Page 89 of I'll Keep Her Safe

And when I notice the maple tree at the end of the yard, its leaves turning gold with the approach of fall, I know this is exactly where I am meant to be.

Poppy pushes up onto her toes to kiss me softly. “You are the most wonderful man I’ve ever met,” she says, echoing what she told me in the limo, what feels like a lifetime ago. “I love you, Wyatt.”

“I love you, too,” I reply roughly, deepening the kiss. I nudge her back against the counter, tempted to take things further, but catch myself. I’m sure that won’t be in line with the health code.

Besides, if I have sex with her, if I let myself get that close, I’m sure I’ll blurt out everything I’m thinking, and that’s the last thing I should do. I don’t want to scare Poppy, not when she’s young and might not be ready for what I am. And even if she is, we can’t have those things until we talk to Bailey, until we tell her what’s going on.

That’s what scares me the most, actually. That’s why I can’t let myself think about it until I know my daughter is happy about Poppy and me. Until I know I won’t have to choose between my daughter and the woman I love.

A long-forgotten feeling rushes through me, that itch to escape my problems by jumping on my bike and heading out onto the highway. I haven’t felt it for a while, and usually I’d shake it off, but for the first time in forever, I’m going to do it—to get on my bike and let the ride distract me.

Only this time, I won’t be going it alone.

31

Poppy

I’ve never worn such thick jeans before. They’re going to take some getting used to, but Wyatt explained they’re special riding jeans that will protect me, and that it was either these or leather pants.

I slide my hands around Wyatt’s waist, my heart jumping as the motorcycle engine roars to life. When he asked me to come riding with him, I couldn’t say anything other than an enthusiastic yes. I’ve never been on a motorcycle before, but it was more than that—it was the fact that hewantedto get on his bike. He wanted to go out riding, for fun.

With me.

He spent the morning finding me the right gear, and it’s early afternoon by the time we finally peel onto Fruit Street, my helmet snug on my head, arms clad in a brand new black leather jacket. Turns out there’s a lot more gear required than I realized, which Wyatt insisted on paying for, saying it washisbike. As if that makes any sense.

Besides, he’s already spent a small fortune putting that commercial kitchen into the ground floor of Marty’s old place. It devastated me to learn that sweet old man had passed away, and shocked me to discover he’d left his house to Wyatt and me. I mean,WyattI understand—he’s known him for years, and their relationship was special. But he hardly knew me.

Still, he must have seen that Wyatt had feelings for me. He must have seen there was something there between us, like Wyatt said.

And the kitchen… I’m blown away by what Wyatt did for me. The trouble he went to, keeping it a surprise. More than that, I’m blown away that he cared enough. That this meant that much to him, that he spent so much to make it come true. I feel guilty because I could have paid for it myself, at least part of it, if Kurt had never stolen that money from me. When I think of how much Kurt tried to bring me down, how hard he fought to hurt me, to hold me back… this is the opposite, and I don’t quite know what to do with it. I’m not used to a man loving me like this—in a way that lifts me up, makes me feel whole, makes me feel safe.

And it’s making me want so much more from Wyatt than I should. In the month that we’ve been together, I’ve only fallen harder for him. Every time he says or does something to show me how much he cares, my heart melts a little more.

And if it weren’t for the fact that I feel like I’m keeping a horrible secret from my best friend every time she calls, life would be perfect.

I’ve tried not to think about Bailey, really, I have, but it’s impossible. She’s my best friend—the person I tell everything to, good or bad. The person who’s had my back for the past few years while I dealt with Kurt, while I healed. The person who made that healing possible. Knowing I’m lying to her is breaking my heart, and while we don’t ever talk about it, I’m sure Wyatt feels the same.

But then he kisses me, or tells me he loves me, and all I can think about is him. How wonderful it would be to fall asleep beside him every night for the rest of my life. How blessed I would be to have a family with him, to grow old at his side.

I grasp his firm waist as we tear down the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, wishing I wasn’t wearing my helmet so I could bury my nose into his worn leather jacket and breathe him in. I’m glad I am, though; I had no idea how exposed I’d feel on a motorcycle, the wind whipping around me as I fly along, the clothes on my back the only thing between me and the road. But gripping Wyatt’s strong body makes me feel safe, like it always does. Every so often he’ll drop his hand to squeeze my thigh, and his touch sends lightning zapping through me.

I can’t believe I’m out here, under the sun and the wide open cobalt sky, flying through Long Island, out toward the beach, with this man. I can’t believe he’s mine, that he loves me as much as I love him, that this is real. That he built me the kitchen of my dreams.

How is this my life?

The trees are a verdant green edged in yellow, zipping past as we follow the highway, and I lose myself in the movement of the bike, the feeling of the engine as it roars under us, the scenery whizzing by.

Eventually the water comes into view and we turn onto a bridge, following that out to what I realize is Jones Beach. We continue along Ocean Parkway until Wyatt slows, finding a spot to park among the crowded parking lot, and the engine shuts off. I climb from the bike and pull my helmet off, stretching from the long ride. Wyatt does the same, and when his eyes finally meet mine, they’re lit from within. In fact, his entire face is alight, beaming and radiant. He’s like a little boy at Christmas, as he sets his helmet on the back of the bike and scoops me into his arms.

“God, that was amazing,” he murmurs into my hair. “I missed that. Thank you, baby. Thank you for pushing me to ride again.”

I slide my arms around his neck, crushing my mouth to his. Seeing him happy like this makes my chest full and hot, in the best possible way.

“Ice cream?” he asks as we draw apart, and I laugh.

“Definitely.”

We leave our helmets, stripping off our jackets, and wander along the boardwalk hand in hand. Wyatt wears a plain white tee over his jeans that makes the tattoos on his arms pop in the sun, and it’s a fight not to climb him right here, in front of the crowds.

---