch in for my shift.

Only thirty minutes into my day, an elderly man shuffles in and takes a spot in a booth along the windows. He dumps a small pile of change onto the tabletop with a jingle. His shaking hands count the coins.

Grabbing a fresh pot of coffee, I head to his table. “Can I start you off with some coffee?”

He glances up at me. “How much can four dollars and eighty-three cents get me?” He tries to drop the change into my hand, but his tremor causes several coins to fall to the ground, rolling across the floor.

“I’m sorry.” He moves to slide from his booth.

“I’ve got this.” Squatting, I grab the loose change and place it in his hand. “Would you like some eggs, toast, bacon? Maybe some hash browns or waffles?”

His face seems conflicted.

“It’s on the house,” I assure him.

“Thank you.” His eyes crinkle, wetness glistening in the corners. “You’re an angel.”

Smiling, I flip his cup over and pour some steaming coffee inside. “Would you like anything else to drink?”

“No, this is great.” His wrinkled hands close over mine. “Thank you.”

Fifteen minutes later, and the old man says a prayer over the delicious breakfast placed in front of him. The counter glistens where I drag a rag across it, watching the old man. I’m not any closer to paying my rent, but it feels good to help somebody in need.

When the old man leaves, those warm fuzzy feelings vanish. Nick, my boss and the owner of the diner, stalks out of the back office.

“Did that man not pay?” He points toward the door. His hefty six-foot frame gets me nervous. “I didn’t see you ring him up.”

I step back, biting my lip. “I told him it was on the house.”

“On the house? Whose house? Not my house.” Nick jams his thumb at his chest and takes a step toward me, causing me to retreat. “That’s the same as stealing.”

“Sorry. You can take it out of my paycheck,” I plead.

“Oh, I will. Your last paycheck. Get the hell out. You’re fired.”

“Nick, I need this job—”

He holds his hand up. “Then you should have thought about yourself instead of little old men.”

“He was hungry.”

Nick turns, ignoring any further complaints. “Tanya, take that plate and coffee out of her check and settle her up. She’s gone.” He passes Tanya, an older woman with bottle-blonde hair and the raspy voice of a decades-long smoker.

My shoulders slump, and I grab my purse.

Tanya hands me some meager bills. “Sorry, doll. Good luck.” She chomps on pink bubblegum, blowing a bubble.

“Thanks.” I push out the door and trudge toward the sidewalk. I’ve got to stay positive. When one door shuts, I need to bulldoze another one. The thought makes me grin.

An older lady approaches me before I make it to the sidewalk.

“Miss?”

“Yes?” I turn, taking in her gray braided hair bun and cat sweater. She looks like the quintessential sweet old lady.

“I saw what happened in there.” She gestures over her shoulder.

“Yeah, I think everyone did.” My cheeks flush pink.

“You did a good thing, and I hate you got fired for it, especially with Christmas coming.”

“I don’t think Nick cared about that.”

“Well, dear, I may know of a job. My neighbor is looking for a nanny for his little girls. I can give you the address, if you’re interested.”

“That would be great.” I reach into my purse and find a pencil and a gum wrapper and scribble the address.

“Thank you so much.”

“What you did for that old gentleman says a lot about a person when they’re willing to help a complete stranger. I thought I’d take a page out of your book.”

I profusely thank her and then run home to change.

The stairs under my feet creak, and I freeze, my eyes intent on my landlord’s door. But all I hear is the sound of a sports show on television. Breathing a sigh of relief, I dash to my apartment and slip inside. Leaning my back against the door, I take in the meager contents of the apartment. It’s mostly empty, with a mattress on the floor and a card table and a couple of folding chairs. The good thing about not having too much is my duffel bag fits all my worldly possessions. I shove my clothing and paltry personal items inside. A framed picture of my grandmother, my small bag of crafting supplies, and my little ceramic statue of Tinker Bell.

I try to be a glass-half-full kind of girl. It might be full of poison, but damn it, it’s half full.

How did I get into this situation?

I promised myself I would pull myself out of the life I had growing up. I would end up in a better place than where I came from. And I was making progress. I was in community college. I had an okay job and a good apartment, but my bad choices in men always seem to bite me in the ass. And he was the worst decision I’ve ever made.

It seems every step I take, I’m pushed two steps back, and the apartments get worse.

I have to shrug it off or depression will suck me under. I have to stay positive.

Well, when life gives you lemons, chuck them back and get yourself a Frappuccino. Try to not smile while drinking a Frappuccino. It’s impossible.

This new opportunity will be good. Maybe it will be great. It was time to move to a new spot, anyway. Staying in one place too long has never served me well. It’s safer to keep moving.