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She shifted to a seated position, dropped her head against her knees, and muttered under her breath. Then she lifted her gaze, her emerald eyes hot. “Did that asshole even stop or did he just keep driving?”
He sat back on his heels, relief flooding through him. “I don’t see anyone, so I don’t think the jerk stopped. But more importantly, are you okay?”
She held up her palms, which were scraped and seeping blood. “I’ll be fine, just lost my dignity and some skin off my hands and probably my knees. Help me up?”
He closed his eyes for a moment, willing his galloping pulse to regulate. Camille was okay. This wasn’t a repeat of when the car had flown out of nowhere and T-boned him and Polly.
“Trent? Are you okay? You’re white as a ghost.” Camille stared at him, her hands outstretched.
Pull it together, Bell.He willed the ghosts to retreat. “Yeah, I was just scared for you.”
She winced, then dusted her hands down her slim denim-clad legs. “I’m fine. I’m just angry because that jerk didn’t even look and that shaved time off our score. We need to get to the Barrel House and finish the next leg.”
His jaw softened and he righted her bicycle before picking his up. “We’ll go inside, and you wash up. I’ll order our drinks and see if the bartender has a first-aid kit. We need to clean out those wounds so they don’t get infected. I’ll lock up our bikes on those racks.”
She tilted her head up at him. “I’m really fine. But sure, I’ll head in and clean up. Thanks.”
After he secured the bicycles and removed his helmet, he scrubbed his hands across his face. The squealing brakes and the sight of Camille flying through the air had triggered the anxiety he’d battled since the night he’d lost Polly. But he’d avoided a full-blown panic attack. Maybe he’d healed more than he’d realized over the past three years.
He stuffed his Santa hat onto his head and strode into the high-ceilinged restaurant. A long white granite-topped wooden bar ran along one wall, where a ginger-haired bartender was busy serving clusters of people. Bing Crosby crooned about a white Christmas and rays of sunlight streamed into the open space from the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Once he found a spot at the bar, he ordered two glasses of ruby red Cabernet, informed the young guy they were part of the Women’s Heart Health event, and procured the tavern’s first aid kit.
“007 saves the day. There’s nothing a glass of red wine and a couple of band-aids can’t fix.” Camille’s low melodic voice murmured beside him.
He gazed down into her fine-boned face. “True. Let’s take the antiseptic and bandages and have our drinks outside.”
Before she could answer, Jesse the bartender leaned over the wide bar. “Glad to hear you’re okay. Now you’re both here, I’ll take a photo of you with your drinks, and you can text it in.”
Wineglass in hand, Camille handed him her smartphone and leaned in. Her silky hair brushed against him, the faint floral scent teasing his nostrils. “Cheers.”
After Jesse snapped photos, they took their drinks and crossed the large space to the narrow balcony above the sparkling blue water. Once they’d settled on the high-backed barstools, Trent turned to Camille. “You’re sure you’re okay, right?”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I am. Are you?”
He drummed his fingers on the long wooden bar and figured, what did he have to lose? “I’m okay, but ever since my accident, the screeching of brakes triggers me.” He sucked in a sharp inhale and focused his gaze on hers. “I know this may be too heavy to share but I didn’t just lose my career. I was married, and my wife didn’t survive.” His breath whooshed out.
Camille gasped, set her wineglass down, and laid one hand on his thigh. “Trent. I don’t know what to say. That’s terrible."
His muscles tightened at the pressure of her long fingers against his leg. “Yeah, it is. Grief is tough because you don’t feel it for months and then something can bring it all back in a moment. But I’ve moved on and I don’t want to dwell on it today. We’ve got a race to win. Just wanted you to know.”
She leaned closer and her clear green eyes studied his face. “And last night was your first foray back into the dating world, right?”
Her mouth was too close. Close enough he caught a hint of her sweet breath. Close enough to be dangerous. Close enough to recognize that while he might be ready to move forward, she’d only broken up with her boyfriend yesterday. “Yeah.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here with me.”
The air thickened. “Me too. Let’s focus on winning this thing––it’s a great cause.”
As if on cue, a text notification pinged. “And here’s our next assignment.” She held the phone up so they could both read the display.
Leg #3:Cycle to the ferry station and take the next ferry back to San Francisco. Videotape the second partner singing, “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” on the deck and encourage passengers to join in.
Instantly, his mood lightened, and he cracked up. “You know what they say about karma, right?”
“Confession––I can’t sing either. My voice will probably activate the whales to migrate into the Bay.” She waved a hand. “Okay, drink up because we don’t have much time if we’re going to make the next boat.”
They finished their wine, waved at the bartender, and hurried out of the tavern. When he unlocked the bikes, he gazed down at her, “You’re sure you’re okay to ride? We could push the bikes?”
