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His eyes darken. “Comfortable?”
“Very.”
“The strap.”
“Oh.”
His purr rolls low.
I smile. “The strap is comfortable too.”
He checks my ankle before helping me onto the bike. He braces the motorcycle and lets me find my own balance.
When I settle behind him, the world changes. Theo fills the space in front of me with his broad back and warm leather jacket scent. It mixes with his bourbon and earth. I wrap my arms around his waist.
He covers my clasped hands with one of his. “Ready?”
I press my cheek between his shoulder blades. “Yes.”
The engine comes alive beneath us. We ride out of Sweetheart Haven as the sun sets. The town passes in pieces. Heritage Hall glowing gold through the trees. The bakery shutting its front doors. A cluster of children racing bicycles down Magnolia Street. The road narrows beyond town, bordered by pine and palmetto.
Wind catches the loose strands of hair beneath my helmet. Theo’s body moves with every curve, steady and sure beneath my hands. I hold tighter and let the freedom and comfort flow through me.
At the next stop sign, Theo lays one hand over mine again. His purr travels through his back and into my chest.
The road ahead opens in a long ribbon beneath the bruised-purple sky.
I chose the springs. Theo chose to bring me. Ezra is waiting for us there.
By the time we turn onto the old access road, the sunset has gone soft and pink along the horizon.
Theo slows for every rut. I lean with him through the final bend. Then the trees open.
Lanterns glow around the clearing. Ezra stands in the middle of it with his hands on his hips. Blankets cover the grass beneath the old live oak. Pillows from the attic nest are arranged in a half circle. Candles flicker inside glass jars along the edge of the spring, far enough from the water and blankets to satisfy Theo’s fire-safety standards.
A picnic spread waits in the center. Darwin sits at the edge of the blankets beneath a new sticker that reads Wingman. His compartments hold cold cider, fruit, little cakes, and enough ice packs to satisfy both Theo’s food-safety standards and Ezra’s commitment to presentation.
Ezra looks at me on the back of Theo’s motorcycle and puts one hand over his heart. “The helmet.”
Theo kills the engine. “I told you she’d look good on my bike.”
I climb off carefully.
Ezra comes toward me, gaze traveling from the stickers to my boots and back again. “Turn around.”
“Why?”
“So I can appreciate you properly.”
I twirl carefully on my newly cleared ankle.
“Perfect.”
“You put lavender in the padding,” I say.
Theo removes his helmet. “You made her smell like a linen closet.”
“A romantic linen closet.”
