Travis eased the motorcycle forward, out of the drive, and onto the street. Gabby reached for his hips, but as soon as she touched him, she thought about his hip flexors, which made her stomach do a flip-flop. It was either that or wrap her arms around him, and she didn’t feel ready for that. As the motorcycle began to accelerate, she told herself not to squeeze, not to move her hands at all, just to keep her hands steady, like a statue.
“What’s that?” Travis asked, craning his neck.
“What?”
“You said something about hands and a statue?”
Unaware she’d spoken aloud, she squeezed his hips, telling herself that she was doing it only to provide cover. “I said keep your hands steady, like a statue. I don’t want to crash.”
“We’re not going to crash. I don’t like crashing.”
“Have you ever crashed before?”
Continuing to crane his neck and making her nervous by doing so, he nodded. “A couple of times. Spent two nights in the hospital once.”
“And you didn’t think this was important to mention before you invited me?”
“I didn’t want you to get scared.”
“Just keep your eyes on the road, okay? And don’t do anything fancy.”
“You want me to do something fancy?”
“No!”
“Good, because I’d rather just enjoy the ride.” He craned his neck again; despite the helmet, she could swear she saw him wink. “The most important thing is to keep you safe, so just keep your hands steady like a statue, okay?”
On the back of the seat, Gabby felt herself shrink, just as she had in his office, aghast that she’d said those words aloud. And that despite the wind in their faces and the roar of the engine, Travis had actually heard them. There were moments when it honestly seemed as if the world were conspiring against her.
That he didn’t bring it up again over the next few minutes made her feel slightly better. With the motorcycle zipping along, they left the quiet confines of their neighborhood. Gabby slowly got the hang of leaning when Travis leaned, and a few turns later, they were making their way through Beaufort and over the small bridge that separated them from the Morehead City limits. The road widened to two lanes and was clogged with weekend beach traffic. Gabby tried to ignore the feeling of vulnerability as they rode alongside a gigantic dump truck.
They veered toward the bridge that crossed the Intracoastal Waterway, and the traffic slowed to a crawl. When they reached the highway that bisected Bogue Banks, the traffic headed for Atlantic Beach evaporated and Travis gradually began to pick up speed. Sandwiched between two minivans, one in front and the other behind them, Gabby felt herself relaxing. As they sped past condominiums and houses hidden amid the Maritime Forest, she could feel the heat of the sun beginning to soak through her clothing.
She held Travis to keep herself steady, intensely conscious of the outline of his back muscles through the thin fabric of his shirt. Despite her best intentions, she was beginning to accept the reality of the attraction she felt for him. He was so different from her, yet in his presence she felt the possibility of another kind of life, a life she had never imagined could be hers. A life without the rigid limitations others had always set for her.
They drifted in an almost dreamlike silence past one town, then another: Atlantic Beach, Pine Knoll Shores, and Salter Path. On her left, largely hidden from view by oaks bent by the never-ending wind, lay some of the most desirable oceanfront property in the state. A few minutes earlier, they’d bypassed the Iron Steamer Pier. Though warped from years of storms, today it was home to scores of people fishing.
At Emerald Isle, the most westerly town on the island, Travis applied the brakes to slow for a turning car, and Gabby felt herself lean into him. Her hands inadvertently slid from his h*ps to his stomach, and she wondered if he noticed the way their bodies were pressed together. Though she willed herself to pull away, she didn’t.
There was something happening here, something she didn’t quite understand. She loved Kevin and wanted to marry him; in the past couple of days, that feeling hadn’t changed at all. And yet . . . she couldn’t deny that spending time with Travis seemed . . . right, somehow. Natural and easy, the way things were supposed to be. It seemed an impossible contradiction, and as they crossed the bridge at the far end of the island, heading toward home, she gave up trying to resolve it.
Surprising her, Travis slowed the bike before turning onto a partially hidden one-lane road perpendicular to the highway that stretched into the forest. When he brought the bike to a halt, Gabby turned from side to side, puzzled.
“Why are we stopping?” she asked. “Is this the place you wanted to show me?”
Travis got off the bike and removed his helmet. He shook his head.
“No, that’s back in Beaufort,” he said. “I wanted to see if you’d like to try driving for a bit.”
“I’ve never driven a motorcycle.” Gabby crossed her arms, remaining on the bike.
“I know. That’s why I asked.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, pushing up the helmet visor.
“C’mon, it’ll be fun. I’ll be right behind you on the bike, and I’m not going to let you crash. I’ll have my hands right next to yours, I’ll do all the shifting. All you’ll have to do is steer until you get used to it.”
“But it’s illegal.”
“A technicality. And besides, this is a private road. It leads to my uncle’s place—a little way up, it turns into a dirt road, and he’s the only one who lives that way. It’s where I learned to ride.”
She hesitated, torn between excitement and terror, amazed that she was actually considering it.
Travis raised his hands. “Trust me—there aren’t any cars on the road, no one’s going to stop us, and I’ll be right there with you.”
“Is it hard?”
“No, but it takes a little getting used to.”
“Like riding a bike?”
“As far as the balance goes. But don’t worry. I’ll be right there, so nothing can go wrong.” He smiled. “You up for this?”
“Not really. But—”
“Great!” he said. “First things first. Slide forward, okay? On your right handlebar is the throttle and the front brake. On the left is the clutch. The throttle governs your speed. Got it?”
She nodded.
“Your right foot controls the back brake. You use your left foot to shift the gears.”
“Easy.”
“Really?”
“No. Just making you feel better about your teaching skills.”
