“With everything.”
He nods slowly, like he understands more than I’ve said out loud.
“You don’t have to keep up tonight,” he says. “We’re parked.”
I smile at that.
“Thank you,” I say again. “Not just for the ride. For not making me feel stupid.”
“Why would I?”
“I showed up dressed for the wrong sport.”
He steps closer.
“You showed up.”
The simplicity of that hits me harder than it should.
“You could’ve bailed,” he continues. “Could’ve texted some excuse. But you didn’t. You climbed on.”
My pulse flutters.
“I don’t like quitting,” I admit.
“Good,” he says softly. “Neither do I.”
The space between us shifts again.
I don’t even think about it this time when I lean in.
The second kiss is deeper.
Slower.
His hands settle at my waist, firm but not demanding. Mine slide up his chest, over the leather, feeling the steady beat beneath.
It’s different from the first.
The first was curiosity.
This is choice.
When we part, my lips feel tingled and swollen, and my heart feels too big for my ribcage.
“That was… not terrifying,” I say breathlessly.
He grins. “Progress.”
“I think I might actually be brave.”
“You are,” he says simply.
As we walk back toward the bike, I feel lighter.
“So,” I say. “What does a bar owner do for fun when he’s not giving nervous girls city tours?”
He pretends to think about it.
