Page 39 of My Wild Biker

Her in my arms. Both of us alive. Both of us choosing this.

The rest we'll figure out as we go.

Epilogue — Isla

Four Years Later

The highway hum has lulled me into that half-asleep state where I'm aware of Chuck's shoulder under my cheek and his hand warm on my thigh but not much else. Route 9 stretches ahead through the windshield, familiar in the way that only a road you've traveled a hundred times can be.

His thumb traces lazy circles on my jeans and I press closer to his side.

"Hungry?" he asks, his voice rumbling through his chest.

"Starving. Where are we?"

"About an hour out. There's a diner up ahead if you want to stop."

I sit up and stretch, my neck stiff from the angle. Through the window the late afternoon sun cuts gold across fields that look like every other field we've passed today. This is the part of the drive where everything starts feeling like home territory.

"The one you used to stop at?" I ask.

"Yeah. Haven't been there in years."

"Let's do it."

He signals and takes the next exit. The diner sits alone off the highway, exactly the kind of place that serves breakfast all day and has coffee that tastes like it's been sitting since morning. We pull into the gravel lot and I'm out of the truck before he kills the engine, my legs grateful for the movement after six hours.

Inside smells like grease and coffee. We take a booth near the window and a waitress appears with menus and waters without being asked.

"Haven't seen you in a while," she says to Chuck. "You used to come through pretty regular."

"Yeah. Been a few years."

She looks between us with obvious curiosity but doesn't ask. Just takes our order—burgers for both, fries to share—and disappears.

Chuck leans back against the booth and stretches his legs under the table. His boot finds mine and stays there.

"You used to stop here alone?" I ask.

"Every few months. Breaking up long rides. Good coffee, fast service, back on the road." He looks around the diner like he's seeing it different now. "Never stayed longer than twenty minutes."

"And now?"

"Now I'm in no hurry."

The food comes fast and we eat without talking much. I steal fries from his plate even though we're sharing and he lets me. His hand finds my thigh under the table and stays there, warm and solid, while we finish eating.

When the waitress brings the check Chuck leaves cash and a generous tip. As we're sliding out of the booth I catch him looking at me with an expression I can't quite read.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing. Just thinking."

"About?"

"How many times I sat in this exact booth alone. Never thought I'd stop here with someone."

I step close and kiss him quick. "Good thing you were wrong."