Page 41 of Nash
"What's in the bag, Ruby?"
"Supplies."
"What kind of supplies?"
"The classified kind." I sling it over my shoulder and head for the lot. "You can stand there and look threatening, or you can help. Your choice."
Nash follows but doesn't help. Takes a position by the fence, crosses his arms, and watches. Which is exactly what I expected and also exactly the audience I wanted.
Sloane is already at Knox's bike with a bag of pink streamers and a set of handlebar tassels. Candace has rhinestone decals and a sparkly helmet cover. Darla brought the seat cover, a custom cushion in hot pink velvet she ordered online with the words PRINCESS RIDE embroidered in gold. Frankie is leaning against the picnic table with her coffee, watching the operation unfold with the quiet satisfaction of a woman whose idea this was. Maggie is beside her, arms crossed, a smile on her face that says she raised better children than this, but she's proud anyway. Under my arm, there's a pink wicker basket with a bell that jingles.
"Ruby." Sloane waves me over. "Did you bring the sign?"
I pull the hand-painted sign from the duffel. KNOX'S PRINCESS CHARIOT in pink and gold paint, complete with aglitter border I spent two hours on last night while Nash sat on my couch pretending to watch TV.
"It's beautiful," Candace says, taking it with both hands. "This is your finest work."
"I peaked as an artist last night. Everything after this is downhill."
We move fast. Sloane wraps the handlebars in tassels and pink streamers. Candace presses rhinestone decals across every chrome surface and fits the sparkly helmet cover over Knox's lid. Darla secures the seat cover, smoothing the velvet with her palms, her pregnant belly pressed against the side of the bike. I zip-tie the wicker basket to the front, press the PRINCESS plate frame around the tag, stick the rhinestone TURNER decal across the fender, and clip the bell to the handlebar. It jingles when I flick it.
Beautiful.
Frankie walks over, inspects the bell, flicks it once, and nods. "The bell is what sells it."
Maggie tucks a folded note into the basket and walks back to the picnic table without a word.
I open it.Ride safe, queen.
"Maggie." I press the note to my chest. "You are a national treasure."
I glance back at Nash.
He's watching. Arms crossed. Jaw set. But something in his posture has loosened. His weight has shifted to one hip. His head is tilted.
"You're enjoying this," I call across the lot.
"I'm observing."
"You're enjoying it and you won't admit it." I hold up a strip of rhinestones. "Want to do a row? Just one. Nobody has to know."
"No."
"One row, Nash. For the culture."
"No."
"Your loss." I turn back to the saddlebag. "More rhinestones for me."
Darla looks at Sloane. "You're not nervous? About what he's going to do when he sees this?"
Sloane shakes her head, her smile slow and private. "He secretly loves it. Besides." She smooths a streamer along the handlebar. "I quite enjoy the punishments."
The word lands in my chest. Punishments. My eyes find Nash before I can stop them. He's still at the fence, arms crossed, watching. His gaze meets mine and holds, steady, unreadable, and my brain goes to Vesper. To the rooms behind those heavy doors. To "when you're ready, I'll take you" and the register his voice dropped into when he said it.
What kind of punishment would Nash give?
My face goes hot. I look away first.
