Page 14 of Your Two Lips
“Emily, that’s a nice ride. Is that the new Santa Cruz?” Dan asked as he loaded his and Carrie’s bikes onto their bike rack.
“Yeah, a Juliana Futado. It’s from their line designed for women and our center of gravity differences. They calibrated the shock travel, the seat, and a few other things with a woman’s body in mind.”
Tom flashed a broad smile. Alex looked at him. “Shut up, asshole.”
I quickly added, “I mean a woman’s geometry. Downhill bikes are fine but not ideal. I rode the Juliana when I was shopping and fell in love.”
Carrie arched an eyebrow at Dan. “You know I have a birthday coming up.”
“Oh shoot. I already bought your present.” He teased her with a big grin.
“It’s a nice bike, and the equipment makes a difference in my enjoyment, my ability to do the rides I like. It made sense to invest the money.”
“Tom, seriously, do not speak,” Alex snapped.
I looked over. “What?”
“Tom speaks double entendre like a second language,” Carrie said. “I think his head is going to pop off with you talking about equipment impacting your enjoyment of a ride.” She leaned closer to me, whispering, “Don’t even mention the summer of that’s what she said.”
I liked these people, and I was thrilled to be out in the woods again, feeling more alive than I had in a long time. The coming soreness tomorrow was worth it.
A couple of spaces away, Finn was lifting his bike into the bed of his truck, hanging the front tire over the tailgate. Men’s mountain biking shorts were loose, more like regular shorts. But the shirts were tight and fabric strained across the muscles in his back and arms as he moved.
The brawn contradicted his gentle quietness. Finn didn’t hover or push. He watched and waited. My heart skipped. I would bet Finn was a man who would watch and wait with the same care in the bedroom, too. He wouldn’t take control and tell me what I should like. He would take his time, learn what I liked, and then he would do that. For. Hours. I could get used to that. I couldn’t be Finn’s forever. But I could be his for now.
“Who’s up for a beer?” Carrie raised her eyebrows at me.
I hesitated and opened the car door to spread out the towels.
“Come out to the brewery with us,” Dan said as Finn leaned against his truck. He was listening, but his expression was unreadable. “We pull a couple picnic tables together and watch the planes come and go from the regional airport across the street. You don’t want to miss this joy of small-town living.”
The comfort that surrounded Dan and Carrie was contagious. “Okay, just for a bit. I haven’t ridden like that for a while. I’ll be sore if I don’t soak these muscles.”
“I heard beer helps with sore muscles,” Dan called as he headed back toward Carrie.
11
EMILY
I addedChuckanut Brewery’s address to the map on my phone and started back down the mountain in the afternoon light. The buds on the deciduous trees brought new life to the old-growth cedars and firs towering among them. I drove through a village of storefronts, artist workshops, and cafés with colorful flags and chalkboard signs announcing the day’s specials.
Housed in a barn-style building painted red, the brewery stood out among the low-profile industrial buildings nearby. Inside were large steel tanks behind a glass wall next to a long wooden bar for tasting or ordering pints. Outside, picnic tables dotted a bright green lawn. Pots of sweet peas marked the corners of the space while patio umbrellas scattered around provided shade. The smell of fresh-cut grass and warming earth filled the air.
When the sun was out in the PNW, you were out. It was an unwritten rule. A family with two toddlers wobbling on a blanket sat off to one side of the cushy, green lawn. The little ones put plush books, toy keys, and anything else in their mouths while Mom and Dad savored a break with a cold drink. My heart stuttered as it always did.
Chuckanut boasted a wide selection of taps. “What type of beer do you drink?” Carrie paused, a glass in her hand as I studied the menu above the bar.
“Nothing too hoppy. Ambers or ales, no stouts. What do you recommend?”
“Finn drinks browns. Finn, whaddya think?”
He held a full glass. “This is the Maibock Lager or May beer. The hop is moderate, but the malt balances it out. Not too heavy or sweet,” Finn said in his deep, husky voice.
I swallowed. “That sounds good. I’ll see if I can get a taste.”
“Try this one.” He reached out, handing the beer to me without stepping closer. I wanted him closer.
I lifted the glass for a sip. Finn’s striking blue eyes glanced at my mouth, and I tried to look sexy without dribbling on my chin. “That’s good. I’ll get one of those,” I said.
