Bree's eyes widened slightly. "You knew Bryn?"
"Not well. But enough to know she was the kind of person who made everyone around her better." He held her gaze, letting her see he meant it. "I'm sorry for your loss."
"Thank you." Her voice came out rough, and she cleared her throat. "She loved Copper Moon. Talked about it all the time. I thought," she paused, "I thought being here might help me feel close to her again."
"Is it working?"
"I don't know yet." She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "This morning I've been thinking about her a lot, contemplating on why I'm here, this week of all weeks, and what I should do about it."
"That makes sense." He meant it. "What do you paint?"
"Landscapes, mostly. Nothing professional, just," she shrugged, "something I've always done."
"You should keep doing it. Especially if it helps."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the noise of the café fading into background static. Hank couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this settled around someone new, this willing to just be present without needing to fill every second with words.
"Are you all right?" he asked finally. "After yesterday, I mean. Really, all right?"
"I'm fine. Promise." She studied him with those too-perceptive green eyes. "Are you?"
The question caught him off guard. Most people didn't ask if he was all right. They saw what they wanted to see: a former Marine, a racer, someone who had his life together enough to chase a championship. They didn't see the nights he couldn't sleep, the phantom pain in his leg, the weight of knowing this race was his last shot at something better.
"I'm good," he said, because it was easier than the truth.
Bree's expression suggested she didn't quite believe him, but she didn't push. Instead, she changed the subject.
"So what happens next? With the race, I mean."
"Qualifying rounds start tomorrow. Then eliminations, then the final on Sunday."
"And you're confident? With Julie?"
"As confident as I can be." He thought about Team Red Dragon, about Marcus Steele's predatory smile, about all the ways this could go wrong. "It's a good bike. We've done everything we can to prepare."
"But?"
"But there are always variables you can't control."
She nodded like she understood. Maybe she did. Loss taught you that lesson better than anything else.
The waitress appeared at his table across the café, setting down plates of food, and Colby caught his eye with a pointed look.
"I should go," Hank gestured toward his friends, "they're waiting."
"Of course." But she looked almost disappointed. "Thanks for coming over."
He stood, then hesitated. The words came out before he'd fully thought them through.
"We're going to the pier for lunch later. The guys and I. If you wanted to join us."
Bree's eyebrows rose. "Is this a peace offering? For yesterday?"
"Maybe." He allowed himself a small smile. "We can take my truck."
She bit her lower lip, considering, and Hank found himself holding his breath waiting for her answer. When had he started caring so much about whether a woman he barely knew wanted to have lunch with him?
"I'll think about it," she said finally.
