10. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
M r. Sherman boots us out at eight on the dot. Just as I’m pulling out my phone to call Julia, Des points at his bike parked in front of the library.
“Need a ride?”
“Saving me again, are you?”
“It’s my new favorite hobby.”
“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.” I tilt my head.
“It’s good—very, very good.”
The air sizzles between us like it had all day in the library. Even something as innocent as passing a stack of books crackled with a static charge. I’m not sure if we were flirting or just talking, but there seemed to be an undercurrent to everything.
I’m sure I’m reading too much into it. Overanalyzing is one of my superhero gifts. Des is probably just being his funny and sweet self, and my brain is complicating things as usual.
Chill it, Maya. He’s a friend.
“I’d love a ride, if you don’t mind,” I say.
I quickly text Julia the change of plans as we walk up to his bike. Right when I hit send, Des spins back to me, grinning.
“Do you mind if we stop by my place real quick? I left your Tupperware, and I wanted to give it back to you... and maybe beg you to refill it with more cookies.” His eyelashes flutter closed for a brief second. “They were delicious.”
My cheeks flush at the compliment.
“Like I’d say no to extended backpack privileges.”
“I knew you couldn’t resist. You’re a biker girl at heart.” He whips out the spare helmet hidden behind his back with extra flair. A cheesy smile is plastered to his face, one I can’t help but return. What is it about him that makes me feel so relaxed? So comfortable in his presence? It feels so natural, like we’ve always known each other.
“Think you know me, Mr. Brooks?” I cross my arms, entering into librarian mode. Yet it’s a battle to hold my serious expression.
“You’re like an open book, Ms. Santos,” he counters with his teacher voice.
“More like a mystery book. You’ll never expect the ending.” I wink, thinking I won this round.
I did not.
He slides the helmet over my head and hooks a finger underneath to tug me closer. My hands reach out from the sudden movement, my palms landing on the solid wall of his chest. Holy guacamole. The flittering butterflies ignite into flames as a scorching heat pulses through me at his molten gaze.
“I can’t wait to find out,” he whispers.
My breath expels in a shaky rush from another punch of desire.
He holds my gaze as he clicks my helmet on, and his thumb traces under my chin in one slow swipe before he steps away.
I never understood those historical romances where the females swooned over men. Overdramatic, I always said. Now here I am, fanning my hot cheeks because this man put on my helmet.
I’m still frozen in place as he slips his helmet on and climbs on his bike. I drink in his leather-clad image like a parched castaway. Something about seeing him in his full motorcycle gear nearly turns me into putty on the sidewalk.
“Just a reminder, our helmets are synced. But if you want to tell me I’m good-looking again, I won’t stop you.”
And just like that, the romantic moment between us bursts. I groan, covering my face with my hands. “I had hoped you’d forgotten about that.”
“Oh, I’ll never forget.” He wiggles his eyebrows knowingly and taps his visor down, spiking my heart rate up. “Ready to go?”
Nodding, I climb on stiffly behind him, purposely leaving space between us. With my emotions so out of control, a little distance will do me good. Honestly, I have no idea what’s come over me. I’ve never had such a reaction to a man since Felipe.
“Where are you?” His hand swings behind him until it lands on my knee. “Why are you so far back?”
“I was trying not to crowd you.”
“There’s no such thing on a bike. I need you closer. It helps with the... uh ... it just helps if you are closer.” He twists the throttle then immediately brakes so I crash into his back with an unexpected laugh. “Much better. Now hold on so I don’t worry.”
I wish I could say it was because he said so, but my arms were already in motion before he asked. And now that I’m holding him, everything feels right again.
“For safety,” I murmur, more to myself.
“Exactly,” he agrees quietly and covers my hand with his. “Do you want to go on a quick ride before we head to my place?”
The correct response should have been a firm no. Instead, a giddy laugh escapes me, followed by a resounding yes.
Des doesn’t need any more encouragement and takes off. The world around us blurs until it’s just him and me as we leave Rocosa behind. The cool wind rushes over us, and I press closer to his warmth. I may be imagining it, or it could be the static of the comm system, but it almost sounds like Des lets out a little sigh of contentment.
