Page 42 of Nash
Candace steps back to admire the full effect. Knox's matte black Harley is now a rolling beauty pageant. Tassels on the handlebars. Pink streamers. Rhinestones across every chrome surface. A sparkly helmet. A wicker basket with a note inside and a bell that catches the morning light. The velvet seat cover gleams under the sun. I prop the sign against the front wheel and take a photo.
"Masterpiece," Sloane says.
"We're not done." I pull a roll of pink ribbon, a bag of balloons, and a pair of ceremonial scissors from the bottom of the duffel. "East's shop. Phase two."
Frankie sets down her coffee. "My favorite phase."
We cross the lot to East's garage. Sloane strings the ribbon across the bay door while I blow up balloons and Darla ties them to the door handles. Candace tapes the laminated sign I made last night to the wall beside the entrance: GRAND REOPENING! EAST'S BIKE BOUTIQUE. Frankie arranges the ceremonialscissors on a stool by the ribbon with a bow on them, adjusting the angle twice.
"Presentation matters," she says.
Then I tape the laminated reviews to the wall inside the bay. Frankie's idea. Laminate them so they can't be ripped down in the first five seconds. Five stars across the board. "'Manager was professional, kind, and emotionally available.'" "'Brought in a boring black Harley and left with a statement piece. East's Bike Boutique doesn't just modify bikes. They empower them.'" "'Finally, a service that understands motorcycles have feelings.'"
Darla reads them over my shoulder, her hand on her belly. "He's going to combust."
"That's the goal."
Maggie reads the emotionally available review, turns to me, and says, "That boy has never been emotionally available a day in his life." Then she smooths the laminate against the wall to make sure it's straight.
I pull out my phone and build the Yelp page while Sloane adds the finishing touch: a chalkboard easel propped at the entrance reading TODAY'S SPECIAL: FULL PRINCESS PACKAGE. INCLUDES TASSELS, STREAMERS, AND EMOTIONAL SUPPORT.
I turn the phone toward Nash. The Yelp page, the laminated reviews, the balloons, the ceremonial scissors. He reads the screen. His mouth twitches. Both corners. He holds it for a full second before he kills it.
"That's the closest thing to a smile I've gotten out of you in fourteen months," I say. "I want it acknowledged."
"Acknowledged."
"That's not the same as a smile."
"It's what you're getting."
I step closer. Close enough that sandalwood and leather fill the space between us, close enough that I have to tilt my chin up tosee his face. "One day, Nash. One day I'm going to get a full smile out of you. Both sides of your mouth. Teeth visible. The whole thing. When it happens, I'm going to take a photo and make it my lock screen."
His eyes drop to my mouth. Hold. Come back up.
"Keep trying," he says. Low.
My stomach drops through the pavement. That voice. That register. My knees become unreliable, and I take a step back before he sees it.
Knox's truck pulls into the lot. East's bike is right behind him.
"Positions," Sloane whispers.
We scatter to the picnic table and sit down with our coffees like we've been there all morning.
Knox parks. East parks. They walk toward the clubhouse together. Knox stops first.
The silence stretches. He stands in front of his motorcycle. His arms cross slowly. His head tilts. A pink streamer flutters in the breeze.
He turns toward the picnic table. "Which one of you?"
"Which one of us what?" Candace says, sipping her coffee.
"Sloane."
"Morning, baby." Sloane waves. "How was the supply run?"
Knox's jaw works. He picks up the sign. Reads it. Sets it down. Looks at the velvet seat cover. The rhinestones. Looks at the tassels. Reaches out and flicks the bell on the basket. It jingles.
