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“I’ve done it.” Maddie raised her hand like they were back in middle school. “It’s kind of therapeutic. Like active meditation.”
Just like Real Simple claimed. They wouldn’t steer her wrong. Maddie’s confirmation gave her hope.
If Maddie had reformed her wild ways and been domesticated, so could Sophie. How hard could it be? And Maddie loved Revival, had chosen to live here with her hot husband, Mitch, in their big farmhouse by the river. They even had a baby, a nine-month-old girl, Lily.
As the first child in their group of friends and family, she was spoiled rotten and universally deemed the prettiest baby any of them had ever seen. Lily had her mama’s red hair and Cupid’s bow mouth, combined with her daddy’s amber eyes and golden skin. It was an unusual combination, and even now it was clear she was going to be a stunner. Already Mitch fretted over her being a teenager.
See, Maddie had completely adjusted to country life. In fact, she’d never move back to Chicago. If she could do it, Sophie could do it for six months.
Sophie wrinkled her nose. “I guess I’ll find out.”
Maddie gestured at the front yard. “We could put some hydrangea bushes in front of the house and plant the window boxes. It would be really pretty.”
Oh. My. God. She was discussing gardening. How was this happening? She put on a happy face.
“Sure,” she said absently, walking up the driveway. Time to stop avoiding and claim this as home.
“What time are the movers coming?” Penelope asked.
“They should be here within the next hour.”
“We should get started cleaning, then.” Penelope’s voice took on that efficient edge, tinged with excitement. The woman lived for cleaning and organizing. Obviously Penelope was sick and twisted, but Sophie loved her anyway.
“Great.” Her tone was dry. “I love cleaning.”
Back home she’d paid a college girl to clean her apartment. She’d worked so much she wasn’t about to waste her weekends on housework. But she couldn’t afford that now. Her six-month contracted salary covered her rent, essentials, takeout, and one of those mutual funds thingies she was supposed to have by now. Something had to go, and it wasn’t like she was going to start cooking.
She frowned. Did Revival have delivery?
Panic sliced through her and she took a deep breath. She’d worry about it later. Her friends were watching her every move, waiting to catch her the second she fell apart. She appreciated their love and relentless support but wanted no part of their sympathy. She’d freak out when she was alone and not a second before.
She dusted her hands on her jean shorts, smoothed down her red tank top, and squared her shoulders. Time to get down to the business of becoming a country girl.
Just then a loud roar rumbled through the quiet streets, interrupting the tranquility of the neighborhood. A big, black motorcycle turned the corner, the motor so loud it vibrated through her ears, and strummed through her blood, jolting the first signs of life from her.
Yes, of course motorcycles were dangerous, but Sophie had a tiny thing for danger she’d been trying to manage since college, and the Harley looked and sounded as dangerous as they came.
Sophie, Maddie, and Penelope all froze in the driveway, staring at the bike tearing a path through the street. She could tell the driver was a man by the breadth of his shoulders, but she couldn’t make him out.
She waited for him to pass, but he pulled into the driveway next to hers and turned off the bike.
Sophie could only blink in shock. Her throat went dry. The driver wasn’t just a man; he was all man.
Who in the hell was that?
The man didn’t get off the motorcycle. Instead he sat there, watching her. At least she thought he watched her, but it was hard to tell behind his mirrored aviator sunglasses. He wore jeans, and the denim stretched over the powerful thighs straddling the beast of a machine. He took his hands off the handlebars, and the muscles in his forearms corded and flexed before biceps filled out his black T-shirt. His shoulders went on for miles, stretching the confines of the cotton.
That was just his body. But his face, holy shit his face. He had a strong jaw, hard features, and short dark brown hair. Sophie couldn’t see his eyes, but he was ridiculously masculine and uncomfortably good-looking.
Sophie had nothing against hot men. In fact, she rather liked them. But she took one look at this one and immediately disliked him, for no rational reason or logical explanation other than he looked exactly like her type. And Sophie knew her type. Her type was nothing but trouble, heartache, and potential jail time. She’d given up her type a long time ago, and while it was a little boring, it was much safer.
She glared at the offending stranger. Why in God’s name wouldn’t he stop looking at her? Why didn’t he get off his dumb bike? Why was he just sitting there?
“Hey, Ryder,” Maddie called out, before giving her a huge, sly smile. “This is Sophie.”
Her friend clearly knew exactly who he was but had failed to mention him.
Sophie frowned as he nodded in her direction before swinging his leg off the bike.
