She’d done it before.Ivy had packed up at dawn and left half-finished walls behind.She had learned not to get tangled in places that wanted more than she was willing to give.Her life fit in her car for a reason.
Still, this unique place tugged at her in a quieter way. The people here had weight to them.History, the kind that lingered in the cracks of pavement and the rumble of engines long after they passed.
For the first time in a long while, Ivy caught herself wondering what it might feel like not to leave as soon as the paint dried.The thought surprised her.
Not forever.She wasn’t built for roots that deep, but longer than usual.Long enough to finish the mural without rushing.Long enough to learn names instead of faces and to sit at the same counter twice and have the waitress remember how she took her coffee.
For now, she didn’t walk away.The bike on the wall took shape under her hands, bold and grounded and alive.A piece of the town, filtered through her eyes.Not claiming it or changing it, Ivy listened and responded, letting the place speak through brick and color.
As the afternoon wore on, engines passed again, their growl rolling through her chest like distant thunder.Laughter drifted from somewhere nearby, rough and real and unguarded.The town breathed around her, and Ivy breathed with it, warm and steady and entirely her own.Maybe, she thought as she dipped her brush again, she’d stay a little while longer.
Chapter Three
Havoc took the cornertoo fast.He knew it the second he leaned into the turn, engine snarling beneath him, the road tightening sharper than memory said it would.The world narrowed to vibration and sound, to the familiar dance of throttle and brake, weight and balance.
The bike responded like it always did, loyal and vicious, tires biting into asphalt.Then someone stepped into the street.
Havoc swore and hauled the bike upright, brakes screaming as rubber burned and the back tire fishtailed.The front wheel missed her by inches.Inches close enough that he caught the sharp intake of her breath, saw her eyes go wide, felt the ghost of her heat as he skidded to a stop.
The engine died.Silence crashed in, loud and unforgiving.She stood there, frozen in the middle of the road, paint-splattered jeans and boots planted like she belonged exactly where she was.A canvas bag hung off one shoulder, charcoal streaked her fingers, and a rolled sketch poked out from under her arm.
She didn’t scream or jump back.Most people did one or the other.Instead, she just stood there with her head tipped slightly to the side, eyes sharp and assessing, like she was weighing her options.To tear into him or laugh it off.Maybe both.
The choice seemed to irritate him more than panic ever would.
Havoc swung his leg off the bike and impatiently ripped his helmet free.Adrenaline still burned hot under his skin, buzzing in his veins, making everything feel too loud and too close.
The near miss replayed in his head in ugly, stuttering frames.The flash of her body in the road.The scream of brakes.How easily it all could have gone wrong.
“What the hell are you doing?”he snapped.“You trying to get yourself killed?”
She straightened her spine like he’d just flicked a switch.
“Excuse you?”she shot back.Her voice didn’t waver.She merely sounded irritated.“You’re the one flying through town like it’s a damn racetrack.”
His jaw tightened.“This is my road,” he growled, jerking a thumb behind him toward the stretch of asphalt he’d ridden a thousand times.“You don’t step out without looking.”
