Page 7 of From the Wreckage
For a second, the rest of the world fades—the cars, the storefronts, the people. All I can see is her, illuminated by the sun.
I don’t think about the fact that I shouldn’t be staring at someone I’ve never met and don’t even know.
The light turns green, and a horn blows behind me. I break the connection, twist the throttle, and roll on, lecturing myself for the insane way I’m acting.
You’re here for solitude and peace. Not a beautiful brunette with hazel eyes that burn into your dark soul.
I’m halfway down the block when I hear a faint rattle cutting through the steady rumble of the Harley’s engine. I frown, cruise a little farther, but the sound only worsens. There’s a sharp, metallic edge to it now.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath.
I make a slow turn, scanning the street until I spot the sign for Kincaid’s Custom Motorcycle Repair & Restoration.
I pull up to the front and cut the engine. The large garage door is rolled up.
Removing my helmet, I head inside. The air is thick with the scent of motor oil and grease. A man in his early to mid-forties looks up from the bike he’s working on and wipes his hands on a rag. “Can I help you?” he asks.
“Yeah. Picked up a noise on the ride in.”
He looks out at my bike and then nods toward the lift. “Bring it in.”
I do as he asks, then swing my leg over it and stand beside him. “I appreciate this.”
“No problem.”
He’s efficient, checking the bike without asking a dozen questions or trying to sell me things I don’t need.
“New in town?” he asks, glancing at me over the handlebars.
I tense, then nod. “Yeah.”
“Welcome to Silverpine.” He tightens a bolt, straightens, and smiles. “We should go for a ride sometime. Maybe hit Timberline. Best wings in town.”
My first instinct is to say no. To keep my distance.
But for some reason, I find myself nodding and saying, “Okay. Sounds great.”
We make a loose plan for the weekend before he goes back to work. The easy way he talks, no prying, no pressure, I can’t remember the last time I met someone like him.
Maybe Silverpine won’t be as lonesome as I thought.
CHAPTER 6
Brielle
The motorcycle is gone,yet my feet are still rooted to the concrete as I stand there with the package in hand, my thoughts still on what just happened.
I stepped outside, the warm, sticky summer heat clinging to my skin. The low, deep rumble of a motorcycle engine drew my attention. I glanced toward the street just as a Harley rolled into view. The rider was clad in a helmet, a worn leather jacket, and dark blue jeans. His hands rested easily on the grips, like he was born in the seat.
I stopped moving, my heartbeat thundering.He’s looking right at me.
My pulse skipped as we stared at each other across the short distance. I was frozen, unable to move my feet or tear my eyes away, even as I lectured myself.This is wrong. You’re dating Joey. You have no business staring at a stranger.
But I couldn’t stop staring. And neither could he.
His gaze burned through the visor and into my skin. I don’t know why, but I liked the way it felt on me.
The light turned green, and he finally turned his head, rolling through the intersection and out of sight.
