He snaked his hand back and snatched my arm, wrapping it around him. “You have to hold onto me, Blondie.”

Revving the engine, we were off. The bike sped up with little effort and zipped us through town, a comforting hum keeping me grounded on my first official ride on a bike. Wind whipped past us, muffled by the helmet, as we picked up speed to get on the highway.

Oh shit, he’s taking me somewhere to kill me. My first night out and it’s to go get murdered. Kelly is going to have choice words at my funeral.

The large buildings became scarce as we made it out of Willow Bay and out into the outskirts of suburban living. The last time I’d been out of Willow Bay was to go to the airport. I’d never ventured out to explore the surrounding area before.

He was silent for the entirety of the ride; I gathered words weren’t his forte. After about thirty minutes on the highway, we finally took an exit.

We made a few turns here and there, finally slowing down on a gravel road with a building at the end. It held a flickering neon sign.

24 Hour Diner - Finest Pie in the USA

The bike rumbled as we slowed and parked in front of a diner that looked like it was straight out of 1952, the exterior was faded in various shades of reds and blues. This place sure had charm back in the day.  I dismounted and pulled off the helmet, shaking out my hair and hoping that it didn’t smear my makeup. The last thing I needed was to look like a hot mess in front of this guy I’d already embarrassed myself with. Lightly combing my fingers through my hair, I snuck a peek at my reflection in the helmet.

Good to go.

“Alright, Blondie. You in the mood for greasy food and the best dessert you’ve ever eaten in your life?” He pulled his helmet off in one swift motion, his buzz cut unaffected by a helmet.

My legs wobbled as I took the first steps away from the bike. He chuckled and led me through the glass doors that jingled as they opened, alerting the staff to new customers.

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.” An older, graying waitress stepped out from the counter in a poodle dress and apron, fresh pot of coffee in hand.

I was immediately greeted by the smell of fresh coffee, bacon, and pie. Red vinyl booths lined up under each window, and a jukebox in the far corner played chart-topping music from my grandparents' era.

“Go ahead and sit in your regular booth. I’ll be by to–” she stopped and gawked at me. “Who’s the young lady?”

“Fallon.” I gave her a meek smile, looking to Brent for direction.

“That one,” he said, pointing to a table.