Page 35 of The Price of Love

I step outside into the crisp spring air. Patches of fog lift off the ground, thicker where the snow hasn’t melted. It took me awhile to get used to the fog in the Adirondacks, especially on my bike, but now I appreciate the beauty. I pull the zipper of my jacket up as I approach my bike. When I glance at the garage where the officers keep their bikes, I see a light on.

My chest tightens. Dimples? Could I be lucky enough to find her alone? Would it be lucky? She’s made it clear she doesn’t want nothin’ to do with me. Still, I should shut off the light. Right? I almost believe that’s my reason.

My heart pounds as I walk to the garage. Something tells me she’s there. It’s like I sense her presence. Christ. I’m gonna start writin’ poetry if I get any cornier.

I stop just inside the door. Dimples’ Indian isn’t lined up next to Storm’s, and music comes from the back where she normally works on her bike. I strain to hear. I’m expecting the hard-driving metal she was playing last time, so I’m surprised by the soft strains of what sounds like a piano.

I should let Dimples know I’m here, but something in me wants to catch a glimpse of her before her guard comes up, so I walk quietly toward the back. As I approach, I catch an angelic voice accompanying the piano, but I can’t place the singer.

I don’t regret my decision. Dimples sprays her rear hub with degreaser before she picks up her spoke brush. She’s so intent on the job that she doesn’t notice me. She’s singing softly. I hope to see peace on her face, but there are worry lines etched on her forehead.

Since I don’t want her to catch me staring, I say, “Hey, I was just making sure nobody left a light on.”

She looks up, and light dances in her eyes before the curtain crashes down. Damn it. I’m not sure if it makes it better or worse, seeing her unguarded eyes before she shut down. Right now, I’ll take the three seconds of warmth I got from her.

“I’m just getting ready for tomorrow,” she says.

I take it as a good sign she doesn’t demand I leave. “Looking good.” I let it lie between us, knowing I’m talking about her, not the bike. I point at the speaker lying on the bench. “Who’s that?”

“Sarah McLachlan.”

“Never heard of her. But her voice sounds familiar.”

“Angel.”

My eyes widen. “Say what?”

Dimples’ lips turn up a little but not enough to show her dimples. “The song—Angel. I’m sure you’ve heard it.”

I shake my head.

Dimples sings the lyrics.

“Oh, fuck. I—”

“Hey, I’m not that bad of a singer.” This time, her smile is bigger, and my heart skips a beat.

“Shit, no. It’s not your singing. It’s that damned commercial with the animals. I can’t watch it.”

“Me neither.” Dimples turns her attention back to her bike and runs her brush over the rims.

“Need some help?”

There’s pain in Dimples’ eyes when she looks up. “No, I need you to go.”

The words hurt, and I’m sure she sees it on my face. “Why?”

“Storm’s my best friend.”

Of anything she might’ve said, I’m not expecting this. I tilt my head, not saying anything, but the question is on my face.

“Frost’s not gonna let up, so Storm doesn’t need her best friend causing a scandal.”

Understanding crashes down on me. She’s not rejecting me. In my exhilaration, I blurt out, “I want to get to know you better. Can’t we just be friends?” When she continues to stare without speaking, I add, “I won’t kiss you again. I promise.”

Her eyes soften. “It’s not a good idea, you know?”

I don’t, or maybe I do, but I can’t let this go. “We wouldn’t be breakin’ any club rules.” I kneel so I’m at eye level with her, but I keep an arm’s length away to show I’m serious. “Ain’t no crime in wanting to know you better.”