Page 28 of Gatsby's Starlet
THE RIDE BACKfelt quieter than the ride there,not because anything about the bike had changed, the engine still vibrating beneath me, the night air still cutting cool across my face, but because Evie held onto me differently now, her arms no longer careful or hesitant but settled around my waist like she’d decided she belonged there, her body leaning into my back with a kind of quiet trust that hadn’t been there before.
I felt the shift the second it happened. Didn’t think about it. Just adjusted, easing the bike through the darker stretch of road a little smoother than I normally would, my grip steady on the handlebars while the throttle relaxed beneath my hand, not because the road demanded it, but because she was there.
She leaned a little closer as we rolled through the quiet neighborhood streets, her helmet brushing lightly against my shoulder, and that small contact sent a warmth through me that had nothing to do with the engine beneath us.
I found myself riding slower. Not enough to make it obvious. Just enough to stretch the distance between the clubhouse and her place a little longer than it needed to be.
I pulled up in front of her house and cut the engine, the sudden silence settling heavy after the steady vibration of the bike, and a second later she slid off behind me, pushing her hair back as she looked up at the porch like she was seeing it differently tonight.
“Thanks for showing me the clubhouse,” she said.
I swung off the bike and leaned back against the seat. “I knew you’d survive.”
She smiled, soft but real. “Barely.”
“Yeah,” I said, a hint of a smile pulling at my mouth. “You hid it well.”
The porch light cast a warm glow over the yard, a wind chime stirring gently near the door, its quiet notes carrying through the still street, and it felt… calm in a way that didn’t exist at the clubhouse. In a way that almost nothing in my life existed.
Evie hesitated for a moment before turning back to me. “Do you want to come in for a bit?”
It sounded casual, but there was something just under it, a small uncertainty like she wasn’t entirely sure what I’d say.
I pushed off the bike. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Inside, the place felt the same as I remembered, warm, lived-in, everything chosen like it meant something. A lamp glowed beside the couch, a quilt folded neatly over the back, books stacked in a slightly crooked tower near the coffee table like she’d set them down mid-thought and never got around to fixing it.
My eyes moved over the room without trying, catching the details, old framed photographs, worn edges, a ceramic bowl filled with mismatched buttons sitting on a shelf like it had its own story. I picked up one of the frames without thinking, afaded snapshot of a woman laughing at something off-camera, and set it back down a little more carefully than I needed to.
“Let me guess,” I said. “Thrift store?”
She slipped off her shoes and grinned. “Some of it.”
“Only some?”
“Okay… most of it.”
I huffed a quiet laugh. “I like it.”
Something in her shoulders loosened at that, small but noticeable.
She crossed the room and picked up a DVD case, turning it over once in her hands before holding it out like she was testing me. “I’m guessing you like old movies?”
I didn’t answer right away. Just watched as she stepped a little closer and angled it toward me.
Roman Holiday.
A corner of my mouth lifted slightly. “You serious?”
Her expression shifted—half hopeful, half bracing. “That a problem?”
I shook my head once. “No. Just didn’t expect that to be your pick.”
“It’s a good movie,” she said, a little defensive now.
“Didn’t say it wasn’t.”
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Then what are you saying?”