She was beginning to sound like Stephanie, he thought. “After that, the shifting is kind of like driving a manual car. You let off the throttle, engage the clutch, shift, and then throttle up again. But I’m going to show you, okay? But to do that, we’re kind of going to be sandwiched together. My arms and legs aren’t long enough to reach from the backseat.”
“A convenient excuse,” she said.
“Which just happens to be true. You ready for this?”
“I’m scared out of my wits.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. Now, scoot up a bit.”
She slid forward, and Travis got on. After putting on his helmet, he wedged up against her, reaching for the handlebars, and despite his warning, she felt something jump inside, a light shock that started in her stomach and radiated outward.
“Now just put your hands on top of mine,” he instructed. “And do the same with your feet. I just want you to feel what’s happening. It’s kind of a rhythm thing, but once you get the hang of it, you’ll never forget.”
“Is this how you learned?”
“No. My friend stood off to the side, yelling instructions. My first time out, I squeezed the clutch instead of the brake and ended up crashing into a tree. Which is why I want to be right here your first time out.” He lifted the kickstand, engaged the clutch, and started the engine; as soon as it began to idle, she felt the same fluttery nerves she’d felt the moment before the parasail lifted her from the boat. She put her hands on his, relishing the feel of him against her.
“You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
“Keep your hands light, okay?”
Travis turned the throttle and slowly eased out the clutch; in the instant the motorcycle began to move, he lifted his foot from the ground. Gabby allowed her foot to settle lightly on his.
They went slowly at first, Travis accelerating gradually, then easing off, accelerating again, and finally shifting to another gear before slowing again and coming to a stop. Then they started over again, Travis carefully explaining what he was doing—using the brake or getting ready to shift and reminding her never to squeeze the front brake in panic or she’d go flying over the handlebars. Little by little, as the process continued, Gabby got the hang of it. The choreographed movement of his hands and feet struck her as something akin to playing the piano, and after a few minutes, she could almost anticipate what he was going to do. Even so, he continued to guide her until the movements felt almost second nature.
With that, he had them switch places; her hands and feet were now on the controls, with his atop hers, and they repeated the process from the beginning. It wasn’t as easy as he’d made it seem. At times the motorcycle jerked or she squeezed the hand brake too hard, but he was patient and encouraging. He never raised his voice, and she found herself recalling the way he’d been with the toddlers at the beach the day before. There was, she admitted, more to Travis than she had initially realized.
Over the next fifteen minutes, as she continued to practice driving, his touch became even lighter, until finally he let go entirely. Though she wasn’t entirely comfortable, she began to accelerate faster and more smoothly, and braking came just as naturally. For the first time, she felt the power and freedom the motorcycle offered.
“You’re doing fantastic,” Travis said.
“This is great!” she cried, feeling almost giddy.
“Are you ready to try riding solo?”
“You’re kidding.”
“Not at all.”
She debated only an instant. “Yeah,” she said enthusiastically. “I think I am.”
She brought the bike to a stop, and Travis hopped off. After watching him step back, she took a deep breath, ignored the pounding in her chest, and got the motorcycle going. A moment later, she was zipping along. On her own, she stopped and started a dozen times, gradually reducing the distances. Surprising Travis, she turned the bike around in a slow, wide arc and came racing back toward him. For a moment, he thought she was out of control, but she brought the bike to an elegant stop only steps from him. Unable to stop grinning, she ran her words together with kinetic energy.
“I can’t believe I just did that!”
“You did great!”
“Did you see me turn around? I know I was going too slow, but I made it.”
“I saw that.”
“This is great! I can see why you love riding. It’s a blast.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
“Can I try it again?”
He motioned to the road. “Feel free.”
She rode back and forth along the road for a long while, Travis watching her confidence grow with every stop and start. Her turns were executed with greater ease as well—she even began driving in a circle—and by the time she stopped in front of him, her face was flushed. When she took off her helmet, Travis was sure he’d never seen anyone more alive and beautiful.
“I’m done,” she announced. “You can drive now.”
“You sure?”
“I learned a long time ago to quit while I’m ahead. I’d hate to crash and ruin this feeling.”
Gabby scooted back and Travis got on the bike, only to feel her wrap her arms around him. As he wound his way back to the highway, Travis felt charged, as if his senses had been put on overdrive, and he was acutely aware of the curves of her body against his. They made their way up the highway, turned, and cut through Morehead City, passing by the Atlantic Beach bridge and completing the loop on their way back to Beaufort.
Minutes later, they were passing through the historic district, cruising past restaurants and the marina on their way down Front Street. Travis finally slowed the motorcycle, pulling onto a large grassy lot near the end of the block. The empty lot bordered a weathered Georgian that was at least a hundred years old on one side and an equally aged Victorian on the other. He turned off the engine and removed his helmet.
“Here we are,” he said, ushering her off the bike. “This is what I wanted to show you.”
There was something in his voice that kept her from making light of what seemed to be nothing more than a vacant lot, and for a moment, she simply watched Travis as he walked a few steps in silence. He was staring across the road, toward Shackleford Banks, his hands in his pockets. Removing her helmet and running a hand through her matted hair, Gabby walked toward him. Reaching his side, she sensed he would tell her what this was all about when he was ready.
“In my opinion, this place has one of the most beautiful views anywhere along the coast,” he finally said. “It’s not like an ocean view, where all you see is waves and water stretching to the horizon. That’s great, but after a while it gets boring, because the view is always pretty much the same. But here, there’s always something to see. There are always sailboats and yachts streaming toward the marina; if you come out here at night, you can see the crowds along the waterfront and listen to the music. I’ve seen porpoises and rays passing through the channel, and I especially love to see the wild horses over on the island. I don’t care how many times I’ve seen them, I’m always amazed.”