A chorus of “Yes, Miss Emma!” echoes back at me, and then they’re filing out, parents collecting them at the door with questions about recital costumes and fall intensives.
When the last one leaves, I grab my water bottle and the black leather cut draped over my bag. I shrug into it without thinking—as natural now as putting on shoes. The weight of it settles across my shoulders, familiar and grounding.
Property of Bones.
I catch my reflection in the mirror and smile. A month ago, putting this on felt like a declaration. Now it just feels like me.
I gather my things and lock up the studio, my phone buzzing with a text as I’m heading out.
Bones:
Outside. Got something for you tonight.
Me:
What kind of something?
Bones:
The good kind. Trust me.
I find him leaning against his bike in the parking lot, looking unfairly attractive in jeans and a faded t-shirt, his cut on. When he sees me, his eyes track to my cut and something in his expression softens.
“Hey, swan.”
“Hey yourself.” I reach him and he pulls me in for a kiss that’s probably too intense for a community center parking lot, but I don’t care. “So what’s this mysterious something?”
“You’ll see.” He hands me my helmet. “How was class?”
“Good. My ankle held up for the full hour.” I take the helmet, running my thumb over the glossy surface. “No pain, no swelling. I think I’m finally back to normal.”
“That’s my girl.” He swings his leg over the bike. “You hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Good. Because we’re making a stop first.”
I climb on behind him, settling into the familiar position—thighs pressed against his, arms wrapped around his waist. It still feels like a small miracle every time, being able to ride with him again after months of crutches and boots and careful mobility.
He starts the engine and the rumble vibrates through both of us. I rest my chin on his shoulder as he pulls out of the parking lot.
He takes the road out of town, heading toward the overlook. I recognize the route—this is the spot where you can see all of Stoneheart spread below, the place Bones used to come when he needed to think.
“Are we going to the lookout?” I ask against his ear.
He just revs the engine in response, and I smile against his shoulder.
The ride is perfect—cool evening air, the familiar weight of him in front of me, the freedom of movement after months ofbeing careful. When we finally reach the overlook, I’m almost disappointed it’s over.
Bones kills the engine and helps me off, taking both our helmets and setting them on the bike. “Come on.”
I take his hand and let him lead me to the edge where the view opens up. Stoneheart spreads out below us in the early evening light—the downtown, the neighborhoods we fought for, Devil’s Bar, the community center where I teach.
Home.
The last month has been . . . complicated. The zoning victory should have felt complete, should have been the end of our fight with Summit. But then Josie’s accident happened, and reality set in hard.
I suspect Dad’s in love with her—but for some reason he’s not admitting it. Which means for now I get to watch and wait, smiling quietly while my big, fierce Dad suppresses his feelings behind grunts and gruffness.