Or maybe that’s me?
All too soon, we pull back into town, most of the windows dark with only the streetlights illuminating our path. Two dogs bark as we pass the bed-and-breakfast, running alongside the motorcycle on the other side of the fence. Not angry barks, but protests like they want to go riding too.
Not on this bike, little guys. This seat is taken.
“Sorry we couldn’t ride longer, but I promised Cai a quick game of Madden.” The deep timbre of his voice rumbles in my ears. “If you want, we can drive over to Georgetown Lake. We could make a day of it. Are you free this weekend?”
“I’d love to... oh, wait. I have plans this weekend.”
His back tenses. “Oh.”
“Maybe the following weekend? If I’m still here, that is.” I bite my lip, forgetting that my time in Rocosa is temporary. I glance away, unsure why my chest is constricting at the thought of leaving.
“I’m meeting up with some friends in Denver.”
“Oh.”
Silence hangs between us.
“Would you like to come with me to meet my friends?” he asks, the question shy and unsure. “We could hang out with them for a couple of hours and then head to the lake.”
There’s that underlying current again. Like we are approaching a crossroads of something I’m not sure I’m ready for. I already told him I wasn’t ready to date, and mentally I still want to stick to my resolution. The problem is the more time I spend with him, the more I like him. Yes, he’s handsome to distraction, but it’s the inner qualities that shine within him—his patience, kindness, and gentle manner.
“Even if you’re in Golden, I’ll come get you. I mean, if you want to go.”
The strange part is I do want to go. More than I should. I want to meet all the friends he talks about. I want to be in his life.
I’m just so torn.
Would this be me falling back into old habits? Falling down that rabbit hole where my life only revolves around one person?
I shake my head, knowing I’m overthinking again. Hanging out with his friends isn’t a date or a lifelong commitment.
“It’s okay if you’re busy,” he says just as I answer, “Sure. It sounds like fun.”
He peers over his shoulder at me for a second. “Yeah?”
The unexpected joy in that one little word melts my heart. I give him a soft squeeze, the closest thing to a hug while riding. “Yeah.”
It’s a quick drive down a lone road, the old houses and trailers spaced closer together than the area higher up on the mountain where Julia lives. My chilled hands fidget as he pulls into a long gravel driveway, and a little gasp escapes my mouth at the sight of the building before us.
His one-story U-shaped house reminds me of the tiny home shows I’ve seen on TV. Only this one is a bit larger and lacks the wheels for portability. The steel-blue siding complements the ash-gray deck, drawing my attention to the ultimate outdoor entertainment area enclosed in the U of the house. Twinkling fairy lights are strung from one side to the other, illuminating the outdoor couches and a fire pit in a cozy glow. Immediately, images of myself curled up with a good book invade my thoughts. It’s the perfect reading spot.
“Des,” I whisper, awestruck.
He chuckles. “What?”
“Is that... is that a tiny home? I’ve never seen one in real life before.”
“It’s more of a small home. But yeah, I don’t need much when it’s just me.”
He kills the engine, and I scramble off the bike for a better view.
The one-acre property is mostly grass, cut short and well maintained. A few well-placed spruce trees add privacy from passing cars. Sprigs of fireweed dot the outskirts of the property, bringing little pops of pink to the tree line.
Behind his house, a strange glass shed crowds the back corner. Dark shadows reflect in the moonlit windows.
“It’s a greenhouse,” Des says from my side, reading my thoughts. “I have some fruit trees and other plants I keep year-round.”
“You must really like fruit.”
“My granny did. The trees are old, so the apples and pears are extra sweet. Reese and I built it for Granny so she could keep making her jams as much as possible. It’s pretty old, so I’ll need to replace it with a new one soon.”
I point to the greenhouse in disbelief. “I’m sorry, did you say you built this?”
“I did.”
“Like . . . with your bare hands.”
