After she passed, I planted tulips all over the front of my yard. Her favorite flower, she always kept a few in her slightly battered old vase on the windowsill above the sink where she would clean up the dishes and hum along to the radio. Whenever I saw them blooming, I thought of her, and it was hard not to smile. The colors, the purples, pinks, yellows, reds, have filled my space, and it feels like each one is a sprig of new life.
Shit. I’m getting too romantic for my own good. I finish my coffee and take it back inside, dump the dregs in the sink, and grab my helmet. I have to be at the shop by ten, and I don’t intend on running late. Especially not staring at the flowers in front of me. I know that everyone on the compound thinks it’s strange enough that I have them, and I don’t much like the thought of explaining why they mean so damn much to me.
I climb onto my bike and put the ignition into gear, grinning as the engine roars up underneath me. I’ve been riding motorcycles since I was a kid, and I worked my ass off to pay for my very first one when I was only sixteen. Since then, I’ve never been apart from the damn things, and I know that I never will be.
The city is pretty quiet at this time of the morning; a few people entering the diner on the corner, a few people grabbing coffee at the café to start another day of work. I take them in, enjoying the rush of air over my hands, the smooth traction of the wheels on the tarmac below me.
Passing by the Pink Pussy, I spot a cop car parked up on the sidewalk outside – rough night, huh? I recognize the cop at the door as Todd Chadwick, some new officer who has been making a lot of noise and trouble for members of the club lately. He’s new to the job, which means he is doing his best to prove to everyone what a big ol’ fucking man he is. Anyone who has to prove that, in my experience, is nothing of the sort.
Finally, I get to Valor Ink. It’s an old house downtown that we converted into our shop. Knight’s outside on the porch, flicking a toothpick. He recently quit smoking and I’m proud of the guy. He lives in the upstairs apartment and usually opens up the place. He nods to me in greeting, running a hand through his hair to push a chunk of blond hair out of his face.
"Morning," he calls to me as I get off the bike. I raise a hand and, a moment later, Wild emerges from the back of the shop and jerks his head towards the two of us.
"Come on, I need you in here," he tells us. "We’ve got a busy day. Trigger got here ten minutes ago."
I get off my bike, passing the HELP WANTED sign in the front window. We need someone to man the front desk, and until we find someone, we take turns doing the grunt work of answering phones and making appointments.
I store my helmet in the staff room, and head through to join them at the counter. There aren’t many people out here this early in the morning, but I know that it wouldn’t have done me any good to keep hanging around my house, all sentimental and shit.
Of all the riders in Men of Valor, these three—Wild, Knight, and Trigger are some of the closest to me – not just because we run the shop together, either. Knight has a bright sense of humor that always makes me laugh, and Wild has proved time and time again that he’s willing to go to the mat for people he cares about. Trigger has worked the shop the longest, before he ever even enlisted. We might not have served together overseas, but I’m as close to them as I ever was to the guys I stood with in uniform.
"What’s on the table today?” I ask, pouring myself another coffee from the pot and taking a long sip. It’s bitter, a little cold, but it’ll do.
"You have a few regulars this morning. But there’s a newbie scheduled for you at three," Wild replies. "Here, you had a chance to look over the specs yet?"
"Not yet," I reply, and he pushes a piece of paper over the table towards me.
"This is the booking that she put in."
"She?" I remark, raising my eyes. We don’t get a whole lot of women around here. Not many of them who would want to come to this end of town.
"Yeah, and this is what she wants," he replies, stabbing his finger at the paper. "Think you can get something sketched up before she gets here?"
"Sure," I mutter, and I lower my gaze to see what she’s got for me. And I can’t help but grin when I see what it is. Those colors, that green stalk, the bright yellow of the petals.
It’s a tulip.
2
Spring
As I approach the shop, I check my phone again to make sure that I have the right address. And I do. I’m here. So why have my feet just stopped moving underneath me?
I’m more than a little nervous about actually stepping over the threshold and going inside. I know that this part of town has a bad reputation, but this shop has awesome reviews, and I want to make sure that I get the very best work possible. If I am going to remember my grandma with this thing, then I am going to make it
