Oh, that sounds amazing. Only when I glance at my watch, my heart sinks. “It’s eight-twenty. Anything still open will be closed by the time we get there.”
“Let me worry about that.” His tone is self-assured and brimming with the kind of confidence that makes me believe hecanmake the impossible happen.
The sensible part of me knows I should go home. But the curious side of my brain is winning. “Fine,” I say at last, slipping my hands into my pockets, trying to sound nonchalant. “Lead the way.”
Next to his motorcycle, he hands me the spare helmet. It feels less foreign the more times I use it. When Theo swings his leg over the bike and glances back, I don’t hesitate. I climb on behind him and wrap my arms around his waist, settling against his back as if we’ve done this a hundred times.
“Hold on,” he says over his shoulder.
“I remember,” I murmur, tightening my grip as the engine roars to life.
We leave Burger Chalet behind and merge onto theexpressway, heading south against a steady stream of red taillights. The warm night air rushes over my skin, carrying the faint scent of orange blossoms and salt from somewhere near the coast. Streetlights stretch into golden streaks as hotels and strip malls blur into a ribbon of color.
The vibration of the bike hums through my palms and into my chest. I hold on tighter, my fingers brushing the fabric of his shirt. Without his jacket, which he’s insisted I wear again, I feel the steady rise and fall of his breath and the shift of muscle as he leans into a turn. For just a second, his body goes taut, as if he’s aware of exactly where my hands are, before he exhales and relaxes again. My breath hitches, a sudden warmth blooming in my chest.
“You doing all right back there?”
“Never better,” I squeak.
About twenty minutes pass before Theo eases off the throttle and signals right. Up ahead, an enormous archway comes into view.
Neptune Bay Marine Park. It’s one of the area’s largest parks outside the heavy hitters like Universal and Disney. I’ve seen the TV commercials and glossy brochures advertising it everywhere since I arrived in Orlando, and I’ve been dying to get down here. Not just for the dolphins or the whale exhibits, but for their crown jewel—Trident’s Run. It’s a coaster that has sat at the very top of my bucket list for years.
Theo pulls into a reserved space and cuts the engine. Rows of empty turnstiles stand like silent sentries, and the massive fountains have been dialed back to a low, rhythmic hum.
“We’re too late. They’re closed,” I say, slipping the helmetoff.
“Not for us.” He swings off the bike and holds out a hand as I climb down. I hesitate, then take it.
A wizened security guard recognizes Theo instantly and waves us through without so much as glancing at our IDs. I’m not sure whether to be impressed or mildly horrified by the lack of actual security, but I let it slide as we step into the empty park.
The usual soundtrack of squealing children, splashing water, and looping announcements has been replaced by the soft hum of filtration pumps and the distant rush of waves from an unseen tank. The air smells faintly of salt and seaweed. Path lights reflect off glass enclosures, casting rippling patterns across the ground.
Some people might find it eerie, but I find it dreamy. Again—Private. Theme. Park. When would someone ever have the chance to have one of the world’s most popular amusement parks to themselves? Almost never, right? So why not soak it all in?
A tall man in a navy polo with a lanyard of keys jangling at his hip approaches us. “Evening, Mr. Riverton.”
“Evening, Marco.” Theo’s voice is relaxed in a way I’m not used to hearing. “This is Kaori, one of my newest junior engineers. Kaori, meet Marco, the park’s head of operations.”
Okay, I’m officially impressed. It’s one thing to have an old key card, but it’s another to be on a first-name basis with the head of operations. That’s not just connections, that’s a level of respect that usually takes years to build.
Marco grins as we shake hands. “So you’re the one getting a midnight field trip.”
“Something like that,” I say with a small smile.
Marco swipes a key card, and the inner gate unlocks with a softclick.
“How’s Trident’s Run holding up?” Theo asks.
Marco lets out a low whistle. “Still blowing people’s minds. You done good, kid.”
Trident’s Run is one of those coasters that’s part of coaster-design folklore. It plunges its riders through a massive 2.5-million-gallon aquarium filled with sharks and rays. A structural nightmare turned into a masterpiece.
As the realization clicks, my heart begins to beat faster. I stop in my tracks and look at Theo. “Hold on a second. We were literally just talking about this over dinner. Theo, did you design Trident’s Run?”
“It was a team effort.” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “All I did was come up with the launch system and the section of track that runs through the tank.”
I stare at him, then blink. “Theo, that’s not a team effort. You literally designed the heart of the entire attraction. That’s a flex.”
