Chapter 38 38

Chapter 38 38
  ~TESSA~
    The engine rumbled beneath me like a living thing.
    I was starting to love these bike rides and basically everything about bikes.
    Guess my hot biker saviour didn't just affect me with his love, I had been affected by his 'biker syndrome' as well.
    Ryder’s bike wasn’t just fast... it was pure power. The way it hugged the road, the vibration through the seat, the way he moved with it like they were born together.
    It was... nothing short of amazing. That's all I can say.
    I held tight to his jacket, leaning into his back, the wind whipping at my hair as we roared down the quiet highway.
    It wasn’t fear I felt.
    It was freedom...
    It was him.
    We pulled up to the shop a few minutes later—Bishop Motorcycles. 
    The sign was quite... old-fashioned and bold, the letters clean but slightly worn.
    Ryder parked in the staff-only lot around back and killed the engine.
    I climbed off slowly, legs shaky, not from the ride... but from the way he looked when he turned and pulled his helmet off.
    Hair slightly tousled. Stubble sharp. Eyes on me.
    “Good?” he asked.
    “Better than good,” I said.
    He smirked. “Come on.”
    We walked through a side door and into what felt like another world.
    I expected grease. Darkness. Maybe some rough-around-the-edges vibe.
    But the space was clean. 
    Bright lights. Polished floors. Lined toolkits arranged like a surgeon’s table. 
    A long wall of framed black-and-white photos... Ryder’s dad, from the looks of it, in various stages of building bikes or winning trophies.
    There was a smell, too... leather, steel, oil.
    That was obvious, right?
    Warm greetings echoed the second Ryder walked in.
    “Big Boss!”
    “Hey, Bishop!”
    “That's your girl?”
    He nodded once, hand hovering on the small of my back.
    “Everyone,” he said casually, “this is Tessa.”
    A few guys nodded with knowing smiles. 
   One older woman... maybe in her fifties, still strong-looking and in coveralls... gave me a respectful up-down and said, “If you survived his driving, you’ll be just fine here.”
    I laughed.
    There were two clear areas... the open-floor mechanic zone, where half a dozen bikes were in mid-repair, and a glassed-in showroom toward the front, where new bikes sat under spotlight like jewelry.
    I walked slowly past one... midnight black with matte red trim.
    “She’s gorgeous,” I said.
    Ryder glanced over. “Custom. Took seven days to assemble.”
    “You built her?”
    “Every bolt.”
    I looked at him. "Oh... so that's the project that has kept you busy lately. But... seven days? That's... that's mind-blowing. I mean... coming up with a masterpiece like this in just seven days? That's crazy."
    "Yes, love. All the parts were ready. But you know what... don't worry your head about this," he said jokingly.
    I was impressed... Honestly. 
    This bike was a masterpiece. I guess it was in the blood.
    The careful callouses on his hands, the hard lines of his arms… it all made perfect sense.
    This wasn’t just his job.
    It was something he loved... I could see it through him. 
    He was passionate about this...
    This was his world...
    It was so obvious... I didn't need someone to point it out to me.
    ~
    The breakroom was tucked behind a sliding metal door near the back of the shop.
    It wasn’t fancy.
    Beat-up leather couch. Fold-out table.
    A coffee maker Ryder swore was older than him.
    That was crazy!
    Ryder made some coffee.
    He poured us each a cup and slid one my way. Black, no sugar... just how he liked it. I took it anyway, needing something hot in my hands to ground me.
    Ryder leaned back against the counter, watching me.
    “You’re quiet,” he said.
    I sipped. “I’m just… taking it all in.”
    He nodded.
    There was a long silence. Not awkward.
    Just… full.
    Finally, I looked up.
    "Can I ask you for a favour?"
    "What is it, pretty Tess?"
    "Promise me you won't say no."
    "Tessa, come on... what is it? Just say it."
    “Can..."
    "Can you what? Speak up, I'm curious already... sugar pie."
    "Can... I work here?”
    He blinked and almost choked on his coffee. “What?”
    “I mean it,” I said, putting the cup down. “I want to be around. Help out. Learn something. I’m tired of sitting around waiting for something bad to happen. I want a place to be.”
    He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly caught off guard. “Tess… this isn’t exactly—” He gestured vaguely around the shop. “—a safe little office job.”
    “I’m not asking for danger. I’ll do reception, whatever admin stuff you’ve got. Answer phones. Clean up. Just…” I paused. “Don’t shut me out.”
    He looked at me for a long time.
    Then set his own coffee down.
    “You’d really want to come here every day? Hear tools screeching, oil burning, men swearing at rusted bolts?”
    “If it means being near you?” I said softly. “Yeah. I do.”
    His jaw flexed.
    “Jesus, you’re impossible.”
    “Is that a yes?”
    He stepped closer. “It’s a maybe.”
    “A strong maybe?”
    He leaned in, lips brushing mine.
    “Don’t push it,” he murmured.
    “I just did.”
    He kissed me.
    And I kissed him back.
    A door creaked.
    “AHEM.”
    We broke apart instantly.
    A grinning mechanic who looked like he was in his thirties leaned in with a greasy rag over one shoulder.
    “Sorry to interrupt, boss, but breakroom’s not a bedroom."
    Ryder groaned and scratched the back of his head.
    I flushed.
    The guy winked at me. “Welcome to the shop, sweetheart.”