“That’s usually how I build things. We poured a lot of blood, sweat, and tears into this greenhouse—literally. I stepped on a nail and my granny nearly fainted on the spot when she saw all the blood. Meanwhile, Reese bawled like a baby as she drove me to the nearest hospital.” His eyes glaze over, lost in memories. “Granny liked to bring that story up every time she went into town to deliver her jams. Embarrassing at the time, but now I kinda miss it...” He’s silent for a beat before he whispers, “And I miss her.”
My heart breaks at the crack in his voice.
Time doesn’t always heal wounds the way we wish it would. It’s never as quick or painless as we’d like. Abuela Santos passed eight years ago, and Mami’s kitchen still feels a little empty without her standing there with a mixing bowl in hand. Whenever I see her favorite apron or catch a whiff of her perfume in a crowd, the crippling grief hits me all over again—a reminder she is no longer here. Memories of our loved ones stay with us forever, surprising us at unexpected times with their intensity. I can imagine that’s what Des is going through right now.
“Did you want to talk about it?” I ask softly, stepping sideways until our arms touch.
He shakes his head and sighs. “I’m okay. Sometimes the memories of her just hit me when I least expect it. But thanks for asking.”
“If you change your mind, I’m always here to listen.”
“Are you cold?” He glances down at my hands.
Oh. I didn’t realize I’d been rubbing them together.
He removes his gloves and grabs one of my hands. His eyebrows shoot up. “They’re freezing. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“It’s not a big deal.”
He gathers both my hands in his warm ones and brings them up to his mouth. Though I know what he’s about to do, it still doesn’t prepare me for the wave of tingles that shoots down my arms from the warmth of his breath.
And just like that, I’m overheating.
Des rubs his thumbs over my knuckles, pleased they’re thawing. “I need to get you some gloves if you’re going to ride with me, especially with the cooler weather at night.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine with just a helmet.”
“That’s not good enough for me. Safety first, remember? I have another jacket inside I can grab for you.” He takes a few steps toward the large sliding door and gestures with his chin for me to follow him inside.
As soon as I step over the threshold, I find myself in the middle of his living room, a few steps from his leather couch that looks creased mostly on one seat. The flat-screen TV is impressive, taking up a whole wall, with a fancy gas fireplace beneath it. Unlike Julia’s rustic cabin, his place has a more modern aesthetic. Open spaced, where this room easily flows into the small square kitchen to my right.
“Next thing you’re going to tell me is that you made this, aren’t you?” I laugh, but it trails off at his serious expression.
“Actually, I did. Holt and Tristen were a big help. The trailer I grew up in was falling apart, and it would have cost more to repair it than build a new house. Plus this way, I could customize it to my needs.” He runs his hands down the wall. “I think it turned out decent for my first try.”
“I think it’s more than decent. You just keep surprising me.”
“Yeah?” His eyes soften as he looks at me. “Want a tour?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
It’s clean, way cleaner than my apartment in Golden. No pictures adorn the white walls or cozy knickknacks scattered on the shelves. Everything has a place and purpose. Even the PlayStation controller is neatly tucked away.
Full-size appliances eat up most of the space in the kitchen, so there isn’t room for a dining table. Instead, he has two bar stools and a fold-out breakfast bar should he need a place to dine. My eyebrows rise at the lone guitar, but he leads me into the next room before I have a chance to ask him about it.
The bedroom is an office combo, with the sleeping arrangement seeming more like an afterthought. Much more bare bones than the rest of the house. A single picture of Reese, Des, and an elderly woman sits on his nightstand. I pick it up as I walk by, admiring the three of them.
“That’s Granny,” he says from over my shoulder. “One of the few photos I have of her.”
“You all look so happy. You and Reese have her smile.”
“We were happy then. I just received my acceptance letter to Dartmouth College. My friend Tristen took this picture by the schoolhouse. I had no idea it was going to be the last picture of us together or I would have fixed my hair a little.”
He plucks the frame from my fingers and sets it back in position on the nightstand, his shoulders slumping.
