She rode back and forth along the road for a long while, Travis watching her confidence grow with every stop and start. Her turns were executed with greater ease as well—she even began driving in a circle—and by the time she stopped in front of him, her face was flushed. When she took off her helmet, Travis was sure he’d never seen anyone more alive and beautiful.
“I’m done,” she announced. “You can drive now.”
“You sure?”
“I learned a long time ago to quit while I’m ahead. I’d hate to crash and ruin this feeling.”
Gabby scooted back and Travis got on the bike, only to feel her wrap her arms around him. As he wound his way back to the highway, Travis felt charged, as if his senses had been put on overdrive, and he was acutely aware of the curves of her body against his. They made their way up the highway, turned, and cut through Morehead City, passing by the Atlantic Beach bridge and completing the loop on their way back to Beaufort.
Minutes later, they were passing through the historic district, cruising past restaurants and the marina on their way down Front Street. Travis finally slowed the motorcycle, pulling onto a large grassy lot near the end of the block. The empty lot bordered a weathered Georgian that was at least a hundred years old on one side and an equally aged Victorian on the other. He turned off the engine and removed his helmet.
“Here we are,” he said, ushering her off the bike. “This is what I wanted to show you.”
There was something in his voice that kept her from making light of what seemed to be nothing more than a vacant lot, and for a moment, she simply watched Travis as he walked a few steps in silence. He was staring across the road, toward Shackleford Banks, his hands in his pockets. Removing her helmet and running a hand through her matted hair, Gabby walked toward him. Reaching his side, she sensed he would tell her what this was all about when he was ready.
“In my opinion, this place has one of the most beautiful views anywhere along the coast,” he finally said. “It’s not like an ocean view, where all you see is waves and water stretching to the horizon. That’s great, but after a while it gets boring, because the view is always pretty much the same. But here, there’s always something to see. There are always sailboats and yachts streaming toward the marina; if you come out here at night, you can see the crowds along the waterfront and listen to the music. I’ve seen porpoises and rays passing through the channel, and I especially love to see the wild horses over on the island. I don’t care how many times I’ve seen them, I’m always amazed.”
“You come out here a lot?”
“Twice a week, maybe. This is where I come to think.”
“I’m sure the neighbors are thrilled about that.”
“It’s not like they can do anything about it. I own it.”
“Really?”
“Why do you sound so surprised when you say that?”
“I’m not sure. I guess it just sounds so . . . domestic.”
“I do own a house already. . . .”
“And I hear your neighbor is terrific.”
“Yeah, yeah . . .”
“I just meant that buying a lot makes it sound like you’re the kind of guy who has long-term plans.”
“And you don’t see me like that?”
“Well . . .”
“If you’re trying to flatter me, you’re not doing a very good job.”
She laughed. “How about this, then: You continually surprise me.”
“In a good way?”
“Every time.”
“Like when you brought Molly to the clinic and realized I was a veterinarian?”
“I’d rather not talk about that.”
He laughed. “Then let’s eat.”
She followed him back to the motorcycle, where he unpacked the basket and a blanket. After leading her up a small incline toward the rear of the property, he spread the blanket and motioned for her to sit. Once they were both comfortable, he started removing Tupperware containers.
“Tupperware?”
He winked. “My friends call me Mr. Domestic.”
He pulled out two chilled cans of strawberry-flavored iced tea. After opening hers, he handed it to her.
“What’s on the menu?” she asked.
He pointed to various containers as he spoke. “I’ve got three different kinds of cheese, crackers, Kalamata olives, and grapes—it’s more a snack than a lunch.”
“Sounds perfect.” She reached for the crackers and then sliced herself some cheese. “There used to be a house here, right?” When she saw his surprise, she waved toward the houses on either side of the lot. “I can’t imagine that this particular spot has been vacant for a hundred fifty years.”
“You’re right,” he said. “It burned down when I was a kid. I know you think Beaufort is small now, but when I grew up here, it wasn’t more than a blip on the map. Most of these historic homes had fallen into disrepair, and the one that had been here had been abandoned for years. It was a great big rambling kind of place with big holes in the roof, and it was rumored to be haunted, which made it that much more attractive to us when we were kids. We used to sneak over here at night. It was like our fort, and we’d play hide-and-seek for hours in the rooms. There were tons of great hiding places.” He pulled absently at some grass, as if reaching for the memories. “Anyway, one winter night, I guess a couple of vagrants lit a fire inside to stay warm. The place went up in minutes, and the next day it was just this smoldering pile. But the thing was, no one knew how to contact the man who owned it. The original owner had died and left it to his son. The son died, and he’d left it to someone else, and so on, so that pile of rubble sat there for about a year until the town came in and bulldozed it away. The lot kind of got forgotten after that, until I finally tracked down the owner in New Mexico and made a lowball offer on it. He accepted it immediately. I doubt if he’d ever been here, and he didn’t know what he was giving up.”
“And you’re going to build a house here?”
“That’s part of my long-term plan, anyway, being that I’m so domestic and all.” Travis grabbed an olive and popped it into his mouth. “You ready to tell me about your boyfriend yet?”
Her mind flashed to the conversation she’d had with Kevin earlier. “What’s your interest?”
“I’m just making conversation.”
Gabby reached for an olive as well. “Then let’s talk about one of your previous girlfriends instead.”
“Which one?”
“Any of them.”
“All right. One of them gave me some movie posters.”
“Was she pretty?”
He considered his answer. “Most people would say she was.”
“And what would you say?”
“I would say . . . that you’re right. Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this.”
She laughed, then pointed to the olives. “These are great, by the way. Everything you brought is perfect.”
He added cheese to another cracker. “When does your boyfriend get back to town?”
“Are we back to this again?”
“I’m just thinking of you. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’m a big girl. And not that it matters, but he’ll be coming home on Wednesday. Why?”
“Because I’ve enjoyed getting to know you these last couple of days.”
“And I’ve enjoyed getting to know you.”
“But are you bummed it’s coming to an end?”
“It doesn’t have to come to an end. We’ll still be neighbors.”
“And I’m sure your boyfriend wouldn’t mind if I took you out for another motorcycle ride, or went for a picnic with you, or if you sat in the hot tub with me, right?”
The answer was obvious, and her expression became more serious. “He probably wouldn’t be too happy about it.”
“So it’ll be ending.”
“We can still be friends.”
He stared at her for a moment, then suddenly grabbed at his chest as if he’d been shot. “You really know how to hurt a guy.”
“What are you talking about?”
He shook his head. “There’s no such thing as being friends. Not with single men and women our age. It just doesn’t work like that, unless you’re talking about someone you’ve known for a very long time. Certainly not when it comes to strangers.”