Page 16 of Sterling Fight

She who shall not be named never rode on my bike. She liked the idea of motorcycle riders but the practicality of riding . . . she didn’t want to get dirty. Her hair would tangle. She didn’t trust me.

The last excuse was a difficult one to swallow and should have been my first clue that we were not right for each other.

As Genie squeezes my mid-section, returning my thoughts to her at my back and the road before me, I let go of everything else and just drive.

“Where should we go?” I eventually holler over the roar of the engine.

“I don’t know. Your place?”

Any other time, Genie’s answer might sound like a pickup line. Your place or mine?

Heather had used one on me. We met at a Chamber of Commerce get-together. Not the most romantic setting and certainly not where I expected to meet anyone. Clay asked me to attend on his behalf back when my over-worked brother was still over-working himself. Heather was there representing her dad’s dealerships.

She asked me if I’d like to join her for a cup of coffee, then made a joke by tilting her head toward the carafe at the back of the meeting room. After I’d poured coffee into a Styrofoam cup, we stood next to one another when she propositioned me.

I could wet that dry spell of yours. It was the most forward anyone had ever been with me. I’d been flattered. Combined with my loneliness, it was a bad mixture.

I haven’t answered Genie about where to go, but I have made a decision.

Spiraling down the winding road, I pull up to the iron gates of my property, where they automatically open at our approach. I pick up speed again and zip swiftly along the drive until I slow in front of my home.

The house is dark limestone, with wooden exterior beams and a steep black roof. Rustic mountain cabin meets French Alps, or something like that, the realtor told me when I purchased the place a few years ago. It’s hardly a cabin with two wings off the main common area, including five bedrooms in addition to the primary suite.

Only my family has ever been here. Until now. Now Genie has been here too.

After I park in the garage, I help Genie off the Harley. She steps back on shaky legs, and I quickly reach out for her hip to steady her.

“You okay?” Through all that’s happened, I haven’t asked her how she’s feeling.

Her mother’s piercing gaze. The altercation with Heather. The ring on her finger.

I need to do better. I will do better.

“I’m good.” Her warm smile accentuates her response.

Once inside, we pass by several rooms before entering the great room, which is a living room and open concept kitchen area. With a vaulted ceiling that includes thick beams and a large wrought iron wagon wheel chandelier, the space feels grand, which is one reason I love it. I also fell in love with the fieldstone fireplace that encompasses the entire wall opposite the kitchen. A huge kitchen island with four high-back stools on one side and another one at each of the ends divides the space. The dining room is offset to the right.

But all I can focus on is Genie, who takes in the two caramel-colored, soft leather couches and a pair of plaid swivel chairs that face into the room. Most nights, I take a seat in one and turn it to face the windows. A set of three glass panels offer a grand view of the small, private lake on the property. Those three panes have another set of windows above them culminating in a triangular one that matches the pitch of the ceiling. Natural light filters into the room, and from my position, Genie practically glows.

A firefly in broad daylight. An anomaly.

“It’s breathtaking,” she whispers, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“Yeah,” I reply. “It is.” She is. She’s prettier than I remember, only because my memory fails me. Breathtaking, like she said.

“So, this is home?” She twists at the waist to glance back at me and I slowly remove my suit jacket.

“This is it.” Maybe it’s not sweet and cozy but it’s mine. Seeing it as if through her eyes, it might look a bit masculine, foreboding, and dark, but I love this place. And I want her to love it as well. “Make yourself at home.”

Suddenly, I’m nervous. “Want a drink?” I pause, considering our unusual circumstances—fiancés for ten days. “Maybe champagne to celebrate.” We did just get engaged, right? At least, on some level.

Genie spins fully, still hugging herself. “Maybe another time.” She pauses, lowering her gaze. “Do you know how to make a gin martini?”

I sigh. “Unfortunately, yes.” She who shall not be named coached me into perfecting the drink.

Genie nods once in understanding. “How about wine?” she hesitates.

“Wine I can do,” I offer with more of a smile. “Red or white?”