Chapter 2 #2
That deadly grin flashed again, and she felt her internal temperature rise a few more degrees. “It means the engine is air-cooled as opposed to oil- or liquid-cooled, like more modern vehicles.”
Misty made a face like that meant something to her, then gave up. “It’s pretty,” she offered.
He laughed. Serious, monosyllabic Denver Hershal actually laughed. “Yes, yes she is. My dad and I rebuilt her together back when I was in high school.” It was obviously a good memory for him. “She’s perfect for a Sunday afternoon ride and the weather’s beautiful. You game?”
She eyed the seat, which didn’t seem to leave a lot of room at the back end. “Is there room for two people?”
“Sure. Gotta get you suited up first, though.” He stripped off his jacket and held it for her to put on.
Wait, did she really want to do this?
“What about you?” His t-shirt would hardly provide good protection in the event of a crash.
“We’re not going far or fast. I’ll be fine.
” He waited until she’d slipped her arms into the jacket—the sleeves came down past her wrists—and zipped her in.
It smelled of leather and man. Misty was still absorbing that, when he unstrapped a second helmet from the back of the seat.
He eyed the baby roses in her hair. “Sorry about the flowers. They’re gonna get squished. ”
“Guess it’s a good thing I own a florist shop.” She reached out for the helmet and slipped it on.
Denver crouched down, shifting, tugging, and adjusting straps, until he was satisfied the helmet fit properly. “All right. You ready?”
Her nerves jumped. “Is that a rhetorical question?”
“Ever been on a motorcycle before?”
“No.” She shook her head for emphasis and felt like a bobblehead doll from the extra weight.
“You have the easy job. Hang on to me, lean when I lean. That’s it. Easy as pie.”
“Pie,” she repeated. “Right.”
“I’ll get on first, then you swing on behind me.” He put his own helmet back on, kicked up the stand, and swung one long leg over the back.
There really didn’t look like enough room on that seat for two people. As if sensing her reluctance, Denver scooted forward a bit.
Pie, she thought again, and swung her own leg over, using his shoulder for balance.
She was right. There really wasn’t a lot of room on the seat.
Left with the choice of leaving her butt hanging precariously off the back or snuggling up against Denver’s back, she chose the snuggle, scooting forward until the insides of her thighs bracketed his ass. It was a very fine ass.
Oh boy.
“You’re gonna want to hold on,” he said, his voice muffled by the helmet.
Misty closed the face shield and lightly gripped his waist. He cranked the bike and smoothly pulled away from the curb.
This wasn’t so bad. Nice and easy, as he’d said.
Then he shifted gears with a little jerk that had her clenching her hands tighter.
When he leaned into the turn off Main Street, and onto the country road that would take them out to The Misfit Inn, she yelped and banded her arms around his waist, plastering herself to his back.
“Relax!” he shouted, laying a hand over hers, where she was probably squeezing the life out of him.
She forced her muscles to ease a fraction.
As the bike gained speed, she tried to focus on something other than the terrifying sensation of not being surrounded by anything.
What she focused on was him and the curious intimacy of riding behind him.
Pressed close, she felt every shift of his body, every flex of his muscle.
He didn’t have any of her tension. He was a man in complete control.
And Misty liked it.
She also liked the defined ridges of abs she felt beneath her palm. This man was in shockingly good shape for a guy who worked in a bar, and she wasn’t ashamed to admit, she wouldn’t mind getting to know the rest of him a little better. She wondered if this had been his plan.
The ride was over too soon.
A handful of cars were in the gravel lot behind the inn.
Denver bypassed them and pulled right on up to the barn, to a patch of pavement.
At his signal, she slid off, using his shoulder for balance again and feeling a little rubber-legged as she stood on her own.
He swung his leg off the bike and put down the kickstand before tugging his helmet off.
She did the same. “That was amazing.”
There went the grin again. “I thought you might like it. There’s nothing like feeling the buffet of the wind and the freedom of the open road.”
The feel of the wind. Yeah. Let’s go with that instead of the feel of your abs.
Feeling her cheeks heat, Misty looked back toward the house. “Do you think we should go let them know we’re here?”
“I talked to Kennedy at work. She already knows we’re coming. Said to do whatever we needed to do.”
Of course he had.
Misty took off the jacket and laid it over the seat.
They hung the helmets on the mirrors and strode inside.
He turned all business, pulling a tape measure out from somewhere and getting her to hold the other end as he measured the space, tapping the details into his phone.
They discussed placement and height, even lighting.
And all the while, Misty watched the easy flex of those shoulders in his t-shirt and remembered the look of him as he’d vaulted over her counter like it was nothing.
When was the last time she’d been this aware of a man?
The sensation didn’t abate as they rode back to town.
She enjoyed the return trip more, feeling confident that they weren’t going to end up as smears on the pavement.
And she saw what he meant about the feel of the wind and the open road, though his body served as an effective windshield for her.
She toyed with a question in her mind. By the time they pulled back up in front of her shop, she’d made a decision.
She wanted to know more.
Dismounting with more grace than she’d managed the first time, she pulled off the helmet and shook out her hair like she’d seen in the movies. When the baby roses, now crushed, rained down like some kind of floral dandruff, she figured that had ruined the effect. But it didn’t curb her intent.
“Thanks for the ride. It was a lot of fun.”
He sat astride his steel horse—Bon Jovi, eat your heart out—and rested his forearms across the handlebars. “Glad you enjoyed it. I’ll be getting started on the arbor tomorrow.”
Can I come see your workshop? Would he think that was a euphemism?
She really did want to see his workspace and how he brought his vision to life.
She’d toured more than a dozen different spaces of the artisans whose work she carried.
Customers loved hearing little details about how a piece had been created.
But this wasn’t about her shop. She really just wanted to get to know more about him. So she took a different tack.
“Would you like to come to dinner?”
“I like food,” he said equably.
Misty’s lips twitched. “Then how about you tell me what night works for you, and I’ll introduce you to some of mine.”
“Pick any night.”
“What about your shift at the Tavern?”
A flash of humor lit his eyes. “I’ve got an in with the boss. You let me know when and where, and I’ll be there.”
She did a quick mental review of her calendar.
The early part of the week was slammed, but by midweek she’d be done with the flowers for the monthly Pilot Club ladies’ luncheon.
“Wednesday? Say seven?” That would give her time to get home after closing, do some last-minute cleaning, and get whatever she was cooking going.
“Sounds good.”
Misty gave him her address. “You should bring Oscar. I’ve got a fenced yard. There’s room for him to romp with Moxie.”
One brow quirked up. “Does Moxie have enough energy to romp?”
“You’d be surprised.”
Denver nodded. “All right, then. Oscar and I will see y’all on Wednesday.”
Misty lifted her hand in a wave and waited until he’d cranked the engine again before saying, “Can’t wait.”