Page 30 of Bossy Mountain Daddies
"Yeah." Her smile widens. "But if I hate it, you owe me dinner."
"Deal." I return her smile, trying to ignore how goddamn happy I feel about spending the afternoon with her. "I'll grab some things for a picnic. Pack a sweater—it gets cooler up there, even on hot days."
"A picnic?" She looks pleased. "That sounds nice."
"Nothing fancy," I warn her. "Just something to eat by the water."
"I'm not exactly used to fancy these days," she says with a laugh. "When do we leave?"
"Give me half an hour to get everything ready?" I'm already making mental notes—food, drinks, the blanket I keep in the office closet.
"I'll go change," she says, already moving toward the stairs.
I watch her go, thinking about how she'll feel pressed against my back, arms around my waist, the wind whipping through her hair. I'm definitely in trouble here. But as I head to the kitchen to raid the fridge, I can't bring myself to care.
Twenty minutes later, Skye emerges wearing jeans, boots, and a light sweater tied around her waist, just like I suggested.Her hair's pulled back in a ponytail, practical for the ride. She looks nervous but determined, her chin lifted in that way I'm starting to recognize—it’s the look she gets when she's pushing herself out of her comfort zone.
"Ready?" I ask, shouldering the backpack I've packed with the blanket, sandwiches, fruit, and a couple beers.
"I think so," she says, eyeing the Harley parked in front of the bar. "That's bigger than I expected."
I run my hand over the leather seat, feeling a familiar pride. Then, I toss the backpack into the top box. "This old girl's carried me across half the country. She's solid." I pause, watching Skye's expression. "Listen, before we go, I thought we could walk over to Jed's and check on your car."
Skye’s face lights up. "That’d be great. I've been meaning to stop by to see how it’s going."
We walk the short distance to Jed's garage, Skye keeping pace beside me. Main Street's quiet, just a few locals nodding as we pass. I'm acutely aware of Skye beside me, and how easily she's slipped into the rhythm of this town.
Jed's bent over the open hood of a Honda when we walk in, cigarette dangling from his lips. He straightens when he sees us, wiping his hands on a rag.
"Well, if it ain't the bar crew," he says, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Come to check on your baby?"
Skye nods, moving toward the far corner of the garage where her Mustang sits.
"Any luck with the parts?" she asks, running her hand along the hood like she's soothing a sick child.
Jed takes a drag of his cigarette. "Got a lead on that cylinder head. Guy in Utah thinks he might have one that'll fit. Been going back and forth on measurements."
"That's good news, right?" Skye looks between us, hopeful.
"Could be," Jed says carefully. "If it's the right one, and if it's in decent shape. Still need to track down a few other bits and pieces, but it's progress."
I watch Skye's expression, the mix of relief and something else. I feel a twist in my gut at the thought of her car getting fixed, of her driving away. It's selfish as hell. She doesn't belong here. She has a life waiting for her, plans that existed long before her car broke down in our little town.
"How long do you think?" I ask, the question coming out rougher than I intended.
Jed shrugs. "Week, maybe two at the outside. Depends on shipping, condition of the parts when they arrive."
Skye nods, accepting this. "Thanks for working so hard on it, Jed."
"She's a beauty," Jed says, nodding at the Mustang. "Worth the effort."
We say our goodbyes, and as we walk back toward my bike, I notice Skye's gone quiet.
"You okay?" I ask.
"Yeah," she says, then laughs softly. "Just trying to wrap my head around the idea of getting on that thing."
I stop beside the Harley, turning to face her. "Listen, I need you to know something. Your safety is the most important thing. If at any point you want me to slow down, or stop, or turn around—you just tap my shoulder, okay? I'll feel it."
