Chapter 5
Bree stood on her balcony, coffee mug cradled in both hands, watching the organized chaos unfold below. The racetrack stretched out beyond the hotel grounds, and even from this distance, she could see teams swarming around their vehicles like bees around a hive.
She'd woken to the sound of engines and voices, the peaceful morning she'd imagined shattered before she'd even opened her eyes. When she'd stepped onto the balcony, confused and still half-asleep, she'd realized what Blake had conveniently forgotten to mention.
The Copper Moon Cup was this weekend.
Her quiet retreat had turned into the epicenter of what appeared to be a major racing event, and she didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the irony.
A flash of movement caught her eye. Three men stood around a vintage motorcycle, their body language speaking of easy camaraderie and shared purpose. Even from here, she recognized the tallest one. The set of his shoulders, the way he moved with deliberate economy, the dark hair that needed a trim.
Hank.
Her stomach did an unexpected flip.
She'd thought about him more than she cared to admit since yesterday. The quiet intensity in his eyes when he'd made sure she was okay. The careful way he'd responded to her.
Now she watched him crouch beside the motorcycle, running his hand along something she couldn't see from this distance. One of his friends, the one with the ball cap, said something that made the other laugh, but Hank just shook his head, focused entirely on the bike.
She should go inside. Stop staring at a man she'd met once, briefly, under embarrassing circumstances. She had coffee to drink, breakfast to eat, and a day to plan that didn't involve watching strangers work.
Except he wasn't quite a stranger anymore, was he?
Bree took a sip of coffee, annoyed with herself. She'd come here to heal, to find the peace Bryn had always described when she talked about Copper Moon. She hadn't come here to develop an inconvenient fascination with a man who probably hadn't thought about her once since yesterday.
Hank straightened, wiping his hands on his jeans, and said something to his friends.
They nodded, and all three turned toward a convoy of black trucks that had just pulled into the lot.
Even from her balcony, Bree could feel the shift in atmosphere.
The playful energy around Hank's team vanished, replaced by something harder.
Tense.
The new team piled out of their trucks with theatrical precision, all matching uniforms and swagger. The leader, a man with dark hair and sunglasses despite the early hour, surveyed the lot like he owned it.
When his gaze landed on Hank, Bree's hands tightened on her mug.
She couldn't hear what was said, but she saw Hank's friend grab his shoulder, saw the careful way Hank kept his hands loose at his sides. The other team's leader said something else, laughed, and turned away.
Hank stood there for a moment, his jaw tight, before his friends pulled him back toward their bike.
Bree's chest ached with an emotion she couldn't quite name. Something about the way Hank had held himself, controlled and contained, reminded her of the way he'd been yesterday. Careful. Guarded. Like a man who'd learned the hard way not to let people see too much.
Her stomach growled, loud enough to break through her thoughts. She glanced at her watch and realized she'd been standing here for nearly thirty minutes, watching Hank work and ignoring her own needs.
Classic.
She drained the last of her coffee and headed inside. A shower, fresh clothes, and breakfast would help clear her head. Maybe then she could figure out why Blake had sent her to Copper Moon during the biggest event of the season, and why she wasn't as annoyed about it as she should be.
The hotel restaurant was packed.
Bree stood in the doorway, taking in the full tables, the harried waitstaff, the buzz of conversation that filled every corner of the space. Apparently, everyone associated with the race had decided to have breakfast at the same time.
She almost turned around. The room felt too full, too loud, too much like the chaos she'd been trying to escape. But her stomach growled again, and she'd already checked; room service was backed up for at least an hour.
"Table for one?" The hostess appeared at her elbow, looking frazzled but determined.
"Yes, please."
The hostess scanned the room, her expression growing increasingly hopeless. "It's going to be at least a twenty-minute wait. Unless," she paused, "you'd be willing to share? We have a woman at a table for four who said she wouldn't mind company."
Bree hesitated. She'd come to Copper Moon to be alone, to process her grief without having to make small talk with strangers. But the alternative was going hungry or hiding in her room, and neither option appealed.
"That's fine," she said.
The hostess led her through the crowded restaurant to a table near the windows. A woman sat alone, her sleek black hair pulled back in a low ponytail, her attention focused on her phone. She looked up as they approached, and her face broke into a warm smile.
"Thank you for sharing your table," the hostess said. "This is..."
"Bree," Bree supplied. "Bree Spencer."
"Carmen Reyes." The woman gestured to the empty chair across from her. "Please, sit. I was starting to feel like I was taking up too much real estate."
Bree settled into the chair, grateful for the woman's easy manner. Carmen had the kind of confidence that put people at ease, the kind that came from being comfortable in her own skin.
