Page 31 of Thor

He dangled the keys impatiently. "To ride. You're bored, restless. This will help."

I shook my head emphatically. "No way. I've never—I don't—"

"Everyone's gotta learn sometime." He was already moving toward the door, clearly expecting me to follow. "Got security covering all approaches to the property. You'll be safe."

"It's not security I'm worried about," I muttered, but reluctantly followed him outside.

The morning air was crisp against my face as I trailed Thor around the side of the cabin, past a tool shed I'd noticed before, and toward what looked like a small hill covered in the same cedar siding as the main house. As we got closer, I realized it wasn't a hill at all—it was a detached garage, partially built into the sloping terrain, its roof covered with growing things to blend into the landscape.

Thor unlocked a heavy door that swung open silently on well-oiled hinges. He flipped a switch, and lights flickered on inside, revealing a space I'd never imagined.

"Holy shit," I whispered before I could stop myself.

Inside the camouflaged garage gleamed five motorcycles, each one more beautiful than the last. They were arranged in a semicircle, each on its own stand, each clearly cherished. There was a massive black cruiser with what looked like custom flame detailing along its tank. Next to it sat a sleek, modern sport bike in deep blue. A classic Harley in forest green occupied the center position, its chrome polished to mirror brightness. Two more bikes—one a stripped-down café racer and another that looked vintage but immaculately restored—completed the collection.

The space smelled of oil, leather, and metal polish. Tools hung on the walls in precise arrangements—wrenches organized by size, specialized equipment I couldn't identify, and what looked like spare parts carefully labeled in bins.

"This is . . ." I struggled for words.

"Myotherworkshop. My private workshop. You’re the first person I’ve had in here." Thor moved among the bikes with obvious pride, his hand trailing reverently over the green Harley. "Built most of these myself."

Thor bypassed the larger, more intimidating machines and stopped beside the smallest bike in the corner—the vintage one. Up close, I could see it was a Honda restored to pristine condition.

"We'll start with this one," he said, patting its worn leather seat. "Built it myself when I was sixteen. First bike I ever owned."

My stomach flipped with sudden panic. "I can't—I've never—" The words tumbled out as I took an involuntary step backward.

Thor looked up, his expression softening slightly. "It's the easiest one to learn on. Low center of gravity. Not too powerful."

I shook my head, my copper hair catching the light from the garage windows. "Thor, I'm an accountant,not an outlaw."

He laughed. "You know, riding a motorcycle isn’t a crime. And everyone starts somewhere." He was already pulling what looked like a spare helmet from a shelf. "You drive a car, right? Same basic principles. Clutch, throttle, brakes."

I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to look stern despite the nervous flutter in my stomach. "And when I crash your precious bike?"

The corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been the beginning of a smile. "You won't. I'll be right there."

Before I could form another protest, Thor was handing me a helmet—matte black with no logos or decorations—and wheeling the vintage Honda toward the door.

"Just try," he said, and something in his voice made it impossible to refuse. Not a command, but almost . . . a request. “It’s got to be more entertaining than polishing countertops.”

Outside, Thor guided me to a flat clearing behind the cabin. The space was maybe fifty yards across, ringed by pine trees, with ground that had been cleared of rocks and debris. I wondered if he'd prepared this area specifically for riding.

"Put this on." He handed me a leather jacket that smelled faintly of cedar and something distinctly male. It was obviously his, and it swallowed me completely when I slipped it on.

He helped me with the helmet, his fingers brushing my jaw as he adjusted the strap. "Too tight?"

I shook my head, not trusting my voice. My heart was hammering against my ribs, and I wasn't sure if it was the prospect of riding or Thor's proximity causing it.

Thor positioned the bike and held it steady as I awkwardly swung my leg over, settling onto the seat. The ground seemed much farther away than I'd expected.

"Feet flat," he instructed, tapping my ankle with his boot. "When you're stopped, that's how you balance."

I planted my feet firmly, feeling the bike's weight between my legs. It was simultaneously heavier and more balanced than I'd imagined.

Thor moved closer, his chest nearly against my back as he reached around to place my hands on the handlebars. "Left hand: clutch." He wrapped my fingers around the lever. "Squeeze to disengage the engine from the wheels. Like shifting gears in a car."

His hand enveloped mine completely, warm and calloused. He squeezed my fingers to demonstrate the motion.

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