Chapter 11
Callum
Gabrielle stepped outside, bathed in golden light, and lifted her face to the sun, eyes closed.
“It’s warmed up a little,” she said as she zipped up her brown leather jacket.
Her blonde hair lifted in the breeze, sunlight catching the soft waves and igniting them like a halo. I couldn’t look away, struck again by how effortlessly beautiful she was—lovely in her simplicity, enchanting for it. She opened her eyes and caught me staring.
“You’re right,” I said as I shrugged on my jacket. “Feels almost like spring.”
“We have different definitions of spring,” she jabbed with a teasing smile as she pushed her hands into her pockets.
We had barely taken a step toward the car park when Gabrielle’s phone buzzed. She fished it out, glanced at the screen, and hesitated before sending it to voicemail.
I arched an eyebrow. “Need to take that?”
“No,” she replied with a breathy laugh. “That was my aunt. She’s a talker, so I try to preplan our conversations.”
“Not one for quick chats?”
“There’s no such thing as a quick chat with Aunt Suzy.” She thumbed out a text. “I’ll just tell her I’m out with a friend and will call her later.” She smiled up at me, tucking the phone away again. “There, off the hook.”
I rocked back on my heels. “A ‘friend?’” I teased. “Is that what I am?”
“As far as she’s concerned? Yes.”
I stepped close enough to feel her warmth. “And as far as you’re concerned?”
She met my gaze, and the world around us paused, the lazy hum of Sunday afternoon small-town traffic fading to a whisper. For a moment, I thought she might evade the question—until she spoke, her voice low and sincere. “What do you want to be?”
I drew Gabrielle off the pavement toward a shuttered storefront, its windows dark behind a rusted gate.
I pressed her gently against the faded brick wall, slipping my hands from her arms to her waist, anchoring her there.
Her breath caught as I dipped my head and grazed my lips along the delicate line of her jaw.
“So many things,” I whispered as she trembled beneath me. “Some I dare not mention.”
The words were an exhale against her skin, and I felt rather than heard the soft moan that escaped her lips.
She leaned into me, pliant and warm, and all my fears unspooled, melting away like ice in the spring thaw.
Her fingers curled into my shirt, holding me as if afraid I might disappear, and the tender desperation of it made my pulse kick up.
“Cal,” she breathed, threading one hand into my hair, pulling me closer still. The sound of my name was a revelation—intimate, electric, charged with all the possibilities she’d offered but left me to define.
I kissed her slowly, a claiming, and something in me shifted irrevocably.
Her lips moved beneath mine with exquisite urgency, and the universe narrowed to the cadence of our breath and the delicate press of her fingers on my skin.
The world dimmed to nothing, the silent street vanishing behind the symphony of sensation she stirred in me.
I tasted the hesitant tang of her longing, felt her heartbeat racing against mine.
As we broke apart, a shiver passed between us—a thin seam of air, fragile and fleeting. I cupped her face, unwilling to release her from this moment. Her cheeks were flushed, her green eyes luminous.
“Wow.” The single word was an admission and a benediction. She blinked slowly, as if waking from a dream.
“Wow indeed.”
I heard a throat clear behind me and whipped around. An older woman—short, stout, and impeccably dressed in Sunday finery—stood there clutching a colossal handbag.
“Be sure to leave some room for Jesus now, you hear?” she said, her accent thick, twangy, and unmistakably Southern. I stiffened, and Gabrielle bit back a laugh.
The woman surveyed us with genteel disapproval, her painted lips pursed beneath a feathery church hat. “It’s Sunday,” she declared, clutching her handbag tighter. “And y’all ain’t in California.”
Heat crept up my neck. I stepped back from Gabrielle, my hand trailing down her arm until only our fingertips touched. Despite my irritation, I couldn’t suppress a smile at the absurdity of it all—caught like teenagers by the town busybody.
“Some advice, young man?” she added with a smile that was anything but warm. “Save some of that energy for your wedding night.”
Gabrielle stifled a giggle behind her hand, and my irritation dissolved into an awkward chuckle.
