Her quiet retreat had turned into the epicenter of what appeared to be a major racing event, and she didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the irony.
A flash of movement caught her eye. Three men stood around a vintage motorcycle, their body language speaking of easy camaraderie and shared purpose. Even from here, she recognized the tallest one. The set of his shoulders, the way he moved with deliberate economy, the dark hair that needed a trim.
Hank.
Her stomach did an unexpected flip.
She'd thought about him more than she cared to admit since yesterday. The quiet intensity in his eyes when he'd made sure she was okay. The careful way he'd responded to her.
Now she watched him crouch beside the motorcycle, running his hand along something she couldn't see from this distance. One of his friends, the one with the ball cap, said something that made the other laugh, but Hank just shook his head, focused entirely on the bike.
She should go inside. Stop staring at a man she'd met once, briefly, under embarrassing circumstances. She had coffee to drink, breakfast to eat, and a day to plan that didn't involve watching strangers work.
Except he wasn't quite a stranger anymore, was he?
Bree took a sip of coffee, annoyed with herself. She'd come here to heal, to find the peace Bryn had always described when she talked about Copper Moon. She hadn't come here to develop an inconvenient fascination with a man who probably hadn't thought about her once since yesterday.
Hank straightened, wiping his hands on his jeans, and said something to his friends. They nodded, and all three turned toward a convoy of black trucks that had just pulled into the lot. Even from her balcony, Bree could feel the shift in atmosphere. The playful energy around Hank's team vanished, replaced by something harder.
Tense.
The new team piled out of their trucks with theatrical precision, all matching uniforms and swagger. The leader, a man with dark hair and sunglasses despite the early hour, surveyed the lot like he owned it.
When his gaze landed on Hank, Bree's hands tightened on her mug.
She couldn't hear what was said, but she saw Hank's friend grab his shoulder, saw the careful way Hank kept his hands loose at his sides. The other team's leader said something else, laughed, and turned away.
Hank stood there for a moment, his jaw tight, before his friends pulled him back toward their bike.
Bree's chest ached with an emotion she couldn't quite name. Something about the way Hank had held himself, controlled and contained, reminded her of the way he'd been yesterday. Careful. Guarded. Like a man who'd learned the hard way not to let people see too much.
Her stomach growled, loud enough to break through her thoughts. She glanced at her watch and realized she'd been standing here for nearly thirty minutes, watching Hank work and ignoring her own needs.
Classic.
She drained the last of her coffee and headed inside. A shower, fresh clothes, and breakfast would help clear her head. Maybe then she could figure out why Blake had sent her to Copper Moon during the biggest event of the season, and why she wasn't as annoyed about it as she should be.
The hotel restaurant was packed.
Bree stood in the doorway, taking in the full tables, the harried waitstaff, the buzz of conversation that filled every corner of the space. Apparently, everyone associated with the race had decided to have breakfast at the same time.
She almost turned around. The room felt too full, too loud, too much like the chaos she'd been trying to escape. But her stomach growled again, and she'd already checked; room service was backed up for at least an hour.
"Table for one?" The hostess appeared at her elbow, looking frazzled but determined.
"Yes, please."
The hostess scanned the room, her expression growing increasingly hopeless. "It's going to be at least a twenty-minute wait. Unless," she paused, "you'd be willing to share? We have a woman at a table for four who said she wouldn't mind company."
Bree hesitated. She'd come to Copper Moon to be alone, to process her grief without having to make small talk with strangers. But the alternative was going hungry or hiding in her room, and neither option appealed.
"That's fine," she said.
The hostess led her through the crowded restaurant to a table near the windows. A woman sat alone, her sleek black hair pulled back in a low ponytail, her attention focused on her phone. She looked up as they approached, and her face broke into a warm smile.
"Thank you for sharing your table," the hostess said. "This is..."
"Bree," Bree supplied. "Bree Spencer."
