Chapter 46 46

Chapter 46 46
  ~TESSA~
    I was halfway down the stairs when I heard Debbie’s voice.
    “No. Nope. Not today, mister. You’re grounded.”
    Ryder’s grunt was the response. 
    That... and what sounded like the jingle of bike keys being snatched from his hand.
    What was going on? I needed to find out for myself.
    I peered around the corner.
    Debbie stood between Ryder and the front door like a mom who’d caught her kid sneaking out on a school night.
    One hand on her hip, the other waving the keys with practiced menace.
    “You said you were taking today off.”
    “I didn’t mean off off,” Ryder muttered. “I just wanted to stop by the shop... ”
    “Nope. Unacceptable. Your face is still healing from the last brawl, and Tessa nearly got tackled yesterday. You’re not going anywhere but into a peaceful, romantic, possibly flour-covered day with your girlfriend. My sister-in-law needs some time with you."
    I stepped fully into view, crossing my arms and trying not to grin. “I like this plan.”
    Ryder looked between us like he was being ganged up on. 
    Which… yeah, he absolutely was.
    Debbie shot me a wink. “I rest my case. You’re welcome.”
    She dropped the keys into the bowl by the door and breezed out like she’d just mic-dropped.
    Ryder sighed and turned toward me.
    “You in on this ambush too?”
    “I didn’t plan it,” I said, walking into his arms, “but I’m not mad about it.”
    He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “Fine. You win. Day off.”
    “I believe the correct phrase is... we win.”
    He lifted a brow. “Alright then. What do you want to do?”
    “Make breakfast,” I said instantly. “Together.”
    The look on his face?
    Mild horror.
    “I should warn you,” he said as we headed for the kitchen, “my cooking skills top out at toast and opening a beer bottle with a wrench.”
    Ten minutes in, the kitchen looked like a demolition zone.
    I cracked the eggs too hard.
    Ryder dropped an entire bowl of flour because, quote, “who knew the lid wasn’t on tight?”
    And at some point, he decided whisking meant shaking the bowl like a maraca.
    “You’re doing that on purpose!” I shouted, laughing as flour hit my shirt.
    He was absolutely not innocent.
    He looked entirely too smug.
    And then?
    He flicked a little more at me.
    “Oh, you want war?”
    I grabbed the bottle of pancake syrup and brandished it like a sword.
    His eyes lit up. “You wouldn’t.”
    One squeeze later, syrup was dripping down his bare forearm.
    He lunged.
    We crashed against the counter, both of us laughing so hard I nearly fell backward into the dish rack. 
    He caught me... sticky hands, flushed face, eyes full of amusement... and pulled me close.
    “Truce?” he asked.
    I nodded breathlessly.
    “Only if you let me win.”
    He kissed me slow and sweet, right in the middle of that flour-covered, syrup-slicked mess of a kitchen.
    ~
    ~RYDER~
    She was still wiping flour off her jeans when I walked up behind her with the black bandana.
    She didn’t even flinch. Just froze in place...
    “Ryder,” she said slowly. “Why do I get the feeling you're about to kidnap me?”
    I grinned. “Because technically, I am. But only for like five minutes.”
    She turned, eyes narrowed but amused. “What are you up to?”
    I unfolded the bandana and held it up. “Trust me?”
    She gave me a long look. Then sighed like she was suffering.
    “Fine. But if I walk into a surprise clown party, I’m out.”
    “No clowns. Promise.”
    I tied the blindfold gently, brushing her hair out of the way. “Alright. No peeking. Hold my hand.”
    She did.
    And damn if it didn’t feel like something more than just walking down a hallway.
    Like this... us... was settling into something real.
    I led her out the back door, down the short path that curved around the garden, and stopped at the side garage... the private one...
    The one Dad built when I was sixteen just to house one bike. His favorite.
    It didn’t hold his anymore.
    I unlocked the door, guided her in, and positioned her right in front of it.
    She stood straight, head tilted toward the sound of the creaking hinges and my footsteps echoing inside the concrete space.
    "Ready, baby girl?"
    "More than ready... hottie."
    We both laughed, then I slipped the blindfold off slowly.
    Tessa blinked into the soft light for sometime...
    Then her eyes landed on it.
    The bike stood dead-center under a spotlight.
    Matte black frame. Crimson trim. Wide handlebars. 
    The chrome was subtle, just enough to glint when she moved.
    “Whoa,” she whispered. “That’s…”
    “Yours.”
    She spun to face me. “What?”
    “Well. Ours. But I built it thinking of you.”
    She looked back at it like it might disappear.
    “It’s... beautiful,” she said. “I mean... damn, Ryder.”
    I shrugged, like it wasn’t the first sleepless night I’d spent sketching that exact curve of the tank to match the line of her shoulder.
    “And this?” she asked, pointing to the small silver emblem under the seat. “TB? What brand is that?”
    I scratched the back of my neck. “Not a brand.”
    Then looked at her.
    “It stands for Tessa Bishop. Thought maybe... you’d be carrying that name soon.”
    She blinked once.
    Then just launched herself at me.
    Her arms locked tight around my neck, and for a second I thought she might cry.
    She didn’t.
    She just whispered, “You’re gonna kill me with this sweetness.”
    I laughed. “Nah. Not yet.”
    She pulled back. “So… are you going to teach me how to ride it?”
    I grinned. “You’re damn right I am.”