“Yeah.” I don’t look away. “A real one.”
Syvannah doesn’t say a word, the silence stretches, making my jaw tick. Then she steps closer, sliding her hands into the hoodie pocket, tilting her head. “Okay.”
“Okay?” I ask.
She nods. “Okay.”
Relief floods my chest so fast it almost knocks me off balance. “Good.”
She laughs. “You look relieved.”
“I am,” I answer honestly.
Syvannah reaches out, her fingers brushing my wrist like she’s checking something. “When?”
“Now.”
Her eyes brighten. “Now, now?”
I nod once. “Before I overthink it.”
“Too late,” she says, but the grin on her face gives her away as she grabs her boots. We move through the clubhouse together, shoulder to shoulder, and the closer we get to the garage, the more her energy shifts, as if she’s trying not to show how much she wants this. I already packed tacos earlier. I didn’t want a plan, I wanted a moment.
I grab my helmet, and little Houdini herself, Peanut, appears, growling at me. She’s perched on the workbench, tail flicking like she knows exactly what that sound means. Syvannah crouches beside Peanut, fastening the tiny harness with practiced fingers, murmuring encouragement under her breath.
I hook up Peanut’s carrying case inside the saddle bag as Syvannah finishes. It’s better to have Peanut secure and not hide away like the last time when she bolted out of Blayze’s saddle bag, scaring the crap out of us. But knowing this little devil, she’ll want to ride inside my cut for a while.
“Are you ready?” Syvannah asks, picking up Peanut. She answers with a sharp, opinionated meow.
“That’s a yes,” I say.
Syvannah smiles. “She hates being left behind.”
“Same,” I reply, firing up my bike.
I steady the bike while Syvannah climbs on behind me. Peanut scrambles up my chest like she owns it, paws braced on my cut. I tuck her inside my cut and secure the strap the way we always do. She presses her face into my beard and purrs like a chainsaw.
Syvannah’s arms slide around my waist. Her cheek rests between my shoulder blades.
I roll us out slow, engine low and respectful. The road opens up ahead, dark and quiet, city hum fading behind us. Wind tugs loose strands of Syvannah’s hair, and I feel her smile against my back.
“This is perfect,” she murmurs.
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
The bike hums steady beneath us. Peanut peeks out once, ears flattening at the wind before she settles again, trusting. Syvannah tightens her hold, not from fear, just closeness.
We stop at the overlook and kill the engine. Silence rings in my ears. Syvannah slides off first, stretching, then reaches for Peanut as I lift her down. Peanut hops onto Syvannah’s shoulder like she’s done it a hundred times before.
“You did good,” Syvannah tells her. Peanut blinks slowly.
I pull the food out of the saddle bag and set up in the grass. We eat the tacos, looking at the city lights spread below us like they’re minding their own business. Syvannah sits cross-legged, hoodie zipped to her chin.
“This is nice,” she says.
I pass her a napkin. “You’ve got salsa on your lip.”