Biker's Virgin

; “Just yesterday,” Nakoa nodded.

“And, did you like it better than the tortellini?”

“I did.”

“That’s all the encouragement I need then,” I said. “I’ll try the gnocchi.”

“Excellent,” Nakoa nodded. “And for you, Mr. Winchester?”

“I’ll have the Ragu,” Gregory replied as he handed Nakoa the menu.

Once we were alone, Gregory turned to me with a touch of surprise in his eyes. “You’re very familiar with the waiters.”

“I come here almost every night.”

“So do I,” he pointed out. “And yet, I still don’t have conversations with any of them.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, and he smiled in an embarrassed sort of way. “That came out sounding a little…”

“Elitist?” I offered bluntly.

“I suppose it did, didn’t it?”

“What’s your point, Gregory?”

“It’s nice,” he said. “It’s nice to see someone who takes such an interest in the people around her.”

“The hospitality industry is built on the backs of people like Nakoa,” I said. “They’re the unsung heroes in many ways. They do a lot of the grunt work for not much money, and very often they get treated the worst. I was a waitress once, so I understand what it means to serve people who don’t treat you very well.”

“You waitressed?”

“I did,” I nodded. “For two years before I started college, and in that time, I learned a lot about the world. I learned a lot about people, too. And sometimes, it feels as though they forget that waiters and servers and managers are people, too. They’re owed respect as much as the next person.”

“I agree,” Gregory nodded. He looked thoughtful for a moment.

“What?” I asked, sensing that he wanted to ask me a question, but wasn’t sure if he should or not.

“Well… You’re from a rich family,” he said.

“I am,” I nodded, suppressing my smile for a moment.

“I guess I’m wondering why you chose to get a job in the first place?”

“Because of that precise mentality.”

“What mentality?” Gregory asked.

“The kind of mentality that assumes because I was born into a privileged home, I don’t know how to work hard. Or perhaps that I won’t do certain jobs because I feel like it was beneath me. My father used to say to Jason and me all the time when we were growing up: no job is beneath me. A job is a job, and there is dignity in working hard, no matter what it is. We all have a part to play.”

“Your father sounds like the kind of man who would have raised a woman like you.”

I smiled. “What kind of woman is that?”

“Intelligent, hard-working, strong, and ambitious,” Gregory told me. “With the ability to still be humble, empathetic, and kind.”

I smiled, touched by his words. “Thank you,” I said. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“I’m not trying to be nice,” he said. “I’m just being honest.”