“You coming to make this food?” his sister called, waving at Beckett and Presley.
“Welcome to Smile, Presley,” Pete said, heading back to the kitchen.
She folded her arms on the tabletop, leaned toward Beckett. “He sounds grumpy but I think he’s secretly nice.”
Beckett leaned forward. “Not when you beat him at poker.”
Her laugh turned to a contented sigh when he laced his fingers with hers and stared at her across theStarry Nighttable.
Beckett gazed out the window. “See that spot right by the marina?”
Presley looked to where he pointed. “The empty lot?”
“Yeah. I’m thinking about that as the rental space for the bikes.”
Grinning, she turned her head to face him. “It’s a great location. Close enough to the action. Lets people pedal around the lake or through town.”
“Exactly.” He nodded and smiled but Presley noted the reluctance in his gaze.
“Grayson and Jill are going to be really happy for you.” She was sure of it.
“I know I’m building it up in my head. I just need to do it. But I worry it’s not the right time.”
Treading carefully since it wasn’t really her business, she folded her hands together. “I think we fool ourselves into believing there’s a ‘right time’ for all of the things we want. But really, life does what it wants, and we need to seize the opportunities we have when they present themselves.” Wasn’t that exactly what they were doing here?
Beckett’s gaze turned thoughtful. “I’ve got the loan plus my savings. It’s enough for bikes, space, and to float me through the first year. I mean, it’s a fairly seasonal business, so I’d keep my job for now.”
Which meant he’d be spread even more thin. “That’s probably a good plan.”
He tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “Part of me wants to give the money to Gray. It would help him a lot. He needs this to work.”
Presley didn’t know many people who’d literally put aside their own dreams for someone else’s.You’ve surrounded yourself with the wrong people.Other than Rylee, the people in her circle did what was best for them first.
“I don’t think he’d want it to replace your own goals. You should at least talk to them.”
Annabelle brought them their breakfasts. Presley’s mouth watered at the stack of waffles.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” she said with a smile, dropping extra napkins on the table.
Probably for the drool. They smelled better than any waffles she’d ever had.
Sensing Beckett’s need to change the subject, Presley was quiet while she cut into the little squares of yumminess. Pete shouted at his sister again.
“I’d like to meet the woman that married him,” Presley said.
“You will,” Beckett said with confidence, cutting into his own waffles.
Presley didn’t question him on that. If she didn’t meet the woman today, she likely never would. But she liked the way it sounded when Beckett said it; like there was no end date on the possibilities.
Twenty-Eight
The short ride to the diner had fooled her into believing getting back on a bike would be like, well, just like riding a bike. It took Presley less than a half hour to realize riding a bike in her thirties did not produce the whimsy and freedom she’d felt as a child. It did notfeelthe same either.Why do people do this?Hard seat that had no business being called a cushion, hunched over to reach the bars… this couldn’t be good for a person.
Beckett pedaled like he did everything else physical; with ease. He might struggle to make life choices, preferring Presley’s least favorite approach—ignoring them—but if it involved fluid motion and balance? No problem. He lifted his hand more than once to wave and return greetings. He didn’t even look uncomfortable, and she was pretty sure if she could see his face, he’d be smiling.
“You okay back there?”
“Of course,” she said. A person probably shouldn’t be out of breath when the course was flat.
