Author's note: this story has been re-edited to bring it up to my current standards as part of an effort to make Ebooks. It features improved editing, grammar, punctuation, and also includes rewrites and expanded scenes where necessary. Please see my bio for more information.
CHAPTER 1: LONE WOLF
The roar of an engine roused Matt from his daydream, loud enough to shake the windows in their panes. He brushed off his white apron, preparing for the ringing of the bell that would indicate that a customer had walked into the diner. It was almost midnight on a Sunday and business was slow, he was staffing the restaurant by himself tonight but whipping up a meal for the handful of customers that he expected to pass through was not difficult. His family owned the establishment, the only eatery in their small town, located up in the North of Washington state. There was a neon sign hanging outside that cast the parking lot in its pink glare, a checkered linoleum floor, along with a jukebox and all of the other little amenities that one would have expected.
It was not a themed diner, the outdated décor was not ironic, it was merely as old as his father's sensibilities. Matt found it insufferable, but it was the family business, and he had turned out to be one hell of a cook. It must run in his blood. Working in a diner was one way to pay for college, round these parts it was either that or logging. Most of the people who he served were truckers carting felled trees from the logging camps up North, and he was sorry to say that they rarely appreciated his talents. Eggs over easy and a pot of coffee was about all they ever ordered, he wouldn't be charring a crème brulee with a blowtorch or serving any aperitifs while he worked here. You would think that for an aspiring chef the family business being a restaurant would be a boon, but cooking in this town made him feel like a Broadway singer performing on the side of the street for loose change.
He glanced out of the long window that lined one wall of the diner, the yellow glow from the visitor's headlights going dark as the rumbling of their engine subsided. The weather was cooling, and the pine forests that surrounded their lot on the lonely road had an eerie quality at this time of night. The Moon was waxing, and its pale glow was just enough to light the trees as they blew back and forth in the wind.
Matt watched a figure walk past the window, it was a woman, her black road leathers lit by the neon sign. The bell above the door rang as she stepped inside, pulling a tinted crash helmet from her head and shaking out her long, raven hair. Her face was pale, and it stood out against her dark leather clothing, her chiseled features striking. Her black jacket was studded with badges and pins, gold buttons and zippers catching the light as she walked. Her pants fit her form so snugly that light from the neon sign outside spilled through the gap between her thighs. She creaked when she moved, her outfit so tight that it looked as if she had been vacuum packed into it. Matt had to make a conscious effort to avoid looking her over too conspicuously.
Her black boots trod heavily on the checkered floor as she made her way over to the counter, placing her helmet beside her as she took a seat on one of the stools. She leaned on the polished surface as she withdrew a packet of cigarettes from her pocket and caught one between her lips, then flipped open a silver Zippo lighter, holding the cigarette over the dancing flame before snapping it shut and taking a long draw. Matt waited patiently for her to exhale, the woman loosing a puff of smoke as she finally looked up at him.
"You here all on your own, kid?"
Kid! She didn't look a day over twenty-five herself, but he held his tongue as he passed her a laminated menu. She took it in her gloved hand, more leather, and looked it over as she rolled her cigarette around in her mouth.
"Yes, I'm staffing the diner tonight, it's a slow season. What can I get you? Would you like some recommendations?
She seemed disinterested in the menu, casting it aside and turning her attention to him instead. Her eyes were a cold shade of blue, and he felt a flush in his cheeks despite himself as he met her gaze.
"I've been on the road since this morning, came down over the border. This is the first stop I've come across since I left BC."
"You've not eaten since breakfast? It's midnight!"
"I guess so, these parts are pretty lonely. I like the backcountry roads though, makes for a scenic drive. Give me something hearty, I like my meat rare."
"You got it," Matt said, turning and making his way to the kitchen. Finally, an excuse to cook something that wasn't just grease! She sounded like the kind of person who would enjoy a good steak, he could throw in a few onion rings and some crispy sweet potato, seal the deal with some chimichurri sauce. He lit the stove top and oiled up a pan, trying to keep the conversation going as she waited. The door was open, and the kitchen wasn't more than a few paces away from the counter.
"So, you a biker?"
"What gave that away?" she asked sarcastically, "the motorcycle helmet?"
"Well mostly we just get truckers passing through here," he explained, the cut of steak sizzling as he dropped it into the oil. "It's unusual to see a biker, especially at this time of year. In the summer we sometimes see people on their way up to Vancouver, but this is a first. What brings you down our way?"
"Just passin' through," she replied.
"Headed anywhere special?"
"Not really. For a few days a month I like to just...get on my bike and ride. See where the road takes me."
"Well I envy you," Matt said as he turned over the steak, pressing his spatula down on it and watching the juices leak forth. "Wish I could just get on a bike and start riding."
"Don't you like being the head chef in the last port of call?"
"I'd be lying if I told you that I didn't have higher aspirations than making greasy sandwiches for truckers," he grumbled.
Before long he had her meal ready, setting the plate down in front of her. A bloody steak, fried sweet potatoes and a side of onion rings. There was a dollop of sauce atop the meat, white and garnished with chives.
Her eyes widened, she was clearly impressed, taking up the cutlery to carve out a piece of steak. It was pink inside, leaking red juice, and she hastily put out her cigarette in a nearby ashtray in order to take a bite. He watched her as she chewed, her cold expression warming.
"Well ain't this a surprise," she mumbled through her second mouthful of meat. "To think that I had to drive out to the middle of the damned woods to get a decent steak. What's the name of this sauce?"
"It's called chimichurri," Matt replied. "It's parsley, minced garlic, some olive oil, oregano, some flakes of red pepper, and a few spices and herbs on top of that."
"Just what the hell are you doin' cooking at a truck stop, kid?"
"It's a diner," he clarified, "my parents own the place. I'm working off college debt."
She was really digging into the meal, she must have been famished. Matt watched in awe as she packed away the steak like someone three times her weight.
"You know, I was gonna settle for a shitty sandwich and then just drive right on through this podunk town, but maybe it's worth sticking around for a while longer. There a motel round these parts?"
"Yeah, on the road to the South. It's not exactly the Ritz, but they can give you a bed for the night. The guy who runs it is a friend of mine, tell him Matt sent you and he might even give you a discount."
"Discount motel? Just my style. You gonna be around to make me breakfast, kid?"
"It's...Matt," he repeated, "and yeah. I'm on duty until spring, we open at six AM."
