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13
TRINA
With my armswrapped around Mac, the scent of his leather jacket filling my nose, I enjoy the feel of his powerful body leaning into the final turn as we cross the town limits into Heart’s Cove. It’s the first ride we’ve been on together in weeks. The first date night we’ve had in even longer.
Mac is a second-grade teacher at the local elementary school, and he was busier than ever this year with all the end-of-school activities. Added to those tasks, he took a bigger part in this year’s Fringe Fest, teaching an intensive pottery masterclass and displaying some of his work at the pop-up exhibition at the Heart’s Cove Hotel.
Now that the festival is over, the school year is done, and my kids are away for the month to visit their father in Seattle, the two of us finally have some long-overdue alone time.
I squeeze my arms around him, and he shifts in the seat to acknowledge the touch. In complete control of the motorcycle, he slows down as we hit the first set of streetlights that lead us onto Cove Boulevard. It’s dinnertime, but the sky is still light as the long summer evening drags on. I inhale deeply as we stop outside Taqueria, parking next to Georgia’s red Vespa.
Mac drops his hand from the grip on the handlebar and squeezes my thigh. “You hungry?”
“Starving,” I respond, pulling my helmet off and holding it beneath my arm.
We disembark, and Mac turns around to face me. He cups my face in his hands and kisses me softly yet intensely, not stopping until I’m wobbling on my feet.
“I missed riding with you,” he says in a low, intimate voice.
“Me too,” I admit. “Today reminded me of our first trip together.”
His eyes crinkle. “Route 66 was better with you behind me.”
Heat winds low in my stomach, and suddenly I don’t feel so hungry anymore. Mac must see the look in my eyes, because he winks and threads his fingers through mine, dragging me toward the sound of soft instrumental music coming from the restaurant.
As usual,the best taco place in town is packed. Mac keeps his hand on my lower back as we enter the restaurant, waiting for the hostess to seat us. The restaurant recently expanded to double its size and now has lots of seating inside as well as out.
Scanning the room, I see a large gathering in the corner, and I’m surprised to see Georgia in the center of them. There are two little boys seated across from each other, with someone I presume to be their mother opposite Georgia. Georgia whispers something to the little boy beside her, who giggles.
“Well, hello!” I call out.
Georgia looks up at me and smiles. It’s an easier smile than I’ve seen from her since she moved to town, and I wonder if she’s finally feeling settled in. “Trina,” she says. “I was just telling my sister about all the new friends I’ve made here.”
“Sounds like you bullied Georgia into friendship,” her sister says with twinkling eyes, “which is smart, because that’s about the only way to get Georgia out of her shell.”
“Hey!” Georgia protests. “I’m not shy.”
“No, but you’re guarded,” her sister says.
“Do you want to join us?” Georgia asks, gesturing to a nearby table. “We could pull the tables together, or even just put chairs on the ends and shuffle around.” This she directs at the waitress who just came to stand next to the table.
The waitress nods. “Of course. I’ll pull a table over.”
It’s the work of a few seconds to drag the table over and get Mac and me seated with the group. We’re introduced to everyone, and I learn that Georgia’s sister and nephews are in town as an impromptu family reunion while Piper helps with the design of the gallery. The boys and Mac fall into easy conversation about motorcycles and cars. Nate and Alec show off the toy cars they brought with them in their pockets, and Mac promises to give them a tour of his motorcycle after dinner. I end up deep in conversation with Piper about her design plans for the new art gallery.
“We’re allsoexcited to see how it comes together,” I gush, and it’s the truth.
Georgia is positively glowing. There’s a side to her that seems to be coming out now that she’s taken on this project—a liveliness that wasn’t there before. For many months, Georgia kept to herself, kept us all at a distance. But now, it seems like she’s willing to jump in the deep end with friendship and business, integrating fully into the community here.
I couldn’t be happier about it.
“So, you’re the fashion stylist, right?” Piper asks, head tilted. “Georgia told me what all her new friends do for work, but it was hard to keep it all straight.”
“That’s right,” I answer with a smile. “My business is growing, but it’s still pretty new. It’s only been a couple of years since I started.”
“Well, you and Georgia can bond over clothes. She’s always been a girly girl.”
“Don’t say it like it’s a bad thing,” Georgia protests, laughing.
