They rode in companionable silence for a long stretch, just the rhythm of the engine, the hum of the road, and her body curved around his.
Chapter 25
They reached Austin as the sun dipped low, the sky streaked with a mix of red and violet. Rush hour barely slowed them, thanks to Vince’s effortless handling of the bike, navigating the congested streets like he’d been born to it.
When they veered off the busy main road into a quiet neighborhood, Erica straightened. Large homes sat back from the street behind trimmed hedges and towering trees. The farther they rode, the grander the houses became.
He turned onto a curving drive shaded by sprawling live oaks. The house came into view bit by bit: white brick, black shutters, and a deep wraparound porch. Tall windows reflected the last of the light. The entire estate looked expensive but understated. Refined rather than showy.
When he cut the engine, silence returned, broken only by cicadas and the faint ticking of the cooling bike. He dismounted and steadied her as she swung her leg over.
Her knees wobbled but he caught her before she could tip, one arm firm around her waist.
“I’ve got you,” he said, a hint of a grin. “All that horsepower takes some getting used to.”
She pulled off her helmet as soon as she could stand. Her ponytail had loosened, leaving wind-tossed wisps around her face. She smoothed what she could then he stepped in, brushing a stubborn strand from her cheek with his thumb. It was a small gesture, unthinking, easy, but she felt it.
“You’re good,” he murmured.
“Thanks.” She smiled, but it faltered when she looked past him at the house. “You grew up here?”
“Yeah.”
As he grabbed their stuff from the saddlebags, she took in the scale, the manicured grounds, the price tag she couldn’t imagine.
“My mother’s family came from old oil money,” he said. “Comfortable, not obscene. My dad was a successful attorney before he was appointed to the federal bench.”
Austin influence. They came from different worlds entirely.
“You walked away from this?”
He shook his head. “Didn’t walk away. I just didn’t want a desk.”
The front door opened, and an older couple came out onto the porch. She and Vince climbed the front steps to meet them.
“My parents, Ray and Margie Cooper,” he said. “This is Erica.”
Ray had presence. He was tall, composed, and confident in a way that came from decades of authority. He was also a good-looking older man, giving her a glimpse of the Coop to come. Margie, in subtle makeup, highlighted blonde hair, a sleeveless button-down, and cuffed khakis, looked younger than she expected and like she played tennis. Or maybe pickleball.
Margie moved first. “Vincent Cooper,” she called. “You made this poor woman ride all the way from San Antonio on that thing?”
“Short ride, beautiful day,” he replied.
“It was my first time,” Erica explained. “But I actually enjoyed it.”
She rarely shook hands. She’d learned better years ago. But something in his mother’s open expression made her extend hers, anyway.
“Mrs. Cooper—”
“None of that. It’s Margie, please.” She ignored her hand entirely and pulled her into a warm hug.
Erica stiffened for a moment, bracing for the usual rush of someone else’s emotions, but nothing happened. No static. No sense of wrongness. Only warmth and a welcome that caught her off-balance.
Ray stepped forward next, but Coop gently caught her right hand before she could extend it, drawing her close to his side. It was deliberate, protective, and not at all subtle.
“Mr. Cooper,” she said softly.
Ray glanced at his son. A moment of silent understanding passed between them. Then he smiled at her, not offering a handshake or a hug.
