It wasn't a yes, but it wasn't a no either. Hank would take it.
"Think hard," he said, then walked back to his table before he could say something stupid.
Brian and Colby were grinning like idiots when he sat down.
"Smooth," Brian said. "Real smooth."
"Shut up."
"Did she say yes?" Colby asked.
"She said she'd think about it."
"That's basically a yes," Brian declared. "In girl speak, 'I'll think about it' means 'yes, but I don't want to seem too eager.'"
"How would you know?" Colby asked. "When's the last time you talked to a woman?"
"I talk to women all the time."
"Your sister doesn't count."
While they bickered, Hank let his gaze drift back to Bree's table. She was talking to Carmen again, but even from across the café, he could feel the moment she glanced his way. Their eyes met, and she smiled.
Just a small curve of her lips, nothing dramatic, but it hit him like a punch to the chest.
"You're doomed," Colby said quietly, following his gaze. "Completely and utterly doomed."
Hank picked up his fork and focused on his breakfast, ignoring the knowing looks from his friends.
The problem was, Colby was probably right.
Chapter 7
The morning light painted Copper Moon Beach in shades of honey and rose, the kind of palette that made Bree's fingers twitch for her brushes. She'd set up her portable easel on the balcony of her room, her canvas angled to catch both the water and the distant racetrack where Hank had been working since dawn.
She told herself she was painting the landscape. The way the sun gilded the waves, the weathered pier jutting into the lake like an old friend refusing to leave. But her brush kept drifting toward the track, toward the small figure bent over a vintage motorcycle, his movements precise and purposeful even from this distance.
The breeze carried the scent of fresh air and motor oil, an oddly appealing combination that reminded her of yesterday's near disaster on the beach. Her cheeks warmed at the memory of Hank standing over her, all concern and quiet intensity, those dark eyes studying her like she mattered.
"You're being ridiculous," she murmured to her canvas, mixing cerulean blue with a touch of burnt sienna. "You came here to paint. To heal. Not to moon over some brooding motorcycle racer you just met."
But even as she said it, her gaze drifted back to the track.
A gull cried overhead, sharp and insistent, and for a moment Bree could have sworn she heard Bryn's laugh on the wind. Her sister had always loved the beach, had talked endlessly about Copper Moon after her visits here. The way the light changed throughout the day. The sound of the waves at night. The feeling that anything was possible when you stood at the edge of the water.
"I miss you," Bree whispered. "God, Brynie, I miss you so much."
The paint on her palette blurred slightly. She blinked hard, refusing to let tears fall. She'd promised herself she wouldn't cry today. Wouldn't let the grief swallow her whole the way it had for months after the funeral.
Instead, she focused on the canvas, letting her brush move with muscle memory rather than conscious thought. Bryn had always said that painting was Bree's way of processing the world, of making sense of things too big for words. Maybe that's what she needed now. To paint her way through the loss, through the loneliness, through the terrifying prospect of a future without her sister's laughter.
The motorcycle's engine roared to life on the track, a deep purr that seemed to vibrate through the morning air. Bree looked up in time to see Hank guide Julie around the first turn, his body moving with the bike like they were one creature. Even from here, she could see the concentration in his posture, the way he leaned into the curve with absolute trust.
It was beautiful. Dangerous and reckless and absolutely beautiful.
She added a slash of crimson to her canvas, then another, building the shape of the motorcycle against the pale morning light. The painting was becoming something she hadn't intended; not just a landscape, but a moment. A feeling. The strange pull she felt watching Hank race, the way her heart seemed to speed up in time with Julie's engine.
"You'd like him," she told Bryn's memory. "He's stubborn and serious, and he named his motorcycle after his grandmother. You always said I needed someone who wasn't afraid of commitment."