"Are you here for the race?" Carmen asked, setting her phone aside.
"Accidentally," Bree said, then laughed at how ridiculous it sounded. "A friend suggested I come to Copper Moon for some peace and quiet. He forgot to mention it was race weekend."
Carmen's laugh was rich and genuine. "Peace and quiet during race week. Oh honey, that's like looking for silence at a rock concert."
"I'm starting to realize that."
A waitress appeared, harried but smiling, and took their orders. Bree asked for an omelet and toast; Carmen ordered the breakfast special with enough food for two people.
"Stress eating," Carmen explained when the waitress left. "My sister's working the race, and I'm a nervous wreck about it."
"Working as in racing?"
“Heidi’s the one who handles all the Red Dragons’ design work,” Carmen added, rolling her eyes. “She’s brilliant with engines and aesthetics, but she’s also… intense. Race week makes her impossible to live with.”
Bree smiled. “Sounds like sisters.”
“You’ll meet her sooner or later,” Carmen said. “Trust me, she’ll make sure of it.”
Carmen took a sip of her coffee. "What about you? What brings you to Copper Moon, besides the accidental timing?"
Bree traced the rim of her water glass, considering how much to share. Something about Carmen's open expression and the genuine interest in her eyes made the truth easier to say.
"My sister used to come here. She passed away a year ago, and I thought," she paused, searching for the right words, "I thought maybe being here would help me feel close to her again."
Carmen's expression softened. "I'm so sorry. A year is nothing, really. Not when it comes to grief."
"No," Bree agreed quietly. "It's not."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the noise of the restaurant fading into background static. It was strange how loss could create an instant connection between strangers, how shared pain could build bridges faster than any small talk.
"What was her name?" Carmen asked.
"Bryn. She was," Bree's voice caught, "she was my best friend. My anchor. I don't really know who I am without her."
Carmen reached across the table and squeezed Bree's hand. "You're you. That doesn't change just because she's gone. It just," she paused, "it just takes time to remember that."
The waitress returned with their food, breaking the moment, but the warmth of Carmen's words stayed with Bree as they began to eat. They talked about other things then: Carmen's work as a physical therapist, Bree's painting, the beauty of Copper Moon in early summer.
"So you paint?" Carmen asked, spearing a piece of sausage. "What kind of art?"
"Landscapes, mostly. Some abstract pieces when I'm feeling emotional." Bree smiled. "Bryn used to say my paintings were like windows into how I was feeling. Happy paintings when life was good, stormy ones when things were hard."
"Have you painted since she died?"
"Not really. I've tried a few times, but," Bree shrugged, "nothing comes out right."
"Maybe that's okay," Carmen said. "Maybe you're not supposed to paint right now. Maybe you're supposed to just be."
Bree looked out the window, watching the morning sun climb higher in the sky. Below, teams were still working on their vehicles, preparing for whatever came next. She couldn't see Hank's team from here, but she knew they were out there somewhere.
"My therapist said something similar," Bree admitted. "That I needed to stop trying to force myself through grief and just let it be what it is."
"Smart therapist."
"She also said I needed to get out of my house, stop isolating myself." Bree laughed softly. "I'm not sure she meant come to a racing event, but here I am."
"Here you are," Carmen echoed. "And maybe this is exactly what you need. Not quiet, not isolation, but life. Noise. People doing things they're passionate about. Energy."
Bree thought about that as she finished her omelet. Maybe Carmen was right. Maybe peace didn't have to mean silence. Maybe it could mean being in a place Bryn had loved, surrounded by people who were fully alive, fully engaged in something that mattered to them.
Maybe peace could mean watching a man with careful hands work on a vintage motorcycle, feeling her heart skip for the first time in months, and not feeling guilty about it.
"You know what?" Bree said, setting down her fork. "I think you might be onto something."
Carmen grinned. "I usually am. Now, tell me more about this friend who sent you here without warning you about race week. That seems like something we need to discuss."
Bree laughed, and for the first time since arriving in Copper Moon, felt something in her chest loosen. Not heal, exactly, but shift. Making room for something new alongside the grief.
Hope, maybe.
Or at least, possibility.
They finished breakfast, talking about Blake's questionable planning skills, Carmen's sister's racing team, and the best places in Copper Moon to find actual quiet when you needed it. By the time they paid their bills and stood to leave, Bree felt lighter than she had in months.
She glanced across the room and saw Hank and his friends sitting at a table. Their eyes met, and she smiled. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest when he stood and strolled toward her. She swallowed when he stopped at their table. "Hi."
"I think that's my cue," the woman said, standing smoothly. She touched Bree's shoulder as she passed. "I'll be at the counter. Take your time."