“It sounds like dinner.”
He looked at her.
She was confident again.
Beautiful enough that saying no required genuine effort.
He glanced toward the pickup.
Then back.
“If you still want to ask me after you get home safely, ask me again.”
The Woman tilted her head.
“You assume I’ll change my mind?”
“No.”
“I’m giving both of us time to make sure we don’t confuse desert heat with judgment.”
Her smile became slower.
“Careful.”
“About?”
“I’m beginning to like you.”
The Single Dad picked up the toolbox.
“That confirms the heat theory.”
She laughed.
He walked toward his truck.
Before opening the door, he turned.
“Ride behind me until the next gas station.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“You’re worried about the repair?”
“Yes.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I believe you.”
“Then?”
“If it dies again, I don’t want you stranded twice.”
She stared.
Then nodded.
“Fine.”
He got into the pickup.
His daughter immediately leaned forward.
“You like her.”
“Seat belt.”
“She likes you.”
“Seat belt.”
“Are we having dinner with her?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because people sometimes meet without immediately reorganizing their lives.”
His daughter considered.
“That sounds boring.”
He started the engine.
The motorcycle appeared behind them in the mirror.
For twenty miles, the Woman followed.
At the next gas station, she pulled alongside.
The Single Dad lowered his window.
“Everything okay?”
“Perfect.”
“Good.”
She removed one glove.
Held up her phone.
“Number?”
He stared.
She smiled.
“You said ask again after I got somewhere safe.”
“This is a gas station.”
“It has lights.”
He gave her the number.
She entered it.
Called.
His phone rang.
“Now I know you didn’t lie.”
“About my number?”
“About everything.”
“That’s a lot of confidence from ten digits.”
She put her helmet back on.
“Dinner.”
“We’ll see.”
“You keep saying that.”
“It’s working.”
She pulled away.
The Single Dad watched the motorcycle disappear.
His daughter said, “You’re smiling.”
“No.”
“You are.”
“Bananas are melting.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
He drove home.
The Woman did not.
She rode another thirty-eight miles to a private airfield.
Two black SUVs were waiting.
So was her executive assistant.
The assistant marched toward her the moment she removed her helmet.
“Where have you been?”
“Motorcycle problem.”
“You disappeared from tracking for fifty-four minutes.”
“I know.”
“Security has been losing their minds.”
“Good exercise.”
The assistant stared.
“You’re impossible.”
The Woman handed over the helmet.