I watch her walk away, admiring the confident stride, the way the damp fleece of her jacket gleams under the lot lights, the curve of her hips beneath jeans. This is dangerous.She’sdangerous. Not in a physical way, but in the way that makes me want things I shouldn’t want.
She returns with the rope and efficiently secures the tree to my car roof. When she’s done, she steps back to admire her handiwork.
“That should hold. Drive carefully, though.”
“Thank you,” I say, meaning it. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I wanted to.” She leans against my car, studying me. “Can I ask you something?”
Such a serious gravitas descending upon us makes me blush. “Depends on the question.”
“Would you have coffee with me? Not now,” she adds. “I know this is weird, running into each other. But maybe tomorrow? Mike’s Diner, ten o’clock? Just coffee, no pressure.”
I should say no. She’s my ex’s sister. This violates every reasonable boundary. But standing here in the Christmas tree lot, with the lights twinkling overhead and this beautiful woman looking at me like I’m something special, I can’t remember why those boundaries matter.
“Just coffee?” I ask.
“Just coffee. Though fair warning, I might try to convince you to try Mike’s pie. It’s terrible in the best way.”
“Like their coffee?”
“Exactly.” Her grin is infectious. “So is that a yes?”
“It’s a maybe.”
“I’ll take a maybe.” She pushes off my car, stepping back. “Ten o’clock tomorrow. I’ll be there, either way. The corner booth with the ripped vinyl that looks like Elvis’s hair.”
“You have a regular booth at Mike’s?”
“I have a regular everything at Mike’s. Drives Nick crazy, which is part of the appeal.”
I laugh before I can stop myself. “You two really don’t get along, do you?”
“We get along fine as long as we stay in our separate worlds. He’s got his law office and political ambitions. I’ve got my garage and motorcycles.”
“Your garage?”
“Custom bikes, repairs, restoration. Wren’s Customs, over on Virginia Avenue.”
“The place with the vintage Indian in the window?”
Her eyes light up. “You know bikes?”
“I know they’re pretty to look at. That Indian isgorgeous.”
“’47 Chief. Restored her myself.” Pride flickers in her voice. “You should come by sometime. I’ll show you around.”
“Is that another maybe situation?”
“Everything with you feels like a maybe situation,” she says, smiling faintly. “Like maybe this is a terrible idea, but maybe it’s not. Maybe you’ll show up tomorrow, maybe you won’t. Maybe we’re both thinking about things we shouldn’t be thinking about.”
“And what are you thinking about?”
She steps closer, close enough for me to see the faint smudge of grease on her jaw, the flecks of rain clinging to her eyelashes. Her voice drops to a husky whisper. “Things that would make you run if you were smart.”
“Maybe I’m not smart.”
“Or maybe you’re tired of playing it safe.” She’s close enough now that I can smell her—cedar perfume blending beautifully with floral shampoo. Her gaze drops to my mouth. “You’re biting your lip again.”
