Chapter 9
Callum
For the third time in less than a week, I stood at Gabrielle’s door. This time, however, I hadn’t arrived empty-handed.
She opened the door, eyes wide at the sight of the blue gift bag in my hands.
Her flaxen hair was tied back in its usual intricate plait, and her emerald eyes sparkled in the morning sunlight.
She wore jeans, a high-necked red jumper, and the brown leather bomber jacket that still carried a trace of yesterday’s adventure.
“Hi,” she said at last, her voice bright with a mix of delight and uncertainty.
“Good morning,” I replied, unable to keep the smile from my own voice.
We stood there for a moment, the air between us charged. Curiosity flickered as she looked at the bag, then back at me.
“This is for you,” I said, handing it to her.
Gabrielle accepted it with a hesitant grace, her fingers brushing mine for a moment too brief. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” she said, though the delight in her voice betrayed her.
I smiled, enjoying her reaction more than I ought to. “Happy to. Though I’ll confess, the gift is rather self-serving.”
She tilted her head, interest piqued. “Now I’m worried,” she teased, stepping aside to let me in.
I laughed as I crossed the threshold. “Go on, open it,” I urged, shrugging out of my black leather jacket.
Her gaze swept over me, an involuntary flicker that caught on my fitted black shirt and dark denim jeans—a marked departure from my usual university attire. She looked away, but not before I caught the faint flush coloring her cheeks.
We settled in the living room, where she placed the bag on the coffee table before peeking inside. Her face lit up as she pulled out an electric kettle and a box of Yorkshire Gold.
Her laugh was bright and unguarded. “Clearly for your benefit.”
“And yours. If I fail at everything else, I’ll at least have you making tea properly.”
Her flat was warm and intimate, scented faintly of cinnamon and coffee. Morning sun poured through the sliding glass doors, scattering pools of light across the sand-colored carpet.
She set the kettle aside and met my gaze with a mix of shyness and boldness that left me breathless. “Can I make you a cup now?” she asked. “Show off my new skills?”
“Perhaps when we get back,” I replied.
“Where are we going?”
I couldn’t help but savor her curiosity as it flared again. I rose, watching her follow suit. “Come with me and find out,” I said, pulling on my jacket. At the door, I turned to Gabrielle, holding her gaze. “One more thing. No handbag today.”
Her brow knitted in confusion, curiosity mounting. “Really?”
“Everything you need should fit in your pockets,” I insisted, relishing her hesitation before she nodded.
I watched, amused, as she locked the door and tucked her phone, wallet, and keys into her jacket. The sun shone brightly, casting long shadows across the block of flats as we made our way outside.
We approached the car park, and there it was—sleek, black on black, every inch built for speed and temptation. A machine designed to purr beneath you on the open road, all clean lines and quiet power, poised like a predator waiting to charge its prey.
I glanced sideways at Gabrielle. She froze, eyes wide, mouth half-open.
“Cal…” Her voice was a mix of awe and incredulity. “Are you serious?”
A grin stretched across my face. “Entirely.”
“I’ve never been on a motorcycle in my life,” she confessed, glancing from me to the bike and back. “Death machines, my dad used to call them.”
“That’s rich,” I replied with a chuckle. “Seeing as you put me in a flying tin can yesterday.”
I unlatched the pannier, pulled out the spare helmet, and handed it to her, watching trepidation play across her face.
“It’s your turn to be brave and trust me.”
Gabrielle hesitated for a heartbeat, then slid the helmet on.
I couldn’t see her expression, but apprehension clung to her movements as she fumbled with the strap.
I stepped closer and gently adjusted it, her warm breath skimming against my fingers.
She stilled as I fastened it beneath her chin, my touch lingering a moment too long.
I unclipped my helmet from the handlebars and settled it on my head, watching her closely. The look in her eyes was priceless—a cocktail of thrill and dread that echoed how I’d felt in the air with her yesterday. The slight tremble in her hands as she touched the helmet’s visor didn’t escape me.
“Where are we going?” she asked, her muffled voice threaded with curiosity.
“It’ll take just over an hour to get there,” I replied cryptically, fastening my chin strap. “You’ll like it.”
She tilted her head skeptically, but I could tell she was intrigued. I swung a leg over the bike and patted the seat behind me in invitation.
Gabrielle approached with careful, deliberate steps, uncertainty stitched through every moment. She climbed on with more grace than I expected, yet perched stiffly on the seat.
