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“Why are you—how did you get here?”

Saint shifted closer, boots dark against the sidewalk. “I was riding by. Can I take you somewhere? Safe?” He asked like they had all the time in the world, and Riley’s throat got tight. She nodded before she could think better of it.

He was a better option than panicking on the sidewalk.

Anywhere would be better than here.

“Yeah,” Riley choked out, and he took another step in and blocked her from Candida’s aghast face, the traffic, and looming skyscrapers. Her world narrowed to his coffee-coloured eyes, and she exhaled slowly.

“Just tell me where. We can leave as soon as you’re ready.” Saint’s arm moved like he was going to put it around her, but he didn’t touch her. Didn’t demand anything. He didn’t ask why she hadn’t responded to his offer for coffee after she’d drunk-texted him.

He didn’t even look upset about it.

Riley’s chest unwound, one beat at a time. She nodded and stepped into his shadow. “Can you take me to my friend’s place? She’s at Third and Sixteenth.”

“Yeah.” He looked down at her, gaze warming in a way that made her stomach turn over.

“Uh, excuse me? Who are you?” Candida asked, arms crossed.

Saint hesitated before he stepped back, bigger than he’d been a moment before.

Candida’s step stuttered, and her eyes snapped to Riley. “I thought you said you didn’t have a boyfriend.” Candida cast a narrow-eyed look at Saint, and he met her gaze. “That’s what you said at lunch. Last week.”

Riley raised her eyebrows.

This fucking lady.

“As HR, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal for you to ask me that,” Riley said. Candida’s chest rose and fell, but Riley didn’t stop. “…probably bad for optics.”

Candida snapped her mouth shut and stood there.

Riley crouched to grab her bag, and a hand appeared in front of her. She took it, resting her palm in Saint’s. She could hardly feel the warmth as she let him pull her up.

She dropped his hand.

“You’ve ridden before, right?”

She nodded. Saint’s bike was much bigger than a dirt bike. And faster and nicer. It was a Ducati. Probably more horsepower than every bike her cousins owned, combined. “But nothing that nice.”

Saint nodded. “Don’t fight me in the corners, and don’t burn yourself on the exhaust.”

“Got it.”

He handed her his helmet.

“But—” Riley’s eyes flew to his. Saint shook his head with a hint of a smile. She was wearing it, and that was that.

Bossy.

“Fine,” she muttered. The scent of engine oil and cedar filled her nose as the helmet shut out the world. She buckled the strap under her chin.

Saint held the bike steady as Riley swung on. Her body remembered the rush from riding, a giddiness that brushed up against the misery of the afternoon.

Candida watched them, glancing up at the office again and again.

The bike snarled as the engine started, vibrations travelling up Riley’s spine and rattling her teeth. Candida gave her a last look and walked away. Riley watched her disappear into their building, swallowed by the tall doors.

When she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Saint’s waist, everything fell away. The tourists turned to look as she passed, and feeling trickled back into her fingers.