Chapter 6
The café smelled like coffee, bacon, and possibility.
Hank pushed through the door with Brian and Colby right behind him, their voices still carrying the energy of the morning's work.
They'd spent three hours fine-tuning Julie's engine, adjusting the carburetor until she purred like a contented cat, and now his hands were clean, but his shirt still carried the faint scent of motor oil.
He was hungry, wired on adrenaline, and ready for a meal that didn't come from a vending machine.
"Table by the window," Brian called out, already heading that direction without waiting for consensus.
The café was packed, as it had been every morning since they'd arrived in Copper Moon.
Local families mixed with racing teams, everyone drawn to what was apparently the best breakfast spot in town.
The walls were covered with vintage photographs of past races, and a glass case near the register displayed trophies from decades of Copper Moon Cups.
Hank followed Brian toward the window table, his mind still half on Julie's performance metrics, when he saw her.
Bree sat two tables over, her blonde hair catching the morning sunlight that streamed through the windows. She was laughing at something the dark-haired woman across from her said, her whole face lit up with genuine amusement, and the sound hit him square in the chest.
He stopped walking.
"Hank?" Colby's voice came from somewhere behind him. "You coming?"
He couldn't move. Couldn't look away. Bree's laughter faded into a soft, warm smile, and she tucked her hair behind her ear in a gesture that seemed unconscious. Natural. The kind of detail a man noticed when he was paying far too much attention.
"Oh, this is good," Brian said, his voice gleeful. "Colby, look at his face."
"I'm looking." Colby moved to stand beside Hank, following his gaze. "That's the woman from yesterday, isn't it? The one he nearly killed?"
"I didn't nearly kill her," Hank corrected automatically. "I swerved just in time."
"Right," Brian drawled. "After you knocked her down."
Hank forced himself to move, to follow them to the table, but his attention kept drifting back to Bree.
She wore a light blue sundress today, something simple and feminine that made her look like she belonged in a painting.
Her hands moved as she talked, graceful and expressive, and he found himself wondering what she was saying that made her friend smile like that.
"Earth to Hank," Brian said once they were seated. "You want to order, or are you just going to stare at her all morning?"
"I'm not staring."
"You're absolutely staring," Colby said, picking up his menu. "And she's going to notice if you keep doing it."
Hank grabbed his own menu, determined to focus on breakfast options instead of the woman two tables over.
Eggs. Bacon. Toast. Simple. Easy. Except his eyes kept sliding past the laminated pages toward Bree, noting the way she sipped her coffee, and how her expression shifted from amusement to something more thoughtful.
The waitress appeared, and they ordered. Hank asked for the special without even knowing what it was, his mind too occupied to care about food.
"So," Brian said the moment the waitress left, "are you going to talk to her, or just pine from a distance like some tragic hero?"
"I'm not pining."
"He's totally pining," Brian told Colby.
"Definitely pining," Colby agreed. "Look at him. I've never seen Hank look at anyone like that."
"Can you two shut up?" Hank shifted in his chair, trying to get comfortable and failing. "I barely know her."
"Which is why you should go talk to her." Brian leaned forward, his expression turning serious despite the teasing tone. "Come on, Hank. When's the last time you looked at a woman like that? When's the last time you let yourself be interested in anything besides Julie and the race?"
Never, Hank thought. Or at least not since the fire, not since his life had narrowed down to survival and purpose and dreams that felt just out of reach.
"She's looking over here," Colby said quietly.
Hank's head came up before he could stop himself, and his eyes found Bree's across the café. She'd been mid-conversation with her friend, but her gaze had drifted toward their table, and now their eyes met.
The connection was immediate. Electric. Like touching a live wire.
She didn't look away. Didn't blush or pretend she hadn't been looking. Instead, a small smile curved her lips, tentative and a little surprised, as if she hadn't expected to see him here either.
Hank's chest tightened.
"Go," Brian said. "Before you lose your nerve."
"I don't have the nerve to lose."
"Then go before I drag you over there myself."
Hank stood before he could talk himself out of it. His legs carried him across the café on autopilot, weaving between tables while his brain scrambled to figure out what he was going to say. He'd faced enemy fire with more composure than this.
Bree's friend noticed him first. She glanced up, took in his approach and the way Bree was watching him, and her smile turned knowing.
"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."
Then she was gone, and Hank was standing beside Bree's table with no backup plan and no idea what to say next.
"Hi," he managed.
"Hi." Bree's smile widened, genuine and warm. "Fancy meeting you here."
"Yeah, I," he gestured vaguely toward his own table, "breakfast."
"Me too." Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "Apparently, it's the place to be in Copper Moon."
"So I'm learning." He shifted his weight, suddenly aware of how public this was, how many people might be watching. "How are you today?"
"Fine. Only my pride is bruised." She tilted her head, studying him. "How's your conscience?"
"Still guilty."
"Don't be." She gestured to the empty chair across from her. "Do you want to sit?"
He should say no. Should go back to his table, where Brian and Colby were undoubtedly watching this entire interaction and planning new ways to torture him about it. But he found himself pulling out the chair and sitting before he'd consciously made the decision.
"I really am sorry about yesterday," he said. "I wasn't paying attention."
"To be fair, neither was I." She traced the rim of her coffee cup. "My friend Carmen says I have a habit of getting lost in my own head."
"Carmen, that's," he nodded toward the counter where the dark-haired woman was now chatting with the cashier, "your friend?"
"I met her this morning, actually. We shared a table at the hotel because the restaurant was packed." Bree's expression softened. "She's nice. Easy to talk to."
"Unlike me?"
