Page 53 of Free Fall

They shake, and Jeremiah puts out his little hand too, saying, “I’m Ja’miah. Baby Sarah Kate is sleeping.” Which sounds like sweeping, and Dan looks around as if he expects to see an infant with a broom.

“This is Jeremiah,” Leenie translates. “And my other little one is already in bed.”

She gives Jeremiah a little tickle. “Which is where this one should be now too.”

Jeremiah promptly starts squirming and protesting, working up to an anti-bedtime screaming fit. I kiss his head as he passes, twisting in Leenie’s arms as she’s on her way back inside with him. “Sleep tight, buddy.”

“I will not!” he wails.

“Later, Leenie. Tell Martin goodnight for me.”

“Sure thing. We won’t wait up.”

“Yeah, don’t,” Dan says. “Nice to meet you,” he adds, like an afterthought. His eyes are on me now as if he doesn’t want to look away. “You look good.”

I lift my hair to put it back, and he watches avidly as I secure my hair away from my face. Then his gaze skims down my front. I’m wearing some older tennis shoes, a pair of faded jeans that hang nicely, but which I also don’t mind ruining, a BlackPink merch t-shirt, and my windbreaker jacket.

Dan turns back to the motorcycle and retrieves a second helmet for me. There are two saddlebags, and I assume he’s packed whatever else we’ll need in them.

“Where’d you get the bike?” I ask.

“It belongs to my mentor.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Peggy Jo Barton. You might know her. She, uh, seems to know you.”

“Peggy Jo! She’s the coolest!” I say, grinning. “In her sixties and still going strong.”

“Yeah, she taught me to climb, and she taught me to drive her bike.” He pats the seat.

“Amazing.”

He shrugs.

“I mean, Peggy Jo is goals all day long, isn’t she?”

“She wouldn’t be my mentor if she wasn’t.”

I take the helmet he’s still holding out toward me and put it on. I must hesitate a moment as I approach the bike because his eyebrow quirks up, and he glances over toward my Versa.

“We can take your car if you’re scared.”

“Nah,” I say, a little breathlessly. “I’m good.”

I adjust the lay of my ponytail in the back, and then clasp the helmet under my chin securely. He watches, leans in, and kisses my nose softly before pecking my lips. I shiver and he smiles again, that surprising, blinding thing, before adjusting my chinstrap to be a little tighter.

“There,” he says. “That should do it.”

I feel all fluttery and flushed, but I try to keep my cool as he climbs onto the bike and shifts forward so there’s ample space on the seat behind him.

I swing my leg over, scooting close so that my crotch aligns with his ass, and I grip the unbuttoned fronts of his jean jacket. Taking hold of my hands, he shifts them so I’m holding onto him securely around the middle. I can feel his core strength and the flatness of his stomach beneath my forearms and hands, and the broad warmth of his back against my front.

“I’m good at this. Don’t worry,” he says, starting the bike.

The way he maneuvers us out to the road shows he’s telling me the truth, and I wave goodbye to Martin, who’s come around the side of the house with the mower now. With a roar, we drive off.

The roads he takes me on lead to higher elevations, and I’m familiar enough with the area to realize we’re heading toward Tuolumne Meadows and Tioga Road. I’d ask him why we’re going there, but the sound of the motor, the wind, and the snug fit of the helmets seem to preclude that.