Page 49 of Holley Jolly Biker

I smiled, my eyes were still closed, my nails lightly skimming over the forearm that was wrapped around my chest, “How’d you know?”

My body moved slightly when he chuckled, “May not have known you long, but don’t mean I don’t already know you.”

Now, it was my turn to chuckle, “Just thinking about everything that’s happened in such a short amount of time. And about Merlin.”

It was a few moments before, hesitantly, he asked, “You regretting anything?”

Like he said, he may not have known me long, but he knew me.

And I knew him.

Leaning my head back until my eyes could look into his, I brought my free hand up and caressed the side of his face, feeling that neatly trimmed beard against my palm, “There is nothing that has happened since I came to this town that I have regretted. And not in a million years could I ever regret finally finding the other half of my soul.”

His hazel eyes with flecks of green in them stared down into mine, and then his mouth was lowering, his soft lips gently caressing over mine.

I smiled against his lips and leaned my head back slightly to whisper, “Is there anything you regret?”

I felt his lips smile, “Since you and my little princess got to town... not a god damned thing.”

***

It was Christmas Eve, and the club had a tradition of sorts.

We were loading up in his truck, and as Saint buckled Soraya into her booster seat, she asked, “Daddy?”

My head was turned so I could watch them, he asked, “Yeah, princess?”

Her little head was titled to the side, “How come they don’t call him Santa Claus?”

He winked, “It’s a Cajun thing. So, it goes like this. A long time ago, a lot of people who were French moved to the United States. Many of them settled in Louisiana. And in French, Santa Claus is called Père Noël. Translates to Papa Noel.”

She nodded, “Okay.”

Once he was in and buckled up, he put the truck in drive, and then fifteen minutes later, we fell into a convoy of sorts.

All headed to the same location.

Along the bayou, the people there have a tradition on Christmas Eve. Another meaning behind Papa Noel is that he spreads joy while flying. Therefore, the people light bonfires to help guide him from town to town.

And what a magnificent sight it was. Hundreds among hundreds of bonfires could be seen all along the bayou.

Soraya and I had our arms swinging back and forth when I asked her, “What’s your favorite?”

“The bonfire that’s shaped like a reindeer. That’s so cool,” I smiled down at her.

And then I heard her giggle as Saint swept in behind her, lifted her up, and placed her on his shoulders. Then he asked, “What’s cool?”

“The bonfire is shaped like a reindeer,” she said happily as she clapped.

I looked at the brothers who were behind us, and then I teased, “You don’t want to walk with your brothers?”

He winked at me, “Nah. Spent enough time with those fuckers. The rest of the time I got on this earth, I’m spending it with the two beings who matter most to me.”

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Ooey-gooeyness. That was the only way to describe how this man made me feel, how this man made my heart feel.

I smiled, “Sounds good to me.”

We walked and walked and walked. Mugs of hot cocoa warmed us up.