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Delaney smiled to herself. Zip was a judge at the classic bike show in Omaha and when he found out she’d be entering the ’33 he’d provided tips galore, all of which centered around the bike being truly classic. So basically, his advice was like Dad’s, saying everybody should just be allowed to be themselves. “I’m going to ride it over tomorrow, so there will definitely be carbon in the pipes,” Delaney spoke her text aloud as she typed, so that Wyatt could be part of the conversation. “You’ll stay here and be a good boy, right? Remember, you can go upstairs if you get bored down here.”
Wyatt lay down on the tile and stretched out. He’d been good all morning, greeting guests with a fair amount of diplomacy. He didn’t approach anyone, but if someone wanted to pet him, he was always game. Basically, he was a hit with her crowd. Only one woman had whined about having dog allergies, but she wasn’t here for anything, had only come along with her niece who liked old bikes and had popped in to see what was here.
“You’re not allergic to dogs, Aunt Gertrude,” the niece had said, rolling her eyes. “And if you are, go wait by the car.”
“It’s too hot.”
“So either sweat or itch. I don’t care.”
Another customer had decided Wyatt looked like the shop dog on a popular vintage car television show, and things sort of fell into place in Delaney’s mind. Those Dude brothers really had thought Wyatt was a prop to sell their bikes.
Delaney slapped the rag over the fuel tank a few more times and decided the bike was as good as it was going to get.
Sean was going to meet her at the fairgrounds early. For the past couple of weeks, their interactions had been mostly business. Sean let Delaney know that the camera footage from Prince Boulevard hadn’t revealed anything better than her eyewitness account. The rider was fully clothed and wore a helmet, leaving no clue as to identity. Dusting the bike had revealed nothing but Delaney’s fingerprints. So they’d gotten exactly nowhere in figuring out who had taken ’33. Considering it’d been returned, and nothing unusual or threatening had happened since, Sean wasn’t sure where that left the case. In any event, Delaney had assured him that she’d installed a camera at the back of the shop and she was ready to catch anyone who planned on sneaking around or smoking cigarettes under her eaves.
Something subtle had changed in Sean, though, since that kiss. Ever since his speech about taking things slow, Sean had eased up a little. It wasn’t a retreat so much as a settling into the groove the two of them had created. Like they were testing the depths of their friendship before they addressed the sizzling undercurrent that was always there. Maybe they were testing each other’s past habits: Delaney was trying to see if Sean had any chase left, and Sean was waiting to make sure Delaney didn’t bolt.
Delaney eyed the ’33, and, despite everything that had happened, was happy with her chances tomorrow. Good thing, because she would need the prize money for next month’s rent. She looked up at the picture of Dad on the wall and gave him the thumbs-up. The shop was suddenly too quiet. Even though Wyatt was snoring softly in his bed and not at all antsy, Delaney started singing,“If I leave here tomorrow...would you still remember me?”
Otherwise perfectly still, Wyatt thumped his tail.
Sean had been to the county fairgrounds a million times over, ever since he was a little kid. They hosted an annual fair, which, over the years, as the area had become less and less rural, had become less and less about showing off prized hogs and giant vegetables and more and more about cheap carnival rides. There were also gun shows, car shows, quilt shows, craft fairs—you name it, the fairgrounds had hosted it.
An attendant in a reflective vest waved him to a long line of cars parked in the grass and dirt outside the gates. Sean angled the minivan next to a Harley Fat Boy and stepped out into the blazing July sun. It was going to be a hot one today, but at least rain wasn’t forecast. Delaney had been so excited to get the ’33 back in time for the show it would’ve been a blow to have the event rained out, though the flyer said that would only happen if there was an electrical storm.
Inside the grounds, there were motorcycles everywhere. Vendor stalls that rimmed the area were a hodgepodge of bike shops, parts shops, gear shops, riding groups—anything at all related to motorcycles had been jammed into spaces that ranged from small to large, depending on who had the most money. Sean’s feet crunched on popcorn from the fair, which had ended last weekend, as he headed toward the opposite side, where Delaney had said the concours would be. That’s what he loved most about the fairgrounds: one weekend there could be guns and ammo and the next an antique doll show, but anything and everything in between was welcome and seemed to fit in here. The grounds and the parking and the wooden buildings that housed some of the vendors never changed, but what was inside the gates could be as different as night and day, depending on the week. Connecting every event were threads of shows past, so that popcorn from the fair could end up stuck in your boots when you arrived to check out the Classic Motorcycle Show. Everything was a part of everything else, the ghosts of shows past all around, on the ground and even in the air—stale cotton candy, sweetening the wind.
The crowd, like the events that took pace at the fairgrounds, was eclectic, but leaned heavily toward leather and tattoos. Sean figured he would blend in at least a little, wearing jeans, boots and a Capitals T-shirt sporting the championship victory in 2018. A good handful of people had dogs.
He reached the opposite end of the fairgrounds just in time to see Delaney drive in on her dad’s recovered motorcycle. She maneuvered the bike out to where she was directed by the organizer, then stripped her helmet and shook out her short, dark hair. Sean enjoyed watching her as she pulled off her gloves, tucked them in the back pocket of her jeans and raked her fingers through her hair, checking herself out in the motorcycle’s single round mirror. When she was satisfied, she left the bike in the lineup for judging and looked around. When she spotted Sean, she headed his way.
“Guess what,” Delaney said, as soon as their boots were toe to toe, her smile big.
“You won already. They took one look at her and fell in love.”
“No,” she laughed.
Sean let the heartbeat of silence register and wondered if he’d just voiced something really, really stupid.
“They allow dogs,” Delaney said. “As long as they’re well-behaved and on a leash.”
Sean quickly connected the dots. They allowed well-behaved dogs here. Wyatt was a well-behaved dog. Delaney had ridden her motorcycle here. Wyatt, the well-behaved dog, wouldn’t fit on her motorcycle. “You want me to go get Wyatt.”
“Oh, wow, would you?” She leaped on it. “He would have so much fun. Get him outside, away from the shop and the neighborhood. You know he has a vagabond soul. He needs to get out and see the world.”
“A vagabond soul?” Sean shook his head. “Wow, you’re good.”
“Well.” Delaney shrugged in mocked innocence. She dug her keys out of her pocket and slipped one off the ring. “This is to the front door. His leash is hanging on a hook right next to it. He’s trained on basic commands, like come, stay, sit, down.”
“It’s like we’re an old married couple.” The words slipped out before Sean could stop himself. “And we haven’t even slept together.”
“Well, that can change.”
Sean reached for the key in her outstretched fingers and closed his hand around hers. “How do you expect me to enjoy the motorcycle show now that there’s only one thing I’m going to be thinking about the whole time?”
“Is that what you’re here for? The motorcycles?”
“Damn straight,” Sean joked. “Getting ideas for my Willie G. Maybe I can ride him in next year. How’s that going, by the way?”
