“We can stash it here.” Chaz reaches for my gear, slipping the case into a padded compartment at the back. “It’s waterproof,” he assures me, unclipping the second helmet from the side. “Ever been on a snowmobile?”
“No, never.”
“You’re in good hands,” he says confidently. “I’ve been riding since I was thirteen.”
“That young?”
“Most kids around here learn how to ride before they can drive.” He steps in front of me, backlit by a pool of light from the streetlamp. My gaze slips up the zipper of his jacket to his face. He’s standing so close that his breath hangs between us like a phantom kiss. I stare at his mouth—wondering.
“Let’s get this on you.”
“Okay.” I blink behind my glasses and gaze into his eyes. You’d think I’d never been in the presence of a gorgeous man before. But it’s not just his looks; it’s everything about him and how he affects me. It’s like he’s emitting some magical pheromone cocktail, and I’m powerless against its pull.
Chaz tugs off his gloves with his teeth, and, holy hell, I feel it low in my belly. He gently slides the helmet over my head,his warm fingers brushing my cold cheeks. He tucks a few loose strands of my hair inside and adjusts the chin strap. “How’s that?”
“Fine,” I say, meaning the fit, not the whirlpool churning inside me.
His gaze lifts to my mouth. For a fraction of a second, I hold my breath. Then he lowers my face shield and helps me onto the back of the seat. My chest tightens with a strange sense of disappointment.
“Keep your feet on the rests for stability, and lean with me into the turns. If you need to say anything, tap my shoulder. Most importantly, hang on tight.” Chaz swings his leg over the seat, straddling it, and grips the handles. “Ready?”
No!“Yes.” I loop my arms around his waist, praying I won’t go flying off this thing and break a leg, or worse. I wish I knew the stats on snowmobile accidents. Then again, maybe it’s better that I don’t.
“You gotta hold on tighter than that, Blue.” The nickname feels too familiar, but for some reason, I like it.
“Don’t worry,” he teases, “I won’t break.”
I hear the amusement in his voice and squeeze tighter, not minding that one bit. With a twist of the throttle, the engine hums to life, and we glide smoothly across the snow-covered street to the powdery shore. That’s where he gathers speed, leaving a trail of fresh tracks in our wake.
At first, I tense up, holding on for dear life as the world around us becomes a blur of white. As the minutes pass, I realize I’m safe. Chaz is in total command of the vehicle, and the ride becomes exhilarating. The endless coastline stretches before us, untouched, and the wind whips through the ends of my hair. I feel fearless and free.
When Chaz slows the pace, I see a lighthouse shining in the distance. It rises majestically above the shore like a sentinel against the lake.
“Wow!” I exclaim when we dismount.
He takes our helmets, hooks them on the handlebars, and hands me my camera. “I thought you’d like it.”
“I do.” I’m already framing shots in my mind.
He hangs back, giving me time to explore the exterior, snapping the lighthouse from different angles in search of the best shots. When I eventually lower the camera to my chest, Chaz takes out his phone and insists on pulling me close for a few selfies. I’d rather be on the other side of the camera, but being tucked against him as he snaps away isn’t the worst thing.
“Are we able to go inside?” I ask when he’s done.
“Yep.” He gestures toward the entrance. “It’s open to the public, and it’s off-season, so we’ll have the place to ourselves.”
“Do you know much about its history?” The red and white stripes of the tower draw my eyes to the lookout at the top.
“What kind of tour guide would I be if I didn’t?” He flashes a grin. “It was built in the late 1800s to guide ships into the harbor. There’s a legend, though,” he says, dropping his voice theatrically. “A sailor coming to shore in search of his lady love vanished. And in true Romeo-and-Juliet style, she jumped off the ledge, unable to live without him. Now their ghosts are said to haunt the tower.”
I feel the hairs rise on the back of my neck. “That’s creepy.”
“Not a romantic?” he teases.
“Dying for love? Nope. The Broadway show& Julietis more my thing,” I say. “The plot twist is Romeo drinks the poison as planned, but Juliet changes her mind and goes on to live her best life.”
“That’s savage.” He laughs heartily, making me laugh too.
“So, do you believe the tower’s legend?” I ask as he unpacks the snowmobile.
