I ate my pancakes with the grace of a starving dog. The three oversized flapjacks reduced my desire for carbohydrates but did nothing to curb my appetite to see Porter again.

Incapable of deciding whether I should send him a text message or order one more pancake, I stared blankly through the diner’s window. With a far more casual stride than normal, Lawson ambled into my line of sight.

“Can I get another pancake?” I asked as his image walked past.

He paused. “Just one?”

I narrowed my blank stare and shifted my eyes to him. Two pancakes would fill the stomach of most of the Marine men who regularly ate at the diner. I’d already eaten three, but I had the metabolism of a greyhound, especially when something was bothering me.

“Make it two,” I said, raising two fingers. “I might go for another run when I’m done.”

He nodded and turned away.

When I couldn’t decide what to do about one of life’s obstacles, I either ran or overate. At the end of my run, or by the time I wiped the corners of my mouth, I always had the answer. When I ran and overate, I was generally stuck – centered between what I wanted and what I truly needed – incapable of grasping either.

Leaning one way or the other was the answer, and I couldn’t decide what direction was in my best interest.

“What’s on your mind?” George asked from behind me.

Seated at the end of a row of booths with my back facing the wall, I peered over my shoulder, toward the kitchen. “Nothing, really.”

His square jaw tightened. He narrowed his eyes playfully and gave me a stare. “Lawson just came in the kitchen. The last time you ate six pancakes was the evening before you broke up with Kevin.”

“Kelvin. His name was Kelvin, with an ‘L’,” I said. “And, I’m only having five.”

He leaned over the back of the booth and looked me in the eyes. “I’ll ask again. What’s on your mind?”

Immediately after meeting George, he stepped into my life as a father of sorts. Protecting me from Southern California’s undesirables seemed to be his calling. Upon hiring his male employees, he advised them of his hands-off policy when it came to me. If a patron acted overly friendly, George was at my table in an instant, squashing their advancements completely. Luckily, his clientele were regulars. Therefore, everyone knew his position on all things Abby related.

I gestured to the empty seat across from me. “Sit down. It makes me nervous when you loom over me like that.”

He sat across from me, resting his massive forearms on the edge of the table. He cocked an eyebrow. “Did you run this morning?”

I nodded. “Five miles.”

His mouth twisted into a smirk. “So, we’ve got a big problem.”

“You know me all too well.” My gaze fell to the table top. “There was this guy at the meeting. He was really nice. We went to Borrego and I caught a rattlesnake.”

I looked up, hoping I’d satisfied his curiosity.

In complete contrast of my optimistic view, he coughed out a laugh. “Were you planning on stopping there, or are you going to continue with the rest of the story?”

“That’s pretty much it,” I lied. “We rode out there, caught a rattlesnake, and then we rode back to the meeting. After that, I came home.”

“I know you didn’t ride your bicycle to the desert.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Motorcycle?”

I nodded.

“Number thirty-whatever?” he asked.

“Two,” I said. “It was number thirty-two.”

“A biker. You’re contemplating a real biker?” He crossed his arms and peered down his nose at me. “What makes him special?”

“I don’t know.”

It was true. I didn’t know. He possessed the external qualities I liked in men, but beyond that I knew very little about him. I feared, however, that it was what I didn’t know that drew me to him. I wanted to find out what the root of his fear was. In time, I wanted to fix it.

“What’s his…” He twisted his mouth to the side, seeming uncertain of how to continue. “Condition?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “He didn’t want to talk about it. We were discussing faith in the higher power, and he didn’t want to talk about that, either. But, he was really nice. I mean, we rode to Borrego Springs and back, and he never hit on me. Not once. And, he had no idea who I was, so that’s a plus.”

His eyes widened a little. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” I assured him. “He doesn’t believe in social media. He thinks it’s dumb.”

“So, what’s your plan?” he asked.

I scrunched my nose and shrugged one shoulder. “Eat two more pancakes and see what I think?”

“Bring him in here,” he said.

It sounded like more of a demand than a recommendation. Mentally, my head shook vigorously. Outwardly, I tried to remain calm and seem unaffected by his request.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” I said, using caution to keep my tone emotionless. “Not yet.”

“Bring him in here.” He slid out of the booth and stood. “I want to meet him.”

I had my doubts Porter would show up to the next meeting. He lacked interest in sharing with the group. I suspected his attendance was mandated by his insurance company, and not driven by his desire.

“Let me see if he even shows up to the next meeting.” I offered a smile. “We’ll go from there.”

“Bring him in here.” He folded his arms over his chest. He did it when he was frustrated, and by my count, had already done it twice since sitting down. “That’s three times, if you’re keeping count.”

I gave him an innocent look. “Three times?”

“I said bring him in here three times.” He unfolded his arms and tugged against his apron. “Four, including this one.”

I mouthed the words I’m sorry. “If he comes back, I’ll see what I can do.”

“A fucking biker,” he murmured as he walked away.

The instant George was gone, Lawson set my plate in front of me. After George’s interrogation I expected to be drawn to the steaming hot plate of goodness like a great white shark to a bleeding surfer. Instead, I looked at the Frisbee-sized discs of fried batter with disgust in my eyes. According to my lack of appetite, I wasn’t stuck in the middle any longer. My decision was made.

Without so much as a moment’s thought I pulled my phone from my purse. I scrolled through my contacts and found Porter’s name. When I started to type him a text message, I noticed I had received one that I wasn’t aware of. It was an hour and a half old, and it was from Porter.

I opened it.

Ghost Porter-Porter: Have time to talk?

I was instantly overcome with the same giddy excitement that filled me when Trent Rothchild asked me to senior prom. I fidgeted in my seat to thoughts of riding on Porter’s motorcycle, and of wrapping my arms around his muscular torso. I closed my eyes and tried to resurrect his scent but fell short, relying solely on a mental image of his handsome face and muscular physique as fuel to make me squirm.

I wondered if he had questions about the meeting, about cancer, or if his interests were more along a personal level. Hoping his concerns were minimal and his interest in me was vast, I opened my eyes and typed a quick response.

I’m eating a late breakfast. Other than that, I’m free all day. What did you have in mind?

Instantaneously, my phone beeped. I glanced at the illuminated screen.

Ghost Porter-Porter: Want to meet for lunch?

My heart stammered. Short of a day dream, I’d shared no intimate moments with Porter. Nonetheless, I felt I was battling a premature teen crush.

I searched the diner and found George standing fifty feet away, talking to a young couple I didn’t recognize. There’d be plenty of opportunities for him to meet Porter whenever I felt it was necessary. To do so now would have been awkward. When he looked up I flashed him a quick grin, feeling slightly guilty for not wanting to bring Porter to the diner.

With my phone hidden in my lap, I typed my response.

I’d love to. How does sushi sound?

Upon reading his sounds great response, an involuntary squeal shot from my lungs. Embarrassed, I pushed the plate of cold pancakes to the far side of the table and dropped my phone in my purse, hoping I was the only one who heard the audible outcry.

Instead of waiting for my bill, I tossed an ample amount of cash on the table and jumped from my seat.

“Love you, George,” I shouted openly.

“Love you, too, Abby,” he responded. “See you in a few hours.”

“I won’t be in for lunch.” I lengthened my stride, all but scurrying toward the door. “I’ve got some things to do.”

“Bringing him in?” he asked.

He knew me all too well. With my eyes fixed on the exit, I raised my hand in the air and gave a playful wave. “Bye, George.”

“Bringing him in?!” he shouted from behind me.

I pushed the door open and paused. “Love you, George.”

“Fucking biker,” he muttered.