He froze in the middle of checking something on the bike, his whole body going still before he straightened slowly. "Yeah. How do you know that?"
For the first time since their collision, she smiled, a real, genuine smile that transformed her face. She took a couple of steps back toward him, the morning suddenly feeling full of possibility rather than disaster.
"I think we went to high school together. I'm Bree Spencer. I was a sophomore when you were a senior. You played football, as I recall. Quarterback, right? You threw the winning touchdown at homecoming."
Something shifted in his expression as he studied her, his eyes moving over her face as if trying to reconcile the woman before him with a memory from decades past. He brushed his hands together absently, a nervous gesture that seemed at odds with his earlier confidence.
"You have a sister?" he said finally. "Bryn, I think."
The name hit her like a physical blow, the way it always did when spoken by someone who'd known her sister in the before times. Her smile turned wistful, tinged with a sadness that had become her constant companion.
"Yeah. I did." She rubbed her hands nervously on her hips, a self-soothing gesture she'd developed over the past year, and bit her lower lip before continuing. "She died last year."
She watched his face transform, the curiosity replaced by something softer, more genuine. His lips twitched, then turned down into a frown of genuine sympathy. "I'm sorry. As I recall, she was very sweet. She dated my friend Charlie."
"She married him, too," Bree said, finding comfort in talking about the life her sister had built. "They have two kids, Bobby and Carly. Twenty-two and twenty now. They look just like her."
"That must be hard for Charlie." There was understanding in his voice now, the kind that suggested personal experience with loss. "I lost touch with most of the folks back home."
"Yeah. Me too." The words came out softer than intended, carrying the weight of all the relationships that had fallen away after Bryn's death, all the people who didn't know what to say to her anymore.
She busied herself with picking up her wooden easel, needing something to do with her hands, needing to move past this moment of unexpected connection. The easel had survived the morning's chaos intact, its worn wood smooth under her fingers.
She looked back at Hank just as his friends arrived, close enough now that she could see their faces. The blonde one had bright blue eyes and dimples, the kind of face that probably had been getting him out of trouble since kindergarten. The sandy-haired one looked more serious, his expression already suspicious as he looked between her and Hank.
"Sorry our reintroduction was... abrupt," she said, attempting a smile. "Good luck with the race."
She nodded at the other two men as she began walking toward the hotel, her arms full of salvaged art supplies. She could feel Hank's eyes on her as she walked, could feel the weight of his gaze like a physical touch. Unable to resist, she bent forward to pick up her paint case from where it had landed, taking perhaps a bit longer than necessary, aware that her capri pants were probably providing quite a view.
When she straightened and glanced back, she caught him looking. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes, a heat that made her stomach flutter in a way it hadn't in a very long time.
Behind him, the beach was coming alive with the morning sun, the copper light turning everything it touched into something magical. She could hear his friends approaching, could hear the questions that would surely come. But for just a moment longer, it was just the two of them, standing on a beach at sunrise, connected by shared history and an almost-accident that had somehow become something else entirely.
She thought about the broken canvas in her hand, about how she'd planned to paint the sunrise, to capture the peace and beauty of Copper Moon Beach. Instead, she'd nearly been run over by a man on a motorcycle named Julie, a man she'd known in another lifetime, in the before times when her sister was alive, and the future seemed certain.
Maybe Blake had known exactly what he was doing when he sent her here. Maybe Copper Moon Beach, with its copper light and racing motorcycles and men who named their bikes after women, was exactly what she needed. Not peace, perhaps, but something else. Something that made her feel alive in a way she'd forgotten was possible.
As she walked back toward the hotel, she could hear Hank's friends reaching him, could hear the low rumble of male voices discussing the morning's events. She didn't look back again, but she knew, with a certainty that surprised her, that this wasn't over.
This was just the beginning.
Chapter 4
Hank stared at the empty racetrack, his mind replaying yesterday's practice runs. Julie had performed flawlessly, but he couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't enough. Not yet.
"Hey, daydreamer!" Brian's voice cut through his thoughts. "You planning to stand there all morning, or are you actually going to help us prep?"
Hank turned to find Brian and Colby approaching, matching grins on their faces. They'd been his crew for three years now, and he knew that look. They were about to give him hell.
"I'm thinking," Hank said.
"Thinking?" Colby laughed. "Is that what we're calling it now? Because from where I'm standing, it looked more like mooning over a certain blonde from the beach."
Heat crept up Hank's neck. "I wasn't..."
"Oh, he's blushing," Brian announced loudly enough that a few nearby teams turned to look. "Guys, our fearless driver is blushing."
"Will you two knock it off?" Hank grabbed a wrench from the toolbox, more for something to do with his hands than any actual need for it. "I just met her yesterday."