I press into his side in silent support. “I kinda like your windblown style—and I bet your granny did too. It gives you a youthful appearance.”
He smiles and runs a hand through his hair. “Since she had straight hair, she loved my wavy curls. I bet she would have loved yours too.”
I warm at the thought.
“We should probably get going though. I don’t want your roommate to think I kidnapped you. I’ll grab my extra jacket before we head out.” He dips into his closet and returns with a leather jacket for me to slip on.
Before we head out the sliding door to leave, I spin back, realizing I missed something.
“Wait. Where are your books?”
“What books?” He stiffens, glancing around the living room.
“Exactly. It’s a crime.”
“This is a small home. I don’t have room for books.”
“Pfft. That’s nonsense. There’s always room.” Holding my arms out in front of me, I shape my fingers into an upright rectangle and rotate around until I find the perfect spot.
“Do I even want to know what you’re doing?”
“It will make sense in a second.” I stop at the spot where his guitar rests by the couch. “ There. A bookcase will fit right there. Just hang your guitar on the wall.”
“I’m not going to...” He narrows his gaze at the spot I mentioned. “Well, it would look good there, but I don’t have any books to fill it.”
“That I can help you with. I have more than enough to share.”
“Deal. I can’t wait to see what you’ll pick out for me. Oh .” Panic flashes in his eyes, and he runs back into his kitchen to grab the Tupperware drying on the counter and shoves it down the front of his jacket. “I almost forgot about my cookie refill. That was a close call.”
“Cookie refill?” My lips tremble, failing to hold in my laughter as it spills out. “You crack me up.”
“Not sure I’ve ever been the funny one before. I usually get ‘quiet’ or ‘serious,’ but I like that you consider me fun.”
“I don’t think of you as quiet or serious... more thoughtful than anything. Men aren’t usually blessed with the gift of listening—you’re a rare breed, Des. Any other tricks you have hiding up your sleeve?”
“Nope. Just your empty Tupperware.”
I bark out a laugh and press a hand to his arm. “You’re killing me.”
“You’re not dying on my watch. Come on.” He tugs on my hand, leading me outside to his bike.
Even though it’s a quick drive to Julia’s, the temperature has dropped a few degrees, and my fingers are numb and trembling. A light sprinkle of rain bounces off my borrowed jacket only to soak my dress pants.
I shiver and burrow into his back the best I can.
“I’m buying you a pair of gloves tonight,” Des says through the comm. “Put your hands in my jacket pockets and see if that helps.”
I slip them inside, thankful for his body heat. “Like this?”
He grunts in agreement.
For the rest of the ride, he’s quiet. Too quiet. Whenever I move a finger, he flinches and hisses out a breath.
“You’re uncomfortable...” I say as I start to pull my hands out. “I can handle a little chill.”
He presses his elbows in, halting my withdrawal. “It’s fine, Maya. Leave them.”
“Des . . .”
“I said it’s fine.”
“I’m not okay with you being uncomfortable.”
“Well, I’m not okay with you getting frostbite just because I’m ticklish.”
“What?” I laugh, not expecting that response at all.
“You heard me. Just don’t wiggle around in there and I’ll be fine,” he says, gritting his teeth as if he’s bracing for the worst. He hisses again when I tuck my hands deep into his pockets.
The man couldn’t be any cuter.
But now that he’s mentioned it, my curiosity turns to what other places he might be ticklish. And how long it will take him to find my spots as well.
“Your silence makes me regret telling you. Why do I feel like you are planning something?”
“Just wondering how ticklish you are. Might have to use it to get the rest of those embarrassing stories out of you.”
He groans, to my delight.
As soon as he parks, the skies open up. Rain splatters on our helmets, echoing through our comms like static. I hop off the bike and grab his gloved hand, tugging it.
“You need to get out of the rain.”
He tilts his head like he might argue, then turns off the bike and runs with me to the porch. He lifts up his visor, then mine, his eyes crinkling in a smile as he stares at me.
“What is it?” he asks.
“It’s too dangerous for you to ride in this.”
