And for the first time since this whole thing started, I know exactly where this is headed. I just don’t plan on stopping it.
I ease the bike out of the lot slow at first, giving her a second to get used to the weight, the balance, the way the engine hums through the frame. Her arms tighten around my waist immediately, fingers curling like she’s afraid I might disappear if she lets go.
I smile inside the helmet.
“You good back there?” I ask through the comm.
She laughs, bright and surprised, the sound warm in my ear. “Yeah. Oh my God. Yeah.”
That laugh does something to me.
I roll on the throttle just a little, letting the bike stretch its legs. Nothing aggressive. Just enough to show her what it feels like when the road opens up and the world narrows down to wind and motion and control.
Her grip tightens.
“Lucky,” she says, laughing again. “You’re doing that on purpose.”
“Maybe,” I admit. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
“It’s not,” she says quickly. “It’s… fun.”
Good.
We hit the edge of town and I take the turn I always take, the one that leads away from traffic and into long stretches of back road where the asphalt rolls and the trees crowd in close. Thekind of road you ride when you want to feel it, not just get somewhere.
I lean into the first curve, slow and easy. I feel her hesitate, then follow, her body moving with mine instead of against it.
“Just stay loose,” I tell her. “Let the bike do the work.”
“I’m trusting you,” she says again, softer this time.
I don’t answer with words. I answer by riding clean. Smooth. Confident. I give her enough speed to thrill without scaring her, enough lean to make her stomach flip, enough straightaway to make her laugh when the wind catches her breath.
Every time she laughs, she squeezes tighter.
Every time she relaxes, I push it just a little more.
We ride like that for a while, forty minutes of curves and sun and heat and that quiet rhythm that settles in when everything clicks. I show her how it feels to accelerate out of a turn, how the bike hums when it’s happy, how the road starts to feel like something you’re dancing with instead of fighting.
“You’re smiling,” she says suddenly.
I grin. “How would you know?”
“I can hear it.”
I chuckle. “Yeah. Guess I am.”
We crest a small hill and the smell hits me before the sign does. Smoke. Sweet and heavy. I slow and take the turn into a gravel lot, dust kicking up behind us as I roll to a stop.
I kill the engine and the quiet rushes in, broken only by cicadas and the low murmur of voices drifting from the building.
I swing my leg off and steady the bike while she dismounts, careful but confident now. She pulls off the helmet, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, eyes bright.
She looks at me like she just discovered something new about the world.
“That was amazing,” she says. “I get it now.”
I take my helmet off and hang it on the handlebar. “Told you.”