"I didn't say that." But her smile suggested she was teasing. "Though you do have a habit of nearly killing people and then brooding about it."
"I don't brood."
"You absolutely brood. You have the posture for it. Very," she waved her hand, "stoic and intense."
Hank felt his lips twitch despite himself. "Stoic and intense?"
"It's not a criticism. It's," she paused, "actually kind of attractive, if I'm being honest."
The words hung between them, unexpected and charged. Bree's cheeks flushed pink, as if she hadn't meant to say that out loud, but she didn't take it back.
"You ride like a bat out of hell," she added quickly, clearly trying to redirect. "Is that a racing thing, or just your natural state?"
"A little of both." He relaxed slightly, grateful for the change in subject. "Though yesterday I was just distracted."
"By?"
You, he thought. By green eyes and blonde hair and the way you looked standing on that beach like you belonged there.
"The race," he said instead. "Big week coming up."
"The Copper Moon Cup." She nodded. "My friend Blake failed to mention it was happening this weekend when he booked my trip."
"You didn't come for the race?"
"I came for peace and quiet." Her laugh was soft and self-deprecating. "Shows what I know about planning."
"To be fair, Copper Moon is usually quiet. Just not this week."
"So everyone keeps telling me." She took a sip of her coffee. "That bike you were working on this morning, is that the one you're racing?"
He shouldn't be surprised she'd seen him. The hotel overlooked the track, and he'd been out there since dawn. Still, knowing she'd been watching sent an unexpected warmth through his chest.
"Julie," he said. "1942 Crocker. She belonged to my grandfather."
"Julie." Bree's expression softened. "That's right. You named her after someone?"
"My grandmother. She was," he paused, "the reason my grandfather started racing in the first place. He wanted to impress her."
"Did it work?"
"They were married for fifty-three years, so I'd say yes."
Bree smiled, but something in her eyes shifted. A shadow passed across her face, there and gone so quickly he almost missed it. Grief, he realized. The kind that surfaced unexpectedly, triggered by stories of long marriages and lifelong love.
"Your sister," he said quietly. "Bryn. I remember her from high school. She was," he searched for the right words, "hard to forget."
Bree's eyes widened slightly. "You knew Bryn?"
"Not well. But enough to know she was the kind of person who made everyone around her better." He held her gaze, letting her see he meant it. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you." Her voice came out rough, and she cleared her throat. "She loved Copper Moon. Talked about it all the time. I thought," she paused, "I thought being here might help me feel close to her again."
"Is it working?"
"I don't know yet." She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "This morning I've been thinking about her a lot, contemplating on why I'm here, this week of all weeks, and what I should do about it."
"That makes sense." He meant it. "What do you paint?"
"Landscapes, mostly. Nothing professional, just," she shrugged, "something I've always done."
"You should keep doing it. Especially if it helps."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the noise of the café fading into background static. Hank couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this settled around someone new, this willing to just be present without needing to fill every second with words.
"Are you all right?" he asked finally. "After yesterday, I mean. Really, all right?"
"I'm fine. Promise." She studied him with those too-perceptive green eyes. "Are you?"
The question caught him off guard. Most people didn't ask if he was all right.
They saw what they wanted to see: a former Marine, a racer, someone who had his life together enough to chase a championship.
They didn't see the nights he couldn't sleep, the phantom pain in his leg, the weight of knowing this race was his last shot at something better.
"I'm good," he said, because it was easier than the truth.
Bree's expression suggested she didn't quite believe him, but she didn't push. Instead, she changed the subject.
"So what happens next? With the race, I mean."
"Qualifying rounds start tomorrow. Then eliminations, then the final on Sunday."
"And you're confident? With Julie?"
"As confident as I can be." He thought about Team Red Dragon, about Marcus Steele's predatory smile, about all the ways this could go wrong. "It's a good bike. We've done everything we can to prepare."
"But?"
"But there are always variables you can't control."
She nodded like she understood. Maybe she did. Loss taught you that lesson better than anything else.
The waitress appeared at his table across the café, setting down plates of food, and Colby caught his eye with a pointed look.
"I should go," Hank gestured toward his friends, "they're waiting."
"Of course." But she looked almost disappointed. "Thanks for coming over."
He stood, then hesitated. The words came out before he'd fully thought them through.
"We're going to the pier for lunch later. The guys and I. If you wanted to join us."
Bree's eyebrows rose. "Is this a peace offering? For yesterday?"
"Maybe." He allowed himself a small smile. "We can take my truck."
She bit her lower lip, considering, and Hank found himself holding his breath waiting for her answer. When had he started caring so much about whether a woman he barely knew wanted to have lunch with him?
"I'll think about it," she said finally.
It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a no either. Hank would take it.
"Think hard," he said, then walked back to his table before he could say something stupid.
Brian and Colby were grinning like idiots when he sat down.
"Smooth," Brian said. "Real smooth."
"Shut up."
"Did she say yes?" Colby asked.
"She said she'd think about it."
"That's basically a yes," Brian declared. "In girl speak, 'I'll think about it' means 'yes, but I don't want to seem too eager.'"
"How would you know?" Colby asked. "When's the last time you talked to a woman?"
"I talk to women all the time."
"Your sister doesn't count."
While they bickered, Hank let his gaze drift back to Bree's table. She was talking to Carmen again, but even from across the café, he could feel the moment she glanced his way. Their eyes met, and she smiled.
Just a small curve of her lips, nothing dramatic, but it hit him like a punch to the chest.
"You're doomed," Colby said quietly, following his gaze. "Completely and utterly doomed."
Hank picked up his fork and focused on his breakfast, ignoring the knowing looks from his friends.
The problem was, Colby was probably right.