"I mean it. You've got natural talent."
"Lion thing," I say, shrugging. "Good eyesight. Steady hands for hunting. Predator instincts."
"Maybe." He's quiet for a moment, turning his coffee cup in his hands. Looking at it instead of at me. "Jason, I... I don't know what I'm doing."
"Eating breakfast?"
"You know what I mean."
Yeah. I do.
"I've never done this before," he continues, still not meeting my eyes. "The dating thing. I don't know the rules. I don't know what's expected. I'm probably going to fuck it up." He laughs, but it's not a happy sound. "Actually, I'm definitely going to fuck it up. It's not a question of if, it's a question of how badly."
"You're here," I point out. "You invited me to something you love. You taught me something new. You're trying."
"Is that enough?"
I think about it. Really think. He's not offering me forever. He's not even offering me certainty. Just this—effort, presence, the willingness to figure it out. The willingness to try something he's never tried before because he wants to try it with me.
"For now," I say. "Yeah. It's enough."
He nods slowly, tension draining from his shoulders. We eat in silence for a while, working through our respective mountains of food. Under the table, his foot finds mine. Not playing footsie—just touching. Resting there.
A point of connection.
He grabs the check before I can reach for it, pulling it across the table. "I invited you. I pay."
"That's not—"
"It's how it works." He's already pulling out his wallet. "You can get the next one."
The next one. He's already planning a next one.
Outside, the morning has warmed up, the September sun bright and pleasant. Our bikes are parked side by side, his sleek black monster next to my customized Harley. They look good together. Complementary.
He stops at his bike, hands in his pockets, looking at me with an expression I can't quite read. Nervous, maybe. Or hopeful.
"This was nice," he says.
"Yeah. It was."
He steps closer. Cups my face in one hand—gentle, careful, giving me time to pull away if I want to.
I don't want to.
He kisses me. Quick, just a press of lips, almost chaste compared to what happened in his garage. But it's in public. In daylight. In a parking lot where anyone driving by could see.
"See you at the bar," he says, and swings onto his bike.
I stand there watching him drive away, lips tingling, smelling like gunpowder and gun oil and him.
We shot guns together. We ate breakfast. He kissed me in public.
It's not a promise. It's not a guarantee. But it's a start.
Chapter 10
Ash