“Ah. Switching things up, are you? Now you’re trying to save me.”
“I’m serious, Des.”
“I’ve ridden in wet conditions before. It’s not fun, but I can handle it.”
“I don’t like it. Not one bit. You’re in all black while riding a black motorcycle in the pouring rain. It’s an accident waiting to happen. I’d worry about you the entire time.”
“Yeah?” His easy smile stretches across his face. “I kinda like having you worry about me.”
His cavalier attitude only bristles me more. I step toward him, our helmets nearly touching. “And I like keeping you in one piece. Stop smiling at me.”
“I can’t help that I’m enjoying this. Normally nobody cares if I come or go. It’s nice to matter.”
Some of my anger fizzles out, and the need to protect him returns.
“I care about you.” My eyes widen at my confession. It’s true. A poorly timed one that I don’t want to discuss dripping wet on Julia’s porch. It’s then that I realize I’m still holding his hand. I drop it, leaping away from him in what I hope is a subtle manner.
His inquisitive gaze tells me it was not.
“Before we go inside, we should leave our wet things here so we don’t make a mess.”
Des nods, but a glint of something flashes in his hooded eyes. Something that makes my heartbeat stutter and knees weak.
“So you know, I care about you too.” Leaning forward, he reaches for the strap of my helmet, unlatching it with ease.
“I can do it myself,” I whisper.
“But where’s the fun in that?”
He’s flirting. I know for a fact that I’m not imagining it.
I take a step back and turn around, removing my gear and resting it on one of the rocking chairs. I take the opportunity to catch my breath and right my thoughts. Five seconds on the bike with this man and I’m a bumbling mess. When I turn back, Des has removed his gear too and observes me quietly as he waits.
We enter the cabin to the sound of pots and pans clanking in the kitchen. I flinch, as the noise reminds me of my teenage cousin’s new garage band.
“Welcome to Julia’s,” I announce and take the Tupperware from him. “This is where all the cookie-making magic happens. I might have a few cookies left from the last batch. You can warm up while you wait here for the rain to stop.”
“Maya? Is that you?” Julia calls out.
Des follows me around the boxes to the kitchen, and we both stumble to a stop at the green monster before us.
“ Holy guacamole . Desmond. Hi. You’re in my house,” Julia rambles from behind the counter, her chestnut hair piled in a messy bun and her face covered in some green goop of a facial mask. She shoots me a look that screams she will murder me when there are no witnesses around. “Sorry for my appearance and the state of my home. I, uh, haven’t gotten around to unpacking yet.”
“I’m sorry to intrude. It started to rain on the way over, and since I took the bike, Maya invited me in to wait it out.” He clears his throat, shifting from one foot to the other. “It’s probably already stopped by now. I’ll just be on?—?”
“Oooh, I thought you were here to discuss taking Maya to her mom’s birthday party this weekend.” The corner of her mouth lifts in satisfaction at my narrow stare. She certainly knew I didn’t tell him about it.
Touché, Julia. Touché.
“Party?” He raises a brow and turns to me in question. “You need a ride?”
“Oh, it’s not a big deal. I’m going to take an Uber into town.”
“A rideshare?” he sputters. “Absolutely not. I’ll take you. There are too many weirdos who drive those things.”
“You’ve already done too much for me . . .”
“Remember, saving you is my new favorite hobby.”
The undercurrent returns, charging the space between us and leaving me breathless.
“Thank you, Des.”
His hand twitches like he wants to reach out, but he stuffs it into his jacket pocket. “Text me when you want me to come pick you up.”
“Oh, I have a present I need to bring with me. It might not fit on the bike.”
“As long as it’s not too big, I can put it in my backpack. You’ll have to wear it, though.”
“So, your backpack now has a backpack.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “I see what you did there, but think I like that you’ve accepted you’re my backpack.”
Wow. I guess I have.
He chuckles at me and reaches up to tug lightly on one of my curls. “Text me.”
“I will.”
Julia grins over his shoulder at me, knowing everything went according to her evil plan.
For once, I’m okay with a little meddling.