Becoming Luna

Chapter 20 ~ Not all surprises are fun part 1

Siena grumbles to herself as she walks to her car more or less a couple of hours later. She’s kind of almost hoping he’d already left, but she sees her motorbike still parked exactly where she saw it last.

She glances back inside the salon and groans internally when she sees several heads clustered together, watching her with interest. They are probably even taking bets on whether she is going to the cafe or not, and some are waiting for her to leave, hoping to take the opportunity to go there themselves and see if they can console the poor generous guy who waited for so long but got stood up.

She can almost hear their excitement when she gets in her car, looking as if she had no intention of joining the mysterious rider, but a petty side of her grins like a satisfied cat at the thought of their collective groan when she parks right next to his motorbike.

She counts to three, taking a deep breath before getting out of the car, hoping she’s not making a huge mistake.

‘Curiosity killed the cat!’ The old, sensible part of her whispers.

“Oh, but I’m not a cat,” she mutters back, almost rebelliously, ignoring that last voice of reason. “I’m a damn wolf, and he’s the one who should be wary of me!”

She pushes the door to the cafe open and looks around, frowning when she doesn’t immediately spot him. And then she sees it.

His black helmet is on the counter of the bar, but the rider is nowhere in sight.

Maybe he’s in the restroom, she thinks to herself, annoyed that her grand entrance has an unfortunate timing. Not that she should be lamenting. The poor sod has been waiting for hours.

With a sigh, she takes the blessedly unoccupied seat right next to the spot where he’d left his helmet, orders a Strawberry Moscato, and waits.

However, several minutes have already passed and no one is stepping up to claim the helmet. She glances anxiously at the time, frowning because it’s been more or less ten minutes and still a no show. Is he having bowel issues?

“Excuse me,” she calls one of the waiters juggling a tray of dirty dishes back to the kitchen. “Um, this helmet…I’m waiting for the owner. I thought he might have been in the men’s room but—”

The waiter’s eyes widen and he immediately puts down the tray on the counter. “Oh, sorry, I’ve been swamped I didn’t realize you’re already here—”

Her frown deepens. He can’t possibly be the biker, he’s too… young, and the voice is all wrong, although admittedly, the voice had been muffled when the guy was wearing his helmet. But still…

“You’re Miss Siena Merrick?”

“Yes?” She answers warily, not sure why he knows her full name.

The waiter sees her hesitation and pauses, as if remembering something, before awkwardly clearing his voice. “Uh, may I see an identification, please? Just to be sure I’m talking to the right person…”

What the devil is going on?

She shows him an ID and he sighs with obvious relief.

“Oh, okay, good! Um, here…he said to give you this.” He takes something out of his pocket and hands it to her.

Siena stares at a paper napkin folded three times that he’s offering to her, but she makes no move to take it. “Well, where is he?”

The waiter shrugs. “No idea. Guy left about an hour ago, I think? He was in a hurry. He said something important came up.”

He left!? That son of a—wait.

“But his helmet… and his motorbike are still here…”

“Yeah, a car came to pick him up and he asked to leave them here temporarily so you’d find them just in case—you know. Anyway, he did assure us someone’ll come to get them later.” He tries to give her the paper napkin again. “Please take it. I gotta go back to work, I have tables waiting…”

Reluctantly, she reaches out to take it and thanks him. He nods and grabs his tray again before rushing back to the kitchen.

She wanted to ask if there was anything else the biker had said, if they knew his name…but it’s already happy hour and the place is starting to fill up with customers, so she finishes her drink before asking for her bill. However, the barman tells her it’s already been paid for by the owner of the helmet, who apparently left a generous tip, because everyone seems determined to keep his anonymity.

She sighs and leaves a tip anyway, grinding her teeth in frustration as she walks back to her car.

Only when she’s already inside did she unfold the paper napkin to see what’s inside. She gasps at the familiar signature at the bottom that she would recognize anywhere.

Sorry I couldn’t wait, I received an urgent call and needed to go. I owe you an apology in person, so if it’s still possible, save me a seat on your table for the inauguration party this Sunday.

A.

What the f**k!?