“What do I do?” she asked, her voice small and uncertain.
“Start by lowering your visor.”
She obeyed with almost comical caution, her movements stiff and mechanical.
“And relax,” I said with a soft laugh. “Lean with me when we turn.”
“What about my hands?”
“Those,” I said with a grin, “go here.” I guided her hands to my waist. “Just hold on to me.”
She hesitated, her palms hovering before they settled against my sides. Her grip was tight, every muscle coiled as if bracing for calamity. The contact was electrifying.
I started the engine, and it vibrated to life beneath us, its growl shattering the quiet morning air.
“Last chance to back out,” I said over the din, echoing our exchange from the day before.
Her laughter was nervous but defiant. “Do your worst.”
“I’ll get you back home in one piece,” I promised as I flipped down my visor, protectiveness surging through me. Her weight against me was heady and intoxicating.
I eased the bike out of the car park, and Gabrielle’s hold tightened as we picked up speed. The world blurred past us in a kaleidoscope of color and sound—along with my carefully kept boundaries.
We wove through the surface streets, wind whipping around us in exhilarating gusts.
Each turn moved like a dance, Gabrielle’s body following mine with growing comfort, her earlier apprehension giving way to trust. The stiffness in her grip gave way to a more relaxed hold as her confidence grew with each passing block.
We approached a red light, and I slowed the bike to a stop and glanced over my shoulder. “How are you holding up?” I asked over the engine’s rumble.
Her laughter was muffled but unmistakably gleeful. “I’m still alive!” she called back, her voice threaded with exhilaration.
“Try to relax a bit more,” I advised, feeling the tension in her grip. “And keep your eyes open. It’s better if you can see the turns coming.”
She nodded, eager but unsure. “I’ll give it a shot,” she said, voice wavering between determination and doubt.
The light changed, and I accelerated smoothly, savoring the way her grip tightened reflexively before loosening again. A surge of something dangerously close to affection caught me as we merged onto the highway, leaving the city behind.
The miles blurred beneath us—asphalt, adrenaline, and the steady thrum of the engine. We crossed the Red River into Oklahoma as clouds dragged lazy shadows over stretches of pastureland and empty sky.
The scenery unfurled like a moving canvas. I merged onto US 377, and the landscape shifted—the prairie stretched beneath a winter-bleached sky, the horizon sharp and unbroken.
The wind knifed through my gear in wild, liberating torrents. Gabrielle’s arms tightened around me—not from fear, I suspected, but from the chill seeping past leather and fleece. She pressed closer, seeking warmth, and I couldn’t deny the satisfaction curling in my chest.
We veered onto OK 7, where the land softened into rolling foothills, dotted with cedar clusters, the bare-limbed oaks and sycamores etched stark against the sky.
Gabrielle shifted behind me, her excitement clear in the way she moved, her body instinctively mirroring mine as we descended into the hills surrounding the Chickasaw National Recreation Area.
The air turned crisp with the scent of damp limestone, dormant grass, and the faint trace of evergreen as we slowed to cruise alongside Travertine Creek.
The water ran glassy and smooth, reflecting the pale sky, winding through the hush of the winter-stripped woods.
I eased off the throttle, coasting toward an overlook where a small waterfall spilled down limestone ledges into a crystal-clear pool below.
Gabrielle lifted her visor, cheeks flushed from wind and cold, eyes wide as she took in the view.
“Wow.” Her voice was breathless. “I had no idea this was so close.”
“It’s one of my favorite places to escape,” I said, removing my helmet, watching her drink in the moment.
“Incredible,” she murmured, fixated on the cascade of water as it tumbled into the pool, the surface smooth except where ripples fanned outward. The landscape, stripped of autumn’s warmth, held a raw beauty—silvered bark, frost-kissed grass, and the dark, unyielding green of the cedars.
She turned to me, her breath clouding faintly. “That drive was…”
I raised an eyebrow, waiting.
“Exhilarating,” she confessed, laughing—a sound that wrapped around me like warmth in the cold. “And kind of peaceful, once I started breathing again.”
“Shall we walk a bit?” I asked, savoring her delight as she nodded. “Stretch our legs?”
We left our helmets on the bike and set off along a narrow trail through the quiet woods. The path, dusted with frost in shaded patches, crunched beneath our boots. Winter had stripped the landscape bare, but in that bareness was something unguarded, exposed—like the silence between words unsaid.
Gabrielle walked beside me, closer than usual, the space between us thinning with every step.