Somehow, I’m still stuffed two days after Thanksgiving. I barely eat when we stop at Pot Pie Palace. I watch Chipper enjoying his steak and mushroom lunch and imagine him shirtless later in the home gym while working off the calories. No doubt he’ll work off even more inside me.

“Can we hang out in the snow when we get home?” I ask while we sit at a red light after visiting our last stop for the day.

“There isn’t much snow left, but it’s not like you need to ask for permission.”

Studying the overcast sky, I wish the weather remained cold enough for the snow to stick around a while longer. “I’m not asking for permission. I’m asking you to join me.”

“I’d rather watch. You’re damn entertaining when you go snow crazy.”

Grinning, I reach over to caress his jaw. “I thought I’d hate snow. Now I’m as addicted to it as I am your chopper.”

“You are addicted, aren’t you? I assumed you would be, but it’s still such an ego booster to hear.”

“Wasn’t Chevelle addicted?”

“No, she hated the snow,” he says, once again refusing to be sucked into my insecurities. “It’s why she went stupid for Jamaica. The heat and humidity suit her. She loves working at a resort as a bartender. She tossed aside small town life for the anonymity of meeting strangers from around the world. Tennessee was never going to make her happy. Makes you wonder what the fuck is wrong with her, doesn’t it?” he says as we get stuck at another red light. “I mean, this town is fucking great. A cold winter is fucking great. Spring in Tennessee is fucking gorgeous. You’re going to love it. Maybe not as much as you love the snow, but it’ll charm you, I’m sure.”

“Wasn’t Ruby a bartender?” I ask, trying to remember the dozens of details I picked up during our last dinner at Bonn’s house.

“Yeah, a long time ago. Like you, Chevelle is a mama’s girl. She’s a daddy’s girl too. A bit of a duel kiss ass really.”

“I know I’m weird about Chevelle, but I’ll meet her soon, and I want to get over my insecurities. The more you talk about her, the less terrifying she becomes.”

“Chevelle’s a sweetheart. In a fight, I bet you could even take her. Fuck, especially if you were drunk. You get wild when Mistress Booze is in charge.”

Laughing, I realize I’ve been smiling pretty much nonstop since Chipper brought me Howler’s dentures and asked me to be his wife. The only time my depression returned was when Chipper joined Hayes at the casino. I was certain I didn’t need a babysitter.

“You’ll have to leave me alone eventually,” I told him.

So he did, and I ended up crying on the couch while watching videos of my mom. I tried to imagine her watching over me, but I was blinded by my sorrow at seeing how bright and alive she was only a year ago.

I cried for maybe ten minutes when something jumped on me. Thinking Muffin Top—or Muffy as I’d taken to calling her—might have stirred from her never-ending nap, I instead found Camel Toe—or Cami—at my side. The cat hadn’t given me much attention since I moved in except to nearly trip me one evening when I tried to find the bathroom in the dark. Otherwise, she acted as if I didn’t exist.

That afternoon, though, Cami crawled in my lap. With her purring echoed through the otherwise quiet house, I pet her long after my tears ended. Assuming the cat’s visit was a sign from my mother sounded nuts in my head, but I believed it anyway.

“Motherfuckers!” Chipper hollers, startling me from my thoughts. “Hold on, Tatum,” he warns and guns the SUV at three men on a sidewalk corner.

Gripping the door, I flinch as he nearly sideswipes a Harley before coming to a screeching halt a few inches from the men.

“There’s a gun in the glove compartment if shit gets dicey,” he says and reaches into the backseat for a bat. “Call Mom and tell her we have rogue bikers in our territory.”

There’s no time for me to respond before Chipper is out the door and rushing at the nearest biker.

“What the fuck are you doing in White Horse?” he yells, shoving the longhaired guy.

Dialing the office, I watch Chipper hit the two bikers while the third man shrinks away from the fight and toward the SUV.

“Candy,” I say as soon as she picks up, “Chipper is fighting two bikers. I don’t know what to do.”

“Where are you?” she asks in a calm voice and I swear she’s popping her gum.

“I don’t know.”

“Look around and tell me if there are any stores or street signs.”

“We’re next to a place called Pop N Lock.”

“I know where you’re at. Someone will there in a minute. Don’t freak if you see White Horse cops. They’re our guys.”

“Okay. What do I do?”

“Just stay in the car.”

Staring at the third man mouthing something at me, I whisper to Candy, “The guy the bikers were fighting with is talking to me through the window.

“Gray hair, army jacket?”

“Yes.”

“It’s probably Pickles.”

I remember how Cricket acts as a benefactor for a homeless man named Pickles. My gaze flashes from him to Chipper swinging his bat at the men.

“Should I try to help Chipper?” I ask Candy.

“No, he wouldn’t like that. Just stay in the car. I have someone two blocks from you. Give them a minute to get there.”

“Okay. I need to go.”

I hang up on Candy and lean toward the front window to better see the brawl taking place. Chipper moves with the ease of a man with endless confidence and more than a little martial arts training. I watch him pound on the two rougher-looking men.

