He should say no. Should go back to his table, where Brian and Colby were undoubtedly watching this entire interaction and planning new ways to torture him about it. But he found himself pulling out the chair and sitting before he'd consciously made the decision.
"I really am sorry about yesterday," he said. "I wasn't paying attention."
"To be fair, neither was I." She traced the rim of her coffee cup. "My friend Carmen says I have a habit of getting lost in my own head."
"Carmen, that's," he nodded toward the counter where the dark-haired woman was now chatting with the cashier, "your friend?"
"I met her this morning, actually. We shared a table at the hotel because the restaurant was packed." Bree's expression softened. "She's nice. Easy to talk to."
"Unlike me?"
"I didn't say that." But her smile suggested she was teasing. "Though you do have a habit of nearly killing people and then brooding about it."
"I don't brood."
"You absolutely brood. You have the posture for it. Very," she waved her hand, "stoic and intense."
Hank felt his lips twitch despite himself. "Stoic and intense?"
"It's not a criticism. It's," she paused, "actually kind of attractive, if I'm being honest."
The words hung between them, unexpected and charged. Bree's cheeks flushed pink, as if she hadn't meant to say that out loud, but she didn't take it back.
"You ride like a bat out of hell," she added quickly, clearly trying to redirect. "Is that a racing thing, or just your natural state?"
"A little of both." He relaxed slightly, grateful for the change in subject. "Though yesterday I was just distracted."
"By?"
You, he thought. By green eyes and blonde hair and the way you looked standing on that beach like you belonged there.
"The race," he said instead. "Big week coming up."
"The Copper Moon Cup." She nodded. "My friend Blake failed to mention it was happening this weekend when he booked my trip."
"You didn't come for the race?"
"I came for peace and quiet." Her laugh was soft and self-deprecating. "Shows what I know about planning."
"To be fair, Copper Moon is usually quiet. Just not this week."
"So everyone keeps telling me." She took a sip of her coffee. "That bike you were working on this morning, is that the one you're racing?"
He shouldn't be surprised she'd seen him. The hotel overlooked the track, and he'd been out there since dawn. Still, knowing she'd been watching sent an unexpected warmth through his chest.
"Julie," he said. "1942 Crocker. She belonged to my grandfather."
"Julie." Bree's expression softened. "That's right. You named her after someone?"
"My grandmother. She was," he paused, "the reason my grandfather started racing in the first place. He wanted to impress her."
"Did it work?"
"They were married for fifty-three years, so I'd say yes."
Bree smiled, but something in her eyes shifted. A shadow passed across her face, there and gone so quickly he almost missed it. Grief, he realized. The kind that surfaced unexpectedly, triggered by stories of long marriages and lifelong love.
"Your sister," he said quietly. "Bryn. I remember her from high school. She was," he searched for the right words, "hard to forget."
