“Sure.” Not that I’ll get it.
“It’s a secret.”
“Alright.” Who am I going to tell? Violet? She knows less about cars and motorcycles than I do, and I know nothing.
“See how the front wheel is larger than the back?”
“I do. It’s what makes it look pouncey, like I said.”
He chuckles. “Pouncey.” Kissing the hand he hasn’t stopped holding, he continues. “Yeah, well, some of the custom bikes are doing that now, but I changed up the ratios so now the front wheel is two-point-five percent larger.”
“Why? Besides looking cool, does it do something else?”
“Good question. The answer is yes. You get better handling with the larger tire and more torque thanks to the smaller one in the back.”
“Torque? What’s that?”
“Torque, hm, let me see if I can explain that in a way you’ll get.It’s related to acceleration. The moretorquethe more quickly your bike accelerates.”
I nod. “I get it. Thanks for dumbing it down for me.” I laugh.
“I didn’t dumb it down. You’re not dumb, I just…”
I place my palm on his chest and tap gently, “Keeton, I said I appreciated it. And I do.” I lean in and kiss his lips. I can’t believe I just did that. I made a move—Lainie Palmer made a move. And if the way Keeton just smiled is any indication, he liked it too. “Now help me understand what the heck these P.O.’s say. I can’t read anyone’s writing.”
“Yeah, Molly’s been at it long enough to be able to identify their scribbles. Here, hand them over, let’s see what you’ve got.”
One by one, Keeton clarifies the information on each form. A couple were so bad he had to yell at the guy who put the order in to translate. In all, I spent about a half an hour with him in his shop. I loved it. “Well, I’m going to go place these orders. See you later?”
“I’ve got a client meeting over lunch. Do you want me to bring you something?”
Gosh, he’s so sweet. Lewis never offered that. Heck, he didn’t want me to eat.
“Nope. I still have my salad from yesterday in the fridge.” I put it in there after lunch yesterday.
“You sure about that?”
“Why?”
He nods sideways like he’s pointing to the guys in the other shop. “They’ll eat anything. Even salad.”
“Oh, I’ll check. It’s no biggie.” I’m sure I’ve got a granola bar, from this decade, at the bottom of my purse.
“Double check. If they got to it, let me know. I’ll kick their asses and bring you back something.”
“It’s fine.”
He wraps his arms around me, “Honey. I won’t have you going hungry because one of my guys ate your rabbit food. Okay?”
“Sure. Okay. I’ll let you know if it’s gone.” No, I won’t.
“Shit,” he mumbles. “Why don’t I believe you?” He stomps out of his shop, through the other one shouting, “If one of you little pricks ate Lainie’s salad, I’m going to kick your ass.”
I’m walking behind him as fast as I can on my heels. It’s not easy. “Keeton, stop. I’ll check. I promise I’ll tell you. It’s not a big deal.”
Ignoring my plea, he opens the showroom door, holding it open for me to pass through, then he passes me on the way to the fridge. Yanking the door open, he bends at the waist searching. Grabbing my plastic container, it’s pink so I guess he figured it was mine, he holds it up in front of me. “This is it?”
“Yes.”
