Twenty minutes later, I'm on the back of his Harley, my arms locked around his waist, my cheek pressed against his leather cut. The engine rumbles beneath us as we wind through streets that grow progressively greener—residential neighborhoods giving way to tree-lined boulevards.
He pulls into the parking lot of a well-manicured building. The sign reads: Sunrise Manor Memory Care Facility.
"A nursing home?" I dismount and pull off my helmet, confused.
Zeus takes the helmet from me, hooks it on the handlebar, and extends his hand. "Come on. I don’t want to be late.”
Inside, the lobby is clean and cheerful—fresh flowers on the reception desk, a piano melody drifting from a speaker, and the scent of cinnamon and something baked hanging in the air.
"Robert!" A nurse behind the desk lights up when she sees Zeus. "We haven't seen you in a while."
I cock a brow up at Zeus. "Robert?"
“Just go with it," he mutters, his ears turning faintly pink.
More staff appear as we walk the corridor—every single one of them greeting him as Robert. A male orderly fist-bumpshim. A woman pushing a medication cart waves. By the third "Robert," I'm biting my cheek to keep from laughing.
I tug his hand. "Why is everyone calling you Robert?"
He whistles a few bars of something casual and doesn't answer—pretends he didn't hear me—which only makes it worse.
We round a corner into a sunlit common room, and a small, silver-haired woman in a floral cardigan looks up from a jigsaw puzzle.
Zeus, my big, tattooed, leather-wearing biker—crosses the room in three strides, bends down, and presses a gentle kiss to the old woman's papery cheek.
"Hello, Eleanor." His voice is softer than I've ever heard it.
Her rheumy eyes look up at him. “Do I know you?”
Zeus doesn’t miss a beat. “I don’t know, but I’d sure like to know a beautiful gal like you."
"Oh, stop it. You charmer you." She swats his arm, pink creeping into her wrinkled cheeks. “Has anyone ever told you that you look just like Robert Redford?”
Zeus grins widely. “A time or two.” Zeus reaches back for my hand and draws me forward. "Eleanor, this is London. My girl."
Eleanor's gaze moves between us, and her smile deepens until every crease on her face participates. "Well, Mr. Redford, you have a lovely lady friend.”
“Please,” Zeus tells her, “Call me Robert. I insist.”
I glance at Zeus. He just shrugs, that crooked grin in full effect, and mouths the wordalzheimers.
She takes my hand in both of hers—her skin is tissue-paper soft. "Sit, please."
I sit beside Eleanor and Zeus drops into the chair on Eleanor's other side, stretching his long legs out and crossing his arms over his chest. "Eleanor is Rowan's grandmother," he explains to me. "We've been buddies for a while now."
Zeus catches my eye over Eleanor's head and winks. This is the version of Zeus I’ve been seeing lately—a funny, cocky, charismatic man. And I love it.
"Now." Eleanor straightens in her chair with surprising authority. "I hear there's a shuffleboard tournament starting in ten minutes, and I need a team."
Zeus rubs his palms together. “You got one. The three of us will slaughter all competitors.”
My jaw drops. I lean over and whisper in Zeus’s ear, “I’ve never played shuffleboard in my life."
He whispers back, “Neither has Eleanor, and she's won three tournaments."
We make our way to the activity room where a shuffleboard court is taped onto the polished floor. Other residents gather—some in wheelchairs, some with walkers, all of them eyeing Zeus with a mixture of familiarity and amusement.
The tournament begins, and Zeus transforms.
