I stop dead in my tracks.
"Holy shit,” I breathe.
Madison giggles beside me, but I barely hear her. “What?” she asks.
"Is that—" I move closer, drawn like a moth to flame. "Thorne, what year is this?”
The motorcycle is stunning. It’s all sleek lines and custom paintwork in midnight blue and silver with gold accents that catch the light. Vintage aesthetic meets modern precision. I know this bike. The shape of the tank, the curve of the fenders, the—
“Eight-five.” He straightens off the Ducati, arms uncrossing. His weight shifts from one foot to the other. Then he stills, watching my face like he's waiting for a verdict.
My hands shake as I skim them along the leather seat. An '85 T140. Just like mine. I circle around, drinking in every detail. The frame has that telltale patina of age. The original finish is worn smooth in places from decades of handling. But the engine gleams, rebuilt. New suspension. Hand-stitched leather seat and matching saddle bags. Performance brakes. The tank has been restored to perfection with custom gold pinstriping.
“This must have cost a fortune. Full restorations like this…”
"You said you missed your Bonnie." His voice is carefully casual. "Figured I'd find you one. "
“Are you already sick of me being your passenger princess?” I joke. I have to, or I’m going to cry from all the emotions bubbling up in me.
"Not at all." The heat in his voice could ignite bourbon fumes, but he seems to catch himself, glancing at Madison, who's watching us with furrowed suspicion. He clears his throat. "But you said you missed riding. Figured it was time to get you back on a Bonnie."
"This is insane," I mutter, running my fingers lightly over the leather seat, over the restored tank. The craftsmanship is exquisite. Every stitch perfect, every detail considered. "You tracked down an '85, had her completely rebuilt—"
"You said you missed her. I wanted to give that back to you."
I look at the gorgeous, ridiculous, over-the-top gesture that is so perfectly Thorne it hurts. Then I look at him, standing there trying to pretend he doesn't care whether I accept it or not, his ears still pink.
If I'm not careful, I could fall for this man.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ivy
I shouldn't go riding with him. Shouldn't go anywhere with him, not when every moment together makes me forget this is temporary. That he's keeping things from me. Important things.
But here I am anyway, standing in front of a fully restored 1985 Triumph Bonneville that he somehow found, rebuilt, and customized forme.
"I can't believe I'm saying this, but..." I shake my head, unable to fight the smile spreading across my face even as my eyes burn. "Hand me a helmet. Let's take her for a ride."
His answering grin is pure triumph. "That's my girl."
The possessiveness in those three words should bother me. Instead, they send warmth flooding through my chest.
"Wait." Madison steps forward, her eyes huge as she takes in the bikes. "Can I... could I maybe come too?"
Thorne and I exchange a glance. I can see him weighing the responsibility, the risk, what it means to take a kid who's not his on a ride. But then his expression softens in a way I've only seen a handful of times.
"You ever ridden before?" he asks Madison.
She shakes her head. "Never. But I really want to."
"Do you get motion sick? Scared of heights or speed?"
"No, no, and definitely not." She's practically bouncing on her toes. She glances between Thorne and me.“Please? I promise I'll be good, I'll do whatever you say, I—"
"Alright." Thorne holds up a hand, fighting a smile, and looks at me. “Are you good with this?”
I shrug out of my jacket and hand it to Madison. “Only if you wear this.”