Everything goes Chipper’s way until the longhaired biker reaches for something in his jacket. Suspecting he has a weapon, I reach in the glove compartment for Chipper’s gun. Without thinking, I open the SUV door and step out.

“Stop!” I yell at the men while pointing the gun through the space between the SUV’s body and the open door. “Chipper, he has a knife.”

The men are yelling at each other. No one is listening to me, and I don’t know how to protect Chipper.

“I have a gun and don’t know how to use it!” I scream at the top of my lungs. The bikers and Chipper look in my direction while the man next to my door steps away from me. “Back off before I accidentally kill you with my warning shot!”

Despite frowning at me, Chipper swings his bat hard enough to knock the knife from the biker’s hand. I keep the gun pointed at them until Chipper has both men on the ground and their IDs in his hands.

“Police are here,” says the third man.

“Are you Pickles?” I ask.

“Yeah. You’re Tatum. Cricket told me you were very blonde.”

Despite smiling, I’m on the verge of tears until Chipper returns to my side and takes the gun.

“Bad ass little bitch,” he mutters to me before opening the back door for Pickles.

Blinking away my tears, I whisper, “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Threatening people is usually the right answer, so good job, Breezy.”

Again, I smile despite wanting to cry. Chipper kisses the tip of my nose and gives me a tight hug that immediately cools the heat behind my eyes. I climb back into the SUV while Chipper talks to the cops who now have the bikers cuffed.

“Are you cold?” I ask Pickles. “Let me turn up the heat back there.”

“Much appreciated. Man, I thought I was a goner, for sure. Didn’t expect Chipper to come in like Superman to save my ass.”

Wishing I could join Chipper, I sit quietly for a few minutes before the strong cologne scent reminds me of the man in the backseat. “Why do people call you Pickles?”

“Always loved eating them. As a kid, I could eat nothing else and be perfectly happy. Something about those green fuckers that make me happy. People started calling me that to make fun of my habit, but I didn’t care. Pickles are the best fucking food around.”

“I like the sweet ones.”

“The ladies usually do,” he says, giving me a wink.

Pickles no longer shivers by the time Chipper joins us in the SUV. He takes my hands and holds them. His gaze sees no one except me.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“You’re safe. I’m safe. The world is a happy place. Yes?”

Nodding, I ask, “Who were those men?”

“Fucking bikers.”

“From Howler’s club?”

“Their IDs say they’re from Georgia. Of course, we’ll make sure they’re not fake, the assholes don’t look familiar, and I didn’t recognize their patches. They better not run with the Brotherhood or else the Rutgers twins’ asses will need beating. I can’t imagine a turf war is what anyone wants for the holidays.”

“Today doesn’t seem worth fighting over,” Pickles says.

“They fucked with someone in our territory,” Chipper mutters, glancing back at the man. “Doesn’t matter if it’s you or me or someone I don’t know. Bikers don’t play in White Horse. Whatever crew they belong to is asking for trouble.” Chipper shakes out his shoulders, and I wonder if he’s hurt. “So, Pickles, why were those fuckers messing with you?”

“On special occasions, Cricket gives me a bottle Old Monk.”

“What?”

“Rum,” he says, pulling the bottle from his jacket. “Your sister doesn’t like me drinking, but she gets me a bottle for my birthday and holidays. It was my birthday last week, and I was enjoying the bottle when those fuckers told me to hand it over. I wasn’t going to give them my special gift from Cricket. They tried to grab it, so I ran. I thought I got away, but then they came riding up on those loud damn bikes. If you hadn’t shown up, they’d have taken my rum and given me a beating,” Pickles says and then shakes his head. “I don’t usually have that kind of trouble in White Horse. People know Cricket watches out for me, and so no one bothers me. I didn’t expect trouble, but those foul shits didn’t know the rules.”

Chipper starts the SUV and exhales softly. “They know them now. Once we find out who they run with, we’ll make sure that club knows the rules too.”

I study Chipper as he drives Pickles to a bridge where the old man thanks for the help and walks off.

“He lives here?” I ask, watching Pickles disappear down the underpass.

“For now. Cricket wanted to get him an apartment, but he can’t have hard walls around him. He prefers living wild.”

“What about the cold?”

“Cricket bought him a fancy fucking tent and camping shit. I swear he’s the fanciest homeless man in the world.”

“Are we going home or to the office?”

“Home. Mom will find out everything worth learning about the bikers. Then Hayes, Cricket, and I will decide how to handle the incident. Until then, I want to wash off the biker stink and relax with my lady.”

I want to tell Chipper about how scared and helpless I felt. How he should teach me to fight and shoot guns and be tough. That’s what I need to say, but that’s not what he needs to hear right now.

“I can make grilled cheese sandwiches while you’re showering,” I offer, hoping he knows I trust him to handle whatever happens.

“Like little kids eat or like Bianca Bella makes?”

“Something in between.”

Grinning, Chipper reaches over and takes my hand. His confidence rarely cracks, but I’m his weakness, and he isn’t accustomed to feeling vulnerable. We’re a team now, married spiritually even if not legally. I need to help him feel as strong as he does me, and I can only do that by sometimes putting on a brave face and lying. Right now is one of those times, and I play the relaxed chick role like a pro.