“I want to know I was not done at forty-two,” he said. “That the leg, the discharge, all of it did not write the last chapter for me.”
She did not look away. “You really think one race decides that?”
“No.” He let out a breath. “I think I decided that. I just attached it to the race because it gave me something to aim at.”
Bree studied him, her expression open and clear in a way that made him feel too seen.
“For what it's worth,” she said, “you do not look done.”
His mouth tugged. “No?”
“You look tired.” Her eyes softened, taking in the lines at the corners, the shadows from long nights. “You look like someone who has carried more than his share for a long time. But you also look very alive when you are on that bike.”
He swallowed. The way she said it, like she had watched him closely enough to notice the difference, landed deep.
“Bryn would have liked you,” she added. “She always had a thing for men who fixed things. She used to say the way a man treated an engine told you everything you needed to know about his heart.”
“Smart woman,” he said.
“The smartest.” Her hand slipped away from his arm, leaving a faint warmth behind. “She and Charlie spent their honeymoon here. They came back a few times with friends. She would bring me seashells and say I needed to stop painting other people’s scenery and come see this place for myself.”
“Why didn't you?”
She looked out over the water, lashes low. “Life. Work. Excuses. I told myself I would go next year. There is always a next year until there isn't.”
He knew that one in his bones.
“Blake said Copper Moon would shake me loose,” she said. “I thought he meant… quiet mornings, long walks, that kind of thing.”
“Instead, you got pit crews and exhaust fumes.” Hank tipped one shoulder. “He wasn't wrong, though.”
“No,” she admitted. “He wasn't.”
They sat there, side by side, while the waves rolled in and out in their steady rhythm. A kid’s laugh drifted faintly from the far end of the public beach, then faded again. Here, the silence settled softly rather than heavily.
Bree nudged his knee with hers. “So this is your hideout.”
“Yeah.”
“And you just handed it to me.”
“It seemed like you needed it more today.” He looked at her profile, the stubborn line of her jaw, the freckles across her nose that the sun had brought out. “You did say you came here to paint.”
Her mouth curved. “I did.”
“Bring your easel tomorrow,” he said. “Come early. Before the rest of the teams finish breakfast and turn the place into a circus.”
“While you are on the track,” she guessed.
“While I am on the track,” he confirmed. “You can paint without worrying about stray motorcycles.”
“I do like that part of the plan.” She angled toward him a little. “You're sure you don't mind?”
“If I minded, I would have taken the long way around and lost you in the dunes.”
Her eyes sparked. “You couldn't lose me if you tried, James.”
“That sounds like a challenge.”