I nodded, hoping I appeared respectful. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She gave us one last curt nod before continuing down the street with a self-satisfied air of triumph, her heels clacking an indignant rhythm on the pavement.
As soon as the woman rounded the corner, Gabrielle doubled over in laughter.
I tried to look stern but failed miserably. “We’ve been shamed in the name of Jesus,” I said, pulling Gabrielle back into my arms. “By a woman with a handbag larger than her head.”
“Small towns.” She sighed, nestling against me as if she belonged nowhere else.
Her warmth seeped into me, dissolving whatever discomfort lingered from our ambush. We stood there for a moment longer before I kissed the top of her head and pulled away. “We should probably head back before it gets too late,” I murmured, though every part of me rebelled at the thought.
Gabrielle tilted her face up, eyes searching mine. “I suppose.”
Her reluctance echoed my own—a shared hesitancy to leave behind the anonymity and abandon we’d found, tucked over an hour away from everyone and everything.
Here, in this small, sleepy town, time bent just for us.
But as we walked hand in hand through the empty streets, that fragile spell had already begun to unravel.
We reached my motorcycle, parked solitary and defiant at the edge of an empty lot. I paused, fished the keys from my pocket, and turned to Gabrielle with a grin.
“Want to try driving?”
Her eyes widened in a perfect blend of horror and incredulity. She took a step back, shaking her head emphatically. “Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m fond of living,” she said, hands on her hips, trying to look stern but adorably missing the mark.
I spread my arms wide, my grin lingering. “I’ll teach you.”
Gabrielle crossed her arms, a playful defiance in her bright eyes. “Not a chance.”
With a laugh, I relented, holding up my hands in mock surrender. “Fine. Another time.”
She arched a brow—half skeptical, half daring—and I reached into the pannier to pull out her helmet. I tossed it lightly and caught the small breath she released as she caught it—satisfaction in winning this tiny standoff.
We geared up in familiar silence. Every movement—sliding gloves on, tightening helmet straps—was methodical, but beneath it, a charged awareness buzzed, one neither of us dared acknowledge. We were leaving the cocoon, reentering the world. I mounted the bike and waited.
Gabrielle slid in behind me, and the second her body pressed against mine, the spell broke and reformed into something sharper—less magical, more magnetic. Her warmth seeped through both our jackets, and her hands settled around my waist, slow and possessive.
I braced myself, my thumb hovering over the starter, when she leaned forward, her breath tickling the skin just behind my ear.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” I turned, catching her eyes beneath the visor.
“Why are you okay riding this thing when you’re terrified of flying?”
I tensed, caught, then forced a short laugh. “I’m not terrified of flying.”
She didn’t answer—just rested her chin on my shoulder, her silence more persuasive than any argument.
I exhaled. “All right. Not fond of it.”
“Yet you’ll take corners on this beast at eighty miles an hour with me clinging to your back?”
“At least if I wipe out, I’ve got a fighting chance.” I kept my tone light, but it didn’t mask the truth.
Her arms shifted slightly, sharing warmth in the way she was holding me.
“I think I’ll take the long way back,” I said, adjusting my grip on the handlebars. “Back roads. Fewer cars. More curves.”
She went still for half a beat—then pressed in.
“Should be a fun ride,” I murmured.
Her fingers flexed against my jacket, body stiff.
“You flipped a plane upside down yesterday,” I said, glancing back at her. “Surely you can handle a few tight turns.”
Her laugh gusted warm against my neck, but it quickly melted into something else—something quieter and more focused.
I swallowed, suddenly aware of every point where she touched me. “Do you trust me?” I asked.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
The echo hit—my own words turned back on me—and it landed deeper than I was prepared for. I slid my hand along her forearm, found one of her gloved hands, and lifted it to press a kiss to her knuckles.
Then, deliberately, I guided her arms tighter around my waist. “Much better.”
Her laughter was warm, breathy, and far too distracting.
“The ride might get a little wild,” I said, adjusting my grip again. “Best hold on—nice and tight.”