Page 75 of I'll Keep Her Safe

She chews her bottom lip. “True, but I’m not sure what else to do.”

I know what to do. It’s the last thing I want, but I refuse to leave her stranded, especially because I want this venture to work, want her to succeed. I think back to the pool yesterday, when she didn’t even think to mention it, let alone consider it a business. I’m certain that growing this could mean something significant to her, and I’m going to do everything in my power to help.

“You can take my truck,” I say. “You can drive, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Good. Take my truck.”

“Wyatt.” My name from her lips sends heat bolting through me, but I ignore it. She looks at me properly for the first time since I’ve entered the kitchen, her brow pinched. “How will you get to work without your truck?”

I sigh. She’s going to love this.

“I’ll take my bike.”

Poppy’s eyebrows hit her hairline. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

She scrutinizes me for a long moment, and I can tell she’s caught between arguing again and letting me get back on my bike, which I know she’s been wanting me to do for ages.

“Are you… are you sure?”

No. “Yes.”

Something boils over on the stove and she turns the heat down, glancing back at me. “What about all your work stuff?”

I consider this. I’m staying put at the Park Slope site today, so I could make that work.

“It’s early,” I say, reaching for my keys. “I’ll take my truck to drop off my stuff, then bring it back for you and take the bike back.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not.” I look at the hesitation in her eyes, softening. “Let me help, Poppy.”

Her gaze moves over my face, and she finally nods. “Okay. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She returns to her cooking, and I head for the door before I do what I really want: kiss her and tell her how proud I am.

The engine purrsbetween my legs as I pull onto Fruit Street. Turns out the expression “it’s like riding a bike” applies to motorcycles too, and muscle memory takes over as I turn down the street, pulling onto the more busy Cadman Plaza, past Borough Hall. Traffic banks in front of me, and I resist the urge to swing out of the lane and dodge through the cars to the front of the queue. Last I checked lane-splitting was illegal in New York, and I don’t need a ticket the moment I get back on the bike.

Despite the traffic, I’m surprised to feel that same thrill at having my helmet on, my hands gripping the handlebars. Admittedly, it’s hotter than I’d like it to be wearing my leather jacket again, but something eases in my chest as I pick up speed along Court Street between the lights, the engine roaring under me.

I missed this. I fucking missed it so much.

Poppy was right, I realize, as I pull up to the job site. I should be doing this more. Bailey is an adult, and frankly, I don’t give a shit what Brittany thinks. I should never have let her words affect me.

I remove my helmet, glancing around at the guys, already hard at work. I loaded most of my gear into Shawn’s truck, which will have to do for the rest of the week, until we figure out how to make this work.

Because it will work. As soon as the guys taste Poppy’s food, they’ll be hungry for more.

The morning passes agonizingly slowly. Every time a car passes I look up, hoping it’s her, and not only because I’ve been hankering for whatever she was cooking this morning since I smelled it. I hardly get any work done, drifting aimlessly around the section, and not only because I’m waiting for her. I replay our conversation on the plane about my work, realizing I’d never given it much thought before, but talking with Poppy helped me clarify what has hovered at the edge of my consciousness for years. And the way she insisted I deserved to do work I love…

Maybe she was right about that, too.

She arrives at eleven-thirty with the lunch orders, and the guys gather around as she unloads the food. I stand back, watching her smile as the team collects their orders, listening to their appreciative murmurs as they tuck into their food.

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