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“You stink.”
“And you are late.” Mel waved her toward the door.
BLAKE
BLAKE’S PALMS GREW damp as Mel walked by his side toward his bike. Anticipation hung in the air for what this evening might hold. If Blake had anything to do with it, tonight would be a turning point for them. He’d tell Mel how he felt about her and that his relationship was over. He only hoped she felt the same way.
He paused by the motorcycle, holding his breath at her reaction. He hadn’t exactly informed her they’d be traveling by bike. And this particular one was special. It was the first one he’d ever personally owned and worked on rebuilding himself. It was sleek and all black and chrome, with smooth lines and just barely enough room for two people.
Jen had never ridden on one of his bikes before. She was always too concerned with how she’d look in a helmet, the loud motor, and messing her hair up. But unless he had pegged her wrong, he didn’t think Mel would have the same reservations, at least he hoped.
When Mel caught sight of their ride, she paused. Her eyes widened as she stared at the machine. And for one, heart-stopping moment, Blake thought he made a mistake. Until Mel broke out into a huge smile, and he breathed a sigh of relief.
“Please tell me that’s yours,” she said, pointing, “and that’s what we’re riding to Highland Park.”
“It is.” Blake sauntered over to the bike and patted the seat with affection.
Mel shrieked and closed the gap between them.
“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” he asked.
She glanced up at him, eyes wild with excitement. “Um, yeah. I’ve never been on one before though,” she said.
“There’s nothing to it when you’re the passenger.”
“May I?” she asked, motioning toward the bike.
“Be my guest.” He waved her forward, watching with delight as she stretched one long, jean-clad leg over the seat and straddled it, bracing her hands on the handlebars. Watching her share in his excitement for something he loved so much tugged on a place in his chest he hadn’t known existed.
Sitting on his bike with her dark hair ruffling in the breeze, her eyes bright, she was more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. When he’d first met her, she had been stressed, bogged down by the weight of life. Now she sat, head tipped toward the setting sun, arms spread wide. She was the picture of ease, wild, carefree, magnetic, and it wasn’t hard for him to imagine her in the days before she had children and so many responsibilities. He hadn’t yet seen this side of her, but he could get used to it. Maybe he could help her see she could be both Mom and the carefree, unburdened version of herself she once was.
When she finally stopped daydreaming or wherever her mind had taken her, she glanced down to the machine between her legs, then back to Blake. “So what kind is this?”
“This,” he said, “is a 750cc Commando.”
Mel nodded like she knew exactly what that was, then smiled him. “I have no idea what that even means. Tell me about it.” Her amber eyes sparkled under the fading light of day, and Blake wanted nothing more than to sweep her in his arms. But it was too soon, so instead, he answered her questions.
“It was actually manufactured in the UK before the bike industry there exploded in the 70s. It’s a pretty simple, straightforward bike, but the cool part is,” he said, moving closer and motioning toward the back of the bike, “it has a unique "Isolastic" engine mounting system.”
“Sure, Isolytic.” Mel laughed. “Can you explain that in laymen’s terms, please.”
“Basically, they separated the drive from the engine and gearbox, which is prone to a lot of vibrations, essentially—”
“Isolating them,” Mel interrupted with a wink.
Blake’s breath caught, and it took a moment for him to speak. “From the discomforts, yes,” he finished. “And it’s pretty fast, so there’s that.” He grinned, and when Mel returned his smile, his gut clenched.
“So . . .” she said as Blake drew closer. “This is the one I’m riding, where’s yours?” She glanced around them exaggeratedly, and Blake laughed.
Removing the helmets from the back of the bike, he gently slid one over her head, taking his time, adjusting the strap, feeling the warmth of her breath on his hand as he did. Once he finished, he murmured, “Scoot back, and I’ll get on. Then you can get comfortable.”
“Alright,” Mel said, breathless.
He straddled the seat, then twisted back to look at her. “Just a few things before we go,” he said, trying to focus on the instruction for his rider, rather than the fact that Mel was pressed flush against him. “Use the footpegs.” He pointed down to them as she moved her feet per his instruction. “Don’t touch the exhaust.” He motioned to the chrome pipe toward the bottom, back of the bike. “The rest you don’t really need to worry about. Just relax and enjoy the ride.”
“Um.” Mel glanced around them, her hands fluttering between them. “What do I hold onto?”
Blake grinned a wry smile. This was the part he’d enjoy the most. “Me,” he murmured, and when she reached out but hesitated, he grabbed her hands, warm in his own, and wrapped them around him. “Here,” he murmured. “Like this.” His abdomen clenched in response.
