Page 52 of Rio's Release

He nods like he knows, but he doesn’t. I suppose he thinks this is about my father. He couldn’t be more wrong, but I don’t have the guts to tell him the truth. In fact, I never want him to find out.

He glances around the diner. “So, if you won’t come to me, I’ll have to come to you. Though it seems like you don’t want to be seen with me here, either. So, how we gonna work this out?”

“It’s impossible.”

“I don’t believe that. Shelby, I just spent almost a decade in a cell. Now that I’m out, anything is possible.” He gently lifts my chin with the side of his index finger. “Our clubhouse is miles outside of town. Been remodeling it the last few weeks. I’d love for you to see it. Can you take a ride with me?”

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

“I have to get back to work.”

“When’s your next free day?”

“Sunday.”

“Sunday, then. I’ll come pick you up.”

“I’ll drive myself.”

“You’re a stubborn thing, aren’t you?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Nope. There’s no problem you could possibly reveal to me that would change the way I feel about you, Shelby.”

“You sound like this is already a done-deal. It’s not.”

“I know that, but I’m a determined man who knows what he wants and is willing to put in the effort. You’re worth all the effort it’s gonna take, sweetheart.”

His words envelop me like a warm blanket. To be wanted by this man is overwhelming.Everythingabout him is overwhelming. There’s a table between us, just like there was that first time I visited him in prison. I latch onto the memory, and the question tumbles from my mouth. “Do you remember that first time I came to visit you in prison?”

“Every second of it, pretty girl.”

“I wanted to reach across the table and touch your hand, but I knew it wasn’t allowed.”

He does now what he couldn’t then. “Like this?”

I nod, feeling the warmth of his rough hand. His thumb starts a slow brush across my knuckles. “It’s a simple thing, but I wanted it so badly,”

He shifts and brings our palms touching, threading our fingers together. “You like to hold hands, baby? I’ll spend a lifetime holding your hand.”

I withdraw mine, the old anxiety flaring even though my brain knows there’s nothing to fear with this man. “A lifetime? You’re really sure of yourself.”

“I’m sure of us. Not taking anything for granted—just a feeling I’ve got. Goes down to my bones, and it’s not wrong, Shelby.”

We finish and rise from the table.

“Don’t forget your wallet.” I point to where it lies by the napkin holder.

“Thanks,” he grumbles, sliding it from the table. “The guys would have a field day if I’d had to ride back out here to get my wallet.”

We walk to the shop, holding hands, and I take a deep breath, fighting the ever-present anxieties that try to bubble up. With Rio its different. It feels good. It feels right. With Rio I feel safe again.

He stops next to his motorcycle. “You ever ridden?”

I shake my head.

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