Page 18 of Boss Witch

“You’ll like it. Probably. Maybe.” With that ringing endorsement, she jerked her chin toward the Duc.

He got on, clipping his phone to the front of the bike as she settled in behind him. “Ever ridden behind before?”

“Do I look like I have?”

“That’s not something I can tell at a glance,” he said, firing up the Duc.

“In that case, the answer’s no. Anything I should know?”

Gavin gave her a few tips regarding the fine art of balancing as a passenger. For him, it was all theoretical, things he’d heard from other riders but had not tested personally. Their destination was a bit closer than the last, and he enjoyed putting the bike through its paces. Having Clem on the back turned out to be every bit as delightful as he’d imagined. Summer clothing did little to hide the heat and softness of her breasts against his back, and he fought a sharp spike of arousal.

This is why people risk death to ride these things. Well, that and the freedom.

The morning sunlight and the fresh breeze made for an excellent ride. Twenty minutes later, he saw handmade signs for a U-­Pick berry patch.That can’t be it, right?He followed the GPS, and sure enough, the journey terminated in a roughly paved drive that widened to a parking area liberally spread with pale gravel. As before, there were a few cars, early birds out to catch a worm, or pick some berries, as it were.

“We’re seriously going berrying?” he asked. “Did I use that word correctly? Sounds wrong as a verb somehow…”

“Never mind the grammar, English. You have some exciting choices ahead. We have our choice of raspberries, blackberries, or blueberries, and they’re all in season. Which is your favorite?”

“Can we go for the trifecta or is that against the rules? I make a delicious fruit parfait, if I do say so myself, and my kitchenette is barely up to the task.”

“We can pick by container or by weight, if you don’t want a pail of each,” she said.

“It’s not that I mind the idea, but I doubt three of those buckets full would fit on the Duc,” Gavin said, stifling a smile.

“We don’t have to fill them. Don’t you have storage under the seat or something?”

“Please, I didn’t buy the Duc at IKEA.”

Actually, therewasa storage compartment, but he was curious about her ability to adapt. Some people got irritated if things didn’t go to plan, but Clem didn’t seem overly fussed as she selected three of the smallest containers.

“These will go in my backpack. Don’t think you’re getting out of this,” she added. “I expect parfaits in my future.”

“I’m a man of my word.”

He understood why she’d suggested casual clothing; picking berries inevitably left juice on the fingertips. On impulse, he carried her right hand, red with raspberry juice, to his lips, and licked the pad of her index finger. Her brown eyes went molten, and he carried on, tasting each in turn. She gazed at him until his head went fuzzy with the need to kiss her, and it was difficult as hell to get his mind back on berrying afterward.

He’d honestly had no notion that there could be thousands of berry bushes spread out over a vast distance. There were others out collecting their own fruit, but the space was sufficient that they had plenty of privacy. Not quite enough for him to risk stealing another kiss, though he desperately wanted to.

Eventually, they had enough berries, but instead of leading him back to the bike, she headed over to a copse of trees offering shade from the morning sun. In the cool shadows, there were several picnic tables along with a notice telling them to HAVE FUN, LEAVE NOTHING BEHIND.

Clem opened her backpack and set out three plastic containers. One held cut fruit, another was full of mini quiches, and the other one had toasted wedges of bread. She also produced a thermos with hot tea in it. Not prepared correctly, of course, but he found himself unaccountably moved by the fact that she cared about his preferences. Gavin couldn’t imagine that many Americans drank hot tea on a warm summer morning.

“How is it?” Clem raised her brows, as if challenging him to complain.

“I’ve never had a breakfast picnic before. This is lovely,” he said softly.

Everything could be eaten with his fingers, including the clever little quiches. The food was delicious and the tea quite passable. When they finished, she dusted the crumbs off the tables for the birds and packed away the empty boxes. By nesting the containers and removing the lids, she made space for their berries as well. Silently Gavin admired that problem-­solving spirit. He could use a bit of that logic for dealing with his father.

“Sorry there were no goats, but I thought you might enjoy getting some fresh air, a little exercise, and—­”

“Spending time with you? Yes, I adored it. Sign me up for the macramé class next.”

Clem grinned. “It would serve you right if I found one accepting new students. Maybe I’ll ask down at the coffee klatch if any of the seniors can hook me up.”

All of Gavin’s instincts sharpened. “Coffee klatch?”

If he knew anything about pensioners, they had the sharpest eyes in town and certainly had plenty of time to watch their neighbors and gossip about them. This could prove invaluable for when he inevitably had to put some energy into the job he loathed, if only to appease Da. Even thousands of miles away, the specter of his old man and his damned honor had the power to cloud Gavin’s mood.

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