I breathe her in and whisper, “You don’t ever have to run again, sunshine. You’re home now.”
She sinks back onto her heels, blinking up at me with that quiet spark I haven’t seen since everything went wrong. There’s color in her again, warmth.
“You okay?” I ask softly.
She nods, biting her bottom lip. “Better than okay.”
A brief silence passes before she looks toward the side of the house—where my motorcycle sits, gleaming in the fading light.
She tilts her head, her eyes narrowing as if she’s considering something she knows she shouldn’t.
I catch it instantly. “Don’t even think about it.”
She gasps dramatically, feigning offense. “Think about what?”
“You know damn well what,” I say, smirking. “That look’s dangerous.”
Her grin widens, mischief flashing across her face. “Come on, Reed. Just a quick ride. Please?”
I groan, already shaking my head. “You’re barely healed, sunshine. I’m not riskin’ you fallin’ off the back of my bike.”
“I wouldn’t fall,” she argues, standing and brushing grass off her legs. “You’d never let me.”
She’s right. I wouldn’t.
She tries to hold back a grin but fails spectacularly. “Reed, come on. Please. Just a short ride. You promised when I was feeling better.”
“I said maybe,” I correct, pointing a paint-stained finger at her. “And you’re still?—”
She steps closer, the hem of my flannel grazing her bare legs. Her voice drops to that soft, teasing drawl that always gets me. “Please?”
Hell. There goes my resolve.
I drag a hand down my face, sighing. “You’re impossible.”
Her grin spreads wide, bright as the damn sun. “You love it.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, pretending to be annoyed. “That’s the problem.”
Out by the bike, she doesn’t even wait for me to grab the helmets—she already knows which one’s hers.
She picks it up gently, her fingers tracing the design as she always does before slipping it on.
“You ready?” I ask, voice rougher than I intend.
She tilts her head, the painted flowers shining gold in the late afternoon light. “I’ve been ready since you made me my helmet.”
I chuckle. “Guess I set myself up for this, huh?”
“Yep,” she says, popping thep.
Throwing my helmet on, I settle onto the motorcycle, reaching out my hand, waiting for her to grab it. She intertwines her fingers with mine, guiding herself onto the bike.
She wraps her arms around my waist, settling into place.
“Hold tight, sunshine,” I say, glancing over my shoulder.
“Always do,” she murmurs through the wired Bluetooth.
