“You were outside longer.”
That logic, Riley decided, was impossible to challenge.
“Thank you.”
Sophie climbed onto another stool.
The stuffed rabbit sat on her knees.
“This is Gerald.”
Riley looked at rabbit.
“Hello, Gerald.”
“He doesn’t talk.”
“Good boundary.”
Sophie smiled.
Daniel, still working, said, “Gerald is judgmental.”
“He is observant.”
“Same thing.”
Riley took a drink.
The hot chocolate was probably powdered mix.
There were too many marshmallows.
The mug had blue flowers painted around the rim.
It was one of the best things she had tasted in months.
Something about that bothered her.
Sophie asked, “Do you live here?”
“Denver.”
“Dad got lost in Denver once.”
“I did not.”
“He did.”
Daniel sighed.
Riley hid her smile behind the mug.
She looked around the garage again.
Nothing here should have felt restful.
Old tires.
Metal.
Oil.
A heater that clicked every few minutes.
A child discussing a stuffed rabbit.
A mechanic charging an unknown amount to repair a motorcycle Riley had barely ridden.
Yet for the first time since ending her engagement, Riley was not rehearsing tomorrow.
She was just sitting.
Daniel finished the fuel line.
He started the Triumph.
The engine caught immediately.
Riley stood.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“How much?”
Daniel pulled an invoice pad from his back pocket.
“Sixty.”
Riley stared.
“Sixty dollars?”
“Part and labor.”
“The last shop charged me three hundred forty and didn’t fix it.”
Daniel tore off invoice.
“They should’ve.”
“I want to pay you more.”
“No.”
“Daniel.”
That was first time she used his name.
He looked up.
“Sixty covers it.”
“I can afford—”
“I didn't ask what you can afford.”
Riley stopped.
He had no idea how true that sentence was.
She took out cash.
Paid sixty.
Then looked outside.
Snow had become nearly horizontal.
Daniel followed her gaze.
“You’re not riding.”
Riley sighed.
“Hotel?”
“Not unless you want to push the bike again.”
She looked at him.
He hesitated only slightly.
“There’s a couch inside.”
“No.”
“It’s warm.”
“I can't impose.”
Daniel glanced toward Sophie.
Sophie was watching with suspicious hopefulness.
He looked back.
“She made you hot chocolate.”
Riley waited.
Daniel added, “You’re already here.”
That was apparently the entire argument.
Twenty minutes later Riley Hargrove was wearing Daniel Carter’s flannel shirt and wool socks, sitting beneath a mismatched blanket in a small living room attached to a mechanic’s garage.
Sophie was asleep down the hall.
Daniel sat in an armchair with old coffee.
The wood stove glowed quietly.
Outside, the storm erased everything beyond the windows.
Riley looked around.
Books.
Children’s drawings.
An old framed photograph half-hidden on a shelf.
Nothing matched.
Nothing looked selected by a designer.
It felt more like a home than her apartment ever had.
Daniel said, “You can take the bedroom if you want.”
“No.”
“The couch isn't great.”
“I have slept on corporate jets.”
“That sounds less uncomfortable.”
“You’d be surprised.”
He smiled.
Silence returned.
Riley normally filled silence.
Questions.