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Hayes: Thanks Dad.
Within a few minutes, he texted me back.
Dad: Proud of you. See you at lunch tomorrow?
Hayes: It’s on me.
With any luck, I’d be riding my motorcycle there.
The next morning, I couldn’t help but drop all my projects to install the new part and see if she would run. If all the work I’d put in was going to pay off. I could feel everyone in the garage watching me to see the outcome.
So I gripped the new textured handlebars under my bare palms, shoved the bike forward so the kickstand would go back in place. Then I twisted the ignition key and used my full weight to kickstart the bike.
The engine turned once and died. But my heart was fucking soaring. That sound was better than any song.
Giving it my all, I kicked it again to the same result.
I could feel everyone holding their breath for me.
On the third try, the engine struggled to catch, turning over once, twice, and I twisted the throttle to give it more gas.
It roared to life, growling like the sweetest music in the world.
Whooping roared through the shop, my guys cheering for me as I kicked it into gear and slowly pulled out of the garage. A grin split my face. This was the best feeling ever. Fixing something broken, bringing it back to life.
A cool spring breeze ripped around me as I drove through the less trafficked areas, lifting my hair, rippling my shirt around my body, making me feel alive.
“Yeah!” I shouted, pumping my fist. “Hell yeah!”
If I was an emotional guy, I might have cried tears of joy. Instead, I steered her up and down the side streets in town, getting a feel for the way she handled before taking her out on the major highways and streets.
At first, I took it easy, but then I pushed her, seeing how far this rebuilt engine would go. She felt alive underneath me, responding to my touch and every shift of my body, like a woman would.
I lifted my wrist to check my smartwatch and saw it was about time to meet my dad and brother for lunch at Woody’s Diner.
Perfect timing—I could show them my girl.
Excited at the thought, I revved the engine and sped back into town toward the chrome-topped diner where my dad ate lunch every day. It was his social hour—and a chance to see the waitress who he insisted was only a friend.
When I pulled into the cracked blacktop parking lot, my ears hurt from the cool wind blowing by for the last hour or so and my eyes were watering, but I was grinning ear to ear. I adjusted my shirt and walked through the doors, noticing most of the diners checking out my motorcycle through the window.
A feeling of pride seeped through me as I walked straight to the booth where my dad always sat—the one closest to the coffee pot. Probably so he could talk to Aggie without interrupting her work too much. A move I’d used myself (although on other waitresses).
Dad scooted over so I could sit by him, and Fletch nodded at me across the table. “Got the bike up and running?” Fletcher asked.
I grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. “Finally. She runs like a dream, too.”
“That new voltage regulator did the trick?” Dad asked.
I nodded, annoyed I had to wait so long while it was on backorder. “Finally got in this morning.”
Fletcher said, “My daughters aren’t allowed to ride on it outside of the driveway.”
“Fine,” I grunted. “But you never said anything about your pregnant wife. She’ll love it so much she’ll get pregnant twice.” I winked.
Fletcher went white, and my dad shoved me. “Hayes, don’t make me get a spray bottle out for you again.”
I smirked at him. “Wet T-shirt contest?”