Then mine. Sauce dark and glossy, steam rising between us.
Savannah glances down, then back up at me, that amused look still sitting on her mouth like she’s holding onto the moment. “Well,” she says, reaching for a napkin, “I guess that settles it.”
I pick up my fork. “Told you I don’t mislabel things.”
The waitress smiles, clearly clocking the vibe now. “Y’all need anything else?”
Savannah shakes her head. “I think we’re good.”
“Enjoy,” the waitress says, and disappears back toward the kitchen.
Savannah looks at the food again, then laughs softly. “Okay. If this is what dates look like with you, I might be in trouble.”
I watch her for a second, then finally smile. “You’ll survive.”
She meets my gaze, eyes warm and curious. “I’m starting to think I might.”
SEVEN
SAVANNAH
The air hitsme the second we step outside. It’s colder than it was when we came in, the kind of chill that sneaks under your clothes and settles against your skin. I pull my arms in without thinking, breath fogging faintly in front of me.
Lucky notices immediately. He doesn’t comment on it. He just turns, pops open one of the saddlebags, and pulls out a jacket like this was always part of the plan.
“Here,” he says.
Before I can argue, he steps closer and eases it over my shoulders. His movements are unhurried, careful. He waits for me to slide my arms into the sleeves, then tugs the collar up, fingers brushing my neck.
It smells like him. Leather and something clean underneath it.
“Better?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah. Thank you.”
He gives me a small look, like that answer matters more than it should, then reaches for my helmet.
“Hold still,” he says.
I do.
He lifts it and settles it over my head, the same way he did earlier. Slow. Intentional. His hands linger just long enough to make my pulse jump, thumbs adjusting the padding, fingers gentle as he fastens the strap under my chin.
“You good?” he asks.
“Mm-hmm.”
I hear the faint click as the comm connects. His voice comes through again, close and steady. “Same rules as before.”
I smile inside the helmet. “I trust you.”
He pauses for half a second. Then, quieter, “I know.”
The ride back is different.
Still fun. Still thrilling in that way that makes my breath catch when we accelerate, when the road curves and the world tilts. But it’s softer now. Easier. I settle against him without thinking, my arms wrapping around his waist like that’s where they belong.
The vibration of the bike hums through me, familiar now. Comforting.
