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“What?” I ask.
“I never met anyone who takes control like you do. You just do what you want, fuck the consequences,” he says, briefly looking at me before he checks his rearview mirror.
“I made a promise to myself when I turned sixteen that I would stop listening to what everyone else around me wants me to do. But don’t you do what you want?” I ask, smiling when he opens the pretzel bag and pops a couple into his mouth.
“Not really,” he replies, chewing loudly. “On some level, I do, but I have a lot of other shit going on besides riding,” he mutters. We catch each other’s stare before he focuses on the road again.
I take a couple of pretzels from the bag and hand him a handful. “Want to talk about it?” I ask after a couple of minutes of silence.
He takes a deep breath, not telling me anything. Guess we both have other things on our minds. He looks at me sideways before turning onto a dirt road with beautiful trees on either side.
“Wow, you live here?” I ask, staring at the tiny house in the distance. He parks the car next to an open wooden garage. There are two Harleys parked in there. The walls are lined with all different kinds of snowboards, and parts are scattered all around. “You have a serious collection,” I say, motioning to the wall of boards. The only people I know with so many are my brother and father—comes with the territory of owning one of the largest snowboard brands in the States.
“Yeah, I started collecting early,” he says, twirling the car keys in his hand.
“How much land have you got?” I ask, looking around.
He smiles at me. “Some. I also own the lake, if you believe it, and the log cabin I rent out during the peak season,” he says, awkwardly running a hand through his hair.
I’m in awe of this beautiful place.
“This is my domain. Isn’t much, but it does what it’s supposed to do,” he says, smiling shyly, looking up at the small house.
“I love it. And are those Harleys?” I ask, pointing with my thumb in the direction of the bikes.
“Yeah.” He smiles. “Got two, wanna check them out?”
I follow him into the garage. “Wow.” I let my hands glide over the leather of the seat.
“Do you ride?” he asks, leaning against one of the bikes.
“I do, not as much as I would like, but I get around.”
“You’re full of surprises, Ace,” he says, sounding stoked.
“It still scares me shitless whenever I’m on the bike,” I confess, running my fingers over the chrome.
He smiles, shaking his head. “Still badass, babe. Come on,” he says, walking back to the truck and picking the groceries out of the back.
I follow him into the house. It’s small, but it has everything you need. A sitting area, kitchen with a stove—it’s cozy, a total man cave. He’s got the basics down, and it’s practical like he only spends time here to sleep and work on his boards outside.
“Right back through that door is the toilet and shower area. And up there,” he tells me, pointing to a small stairway leading to a loft, “is where I sleep.”
“It’s amazing,” I tell him, meaning every word.
“Made it myself,” he says proudly.
“You did?” I ask, walking around.
“Don’t say it like it’s so hard to believe. There are even YouTube tutorials on how to build a tiny house.”
“No, it’s amazing,” I say, staring at the art on the wall.
“Yeah,” he snorts, running a hand through his messy hair. “Took me forever. My dad helped, and my brother. It was a pain in the ass to build.”
“I like it, Jesse. It’s you.”
“Glad you do. Let me put away the food. You can change if you want.”
