Persephone roared to life beneath me, the vibration traveling up my spine in a familiar, comforting way.
The motorcycle had been my project for two years, buying the rusted frame with saved paychecks, scrounging for parts, rebuilding her piece by piece under Jen's occasional guidance. My father had called it a waste of time and money.
That alone made it worth every penny
The ride to Sweet Ellis took exactly seven minutes, a route I could navigate blindfolded by now. The small bakery sat on a corner of Main Street, its blue and white awning a cheerful contrast to the surrounding brick buildings. The CLOSED sign was already in the window, but lights still shone inside, May often baked late into the evening, preparing for the next day.
I knocked on the glass, and May's face appeared, breaking into a smile when she saw me. She unlocked the door, letting me in.
"Perfect timing," she said. "I just pulled out a batch of those cheese rolls you like."
"Mind reader," I replied, following her into the warm, sweet-scented shop. "Sam around?"
"In the back with a customer," May said, disappearing behind the counter. "She should be done soon."
Customer? After closing?
I frowned, making my way toward the kitchen. The swinging door was partially open, and Sam's voice drifted through.
"...really can't accept these, Marcus."
"Just a thank-you for the advice on my mom's birthday cake. She loved it."
I pushed the door open, taking in the scene: Sam standing by the industrial mixer, her honey-brown hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, flour dusting her cheek. Across from her, a guy about our age with too-perfect hair and a sweater that probably cost more than my weekly paycheck held out a small gift bag.
They both turned at my entrance. Sam's face lit up, causing a flutter in my chest I promptly ignored. "Raf! I didn't know you were coming by."
"Clearly," I said, my eyes shifting to the preppy stranger. "Bakery's closed."
"Rafael, this is Marcus Winters," Sam said, a slight edge to her voice warning me to behave. "Marcus, this is my friend Rafael."
Marcus extended his hand with a practiced smile. "Nice to meet you. Sam's mentioned you."
I ignored his hand, nodding curtly instead. "Can't say the same."
Sam shot me a look. "Marcus is a regular customer. His mom ordered that three-tier cake for the hospital fundraiser last month."
"Fascinating," I deadpanned.
Marcus's smile didn't falter, but his eyes hardened slightly. "I should get going. Think about what I said, Sam." He set the gift bag on the counter. "The offer stands. Just let me know."
"What offer?" I asked as soon as he left, not bothering to hide my suspicion.
Sam rolled her eyes, wiping her hands on her apron. "His father runs the community theater. They're doing 'Romeo and Juliet' this fall, and he thinks I should audition."
"You hate public speaking," I pointed out.
"Hence why I said no." She tilted her head, studying me. "What's with the attitude?"
"No attitude. Just wondering why Ken doll is bringing you gifts after hours."
A smile tugged at her lips. "Are you jealous, Shade?"
"Of that poser? Please." I hopped onto the counter, snagging a cookie from a cooling rack. "Just looking out for you. Guy seems shifty."
"Uh-huh." Sam didn't look convinced. She grabbed the gift bag, peeking inside. "Oh! It's a first edition of 'The Secret Garden.' That was thoughtful."
I bit into the cookie harder than necessary. Who the fuck gave first editions as casual gifts? "Regular customer huh?"
"He comes in a few times a week." She placed the book carefully aside. "How was work?"
"Same shit, different day," I answered, watching her move around the kitchen with practiced efficiency. She seemed tired, dark circles under her eyes more pronounced than usual. "You feeling okay?"
"Just a little worn out," she said dismissively. "May's been teaching me some new recipes."
I knew there was more to it, Sam had been using her inhaler more frequently lately, but I didn't push. She hated being reminded of her asthma, hated anything that made her seem fragile.
"Got something for you," I said instead, reaching into my jacket pocket. I pulled out the small notebook I'd been writing in during breaks at the garage, hesitating briefly before handing it over.
Sam looked surprised. "Oh, what's this?"
"Just some ideas. For the bucket list." I felt uncharacteristically nervous as she opened it. "Thought maybe we could add a few things."
She flipