Page 141 of Fire Island
“Not as much as the girl I’m about to bring happiness to with just one ride around the coastline.”
Reese rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that sappy shit’s gotta stop.”
“That’s what he said, bud.”
“Whatever.” He runs a hand through his hair, his biceps flexing under his T-shirt.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” I say with a chuckle.
“Fuck, no. No woman is going to have me”—he waves a hand at me—“like this.” He’s shaking his head, and it’s all I can do to not laugh at him outright.
Poor boy, he has no fucking clue.
“Right, time waits for no man, and neither does the New York bus line.”
I push the handlebars as Reese pushes the rear. We get her onto Firefly, and I roll her up the deck by the cabin and kick the stand down. She really is a beauty.
Restored, re-loved.
“You be alright here for a few days by yourself?”
I wait, studying his face. The last time we left him here alone...
“I’m good.”
“Don’t forget the lamp. The harvest needs to be done every couple days or things turn. Close up downstairs every night in case a storm rolls in.”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Get the hell out of here.” He plucks up my overnighter and tosses it at me. I catch it and slide it under the bike before tying both to the side of the cabin in case we hit choppy water.
“Thanks, bud. See you in a few.”
Reese waves and wanders up the jetty.
I fire up Firefly and throttle her out into the water. We aim for the east shoreline, and my excitement grows. I have missed my little woman every single minute she’s been gone. And I intend on making sure she knows just how much.
How much she is loved.
Every mile we cover today and the next is the start of our new life together. Here’s hoping all went well with Livvy.
Twenty minutes later, I glide the old fishing boat into our slip, where Emmett awaits with bated breath. This is the first time he’s seen the bike in almost twenty years. Somehow, everything feels like it’s come full circle. Our lives, our loves. Our past catching up as we forge ahead and make anew on old promises and heal old wounds.
I let the mooring lines fly from my hands, and Em catches them, securing them to the dock. I slide the ramps into place and her bumpers over the gunwale, running a hand over the Indian.
“She came up great, bud,” Em says.
“Sure did.” I untie the bike, flicking the kickstand up with my foot. He takes one side, I take the other. We roll the big old girl up and over one ramp and down the other. Safely on the dock, Em slides the ramps back onto Firefly’s deck.
“Better be going. The bus is notorious for being early.” He nods toward the road.
I grab my jacket and an extra helmet from the cabin before swinging my leg over the Indian. Em beams at me.
I flick the kickstand back, and my gut flips.
It’s been almost twenty years . . .
Sucking in a long, lung-stretching, heart-pounding breath, I fire her up.
And . . .
