Chapter 3 The Dinner That Changed Everything

For the fourth time, Lena checked her reflection in the antique mirror inside the bookstore and smoothed away imaginary wrinkles on her forest-green dress.

This is not a date, she reminded herself. It is strategy. A performance.

A bell chimed above the door.

The door frame framed Ryan with sunshine and hazel eyes kissed with gold flecks. He had two helmets in his hands.

"I thought we agreed on dinner," Lena said, observing the motorcycle idling by the curb.

Ryan's smile was purely mischief. "These plans have changed. I know of a better spot."

The wind rampaged past them as Ryan expertly maneuvered along coastal roads on his motorcycle with Lena squeezing him tight around the waist. She should have been scared stiff, but with Ryan's solid warm body against her, she was just feeling... alive.

They stopped at a seafood shack, pitched high on a cliff, with planks of sun-bleached white wood extending over thundering waves. There were no white tablecloths. No Tom. Just paper plates with a salt-kissed wind.

"You hate fancy restaurants," Ryan said as he handed her the lobster roll, "and you always wrinkle your nose when some rich tourists walk into your shop."

Lena blinked. "You noticed that?"

"I notice everything about you." The smile faded from his face. "Like the way you're treating that roll like it might attack you. Chill, Carter. This isn't a date."

The lie tasted acrid.

They talked for hours beneath the sunset's glow. Ryan revealed his fear of deep water after nearly drowning at fourteen. Lena admitted to having left some poetry under a pseudonym that made it into the New Yorker.

"You're full of surprises," Ryan murmured as his knee grazed hers underneath the rickety table.

The mere contact sent sparks flooding through Lena's spine. She leaned in before she even knew what she was doing-

Crash!

A tray of drinks shattered nearby. They leapt apart.

Lena's phone hummed with another text from Sophie: Tom is at La Luna telling everyone you're dating some "biker trash."

Ryan had seen the message. His jaw clenched. "I think we should go."

The ride back was in silence.

When they arrived at her apartment, Ryan finally spoke: "I'm not ashamed of you, Lena. But I won't be your revenge plot."

And before she could respond, he drove into the night, leaving her standing feet planted in darkness, tasting salt and something dangerously like heartbreak.