Page 29 of Bossy Mountain Daddies
"Need help with anything else?" she asks.
"Think we're good." I motion toward the register. "You mind closing out while I finish the inventory list?"
She nods, sliding behind the bar with easy familiarity, like she's been working here for years instead of days. I try not to stare at her ass in those jeans as she walks past me, but I'm only human.
In the storeroom, I count bottles of liquor, marking numbers on a clipboard. My mind wanders to the waterfall, tucked away in the mountains about thirty minutes from here. It's my thinking spot—where I go when I need to clear my head or make a tough decision. The ride up there, the pine-scented air rushing past, the road snaking through mountains—it's the best kind of meditation I know.
Today I need it more than usual. Because of her. Because of whatever this is between us. Because in a few days or weeks, her car will be fixed, and she'll be gone. I've had my share of brief encounters, but this one feels different. It’s got me feeling off-kilter.
When I return to the bar, Skye's leaning against the counter, scrolling through her phone. She looks up when I approach, tucking it into her back pocket.
"All done with the register," she says. "Shift report is under the till."
"Thanks." I say, setting the clipboard on the bar. The place is empty now except for us and Buck. I can hear him in the kitchen, prepping for dinner, the clang of pots like distant thunder.
Skye tilts her head and looks up at me. "What are you up to this afternoon?"
The question catches me off guard, though it shouldn't. It's casual, the kind of thing you ask someone you work with at the end of your shift.
"Heading up to this waterfall I know," I say, rolling down my sleeves. "It's about thirty minutes from here, up in the mountains. I like to ride up there when I have time off. Clear my head."
"Ride? Like, a motorcycle?"
I nod. "Harley Softail. Nothing fancy, but she runs smooth."
Skye's eyebrows lift slightly. "I pictured you as more of a truck guy."
"Got one of those too," I admit. "But nothing beats the bike on a day like today."
She glances toward the windows. "It is gorgeous out."
"Ever been on a motorcycle?" I ask, an idea forming as the words leave my mouth.
She shakes her head, a small crease appearing between her eyebrows. "No. They've always seemed kind of... dangerous."
"They can be," I concede. "In the wrong hands."
Her eyes meet mine, curious. "Are your hands the right ones?"
The question hangs in the air between us, loaded with more meaning than she probably intended. I think of my hands on her body last night, how they seemed to know exactly where to touch, how she responded to every stroke.
"Been riding twenty years without an accident," I say, keeping my voice steady. "Know the roads around here better than I know just about anything."
"You want to come with me?" I ask before I can talk myself out of it. "It's a nice ride. Beautiful views."
Surprise crosses her features, followed by interest. Then hesitation shadows her eyes. "I don't know..."
"No pressure," I add quickly. "Just thought you might enjoy getting out, seeing more of the area than just the bar and Jed's garage."
She bites her lower lip, considering. "Is it scary? Riding on the back?"
"Some people think so, at first," I say honestly. "But most end up loving it. The freedom of it. Nothing between you and the world but open air."
She's quiet for a moment, and I prepare myself for her polite refusal. Instead, she surprises me.
"Okay," she says, a small smile forming. "Why not?"
Something light and warm expands in my chest. "Yeah?"
