Christmas Wedding. Pamela Macaluso
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“All right. But this information sharing was your idea. Now, if we’re done, why don’t you take me back to the shop?”
Jesse shrugged. They made the trip to the parking lot in silence. As they neared the Jeep, he let go of her hand to dig into his pocket for the keys.
It had begun to feel so natural, she’d forgotten they’d been holding hands.
On the drive back to the shop, Jesse said, “I hope the weather holds for our ride down. If it doesn’t, we’ll have to trailer the bike. I’ll let you know the day before.”
“We’re going to be riding down to Lake Wyndham on your motorcycle?”
“Yes, it’s only about a five-hour ride. Since you’re used to being on a bike, I didn’t think it would be a problem.”
“It’s not. Except how are we going to carry a week’s worth of clothes for each of us?”
“I’ll send the suitcases by courier the day before.”
“Now why didn’t I think of that?”
“You don’t make many long-distance trips on your bike, do you?”
“Dad and I rode up to Sturgis, South Dakota, one year for a motorcycle meet. I wore one set of clothes, carried a second set in my saddlebag and washed them every night.”
“I went to Sturgis one year.”
“On your Yankee?”
“It was before Yankee existed.” He glanced at her. “I used to ride a Harley-Davidson Fatboy.”
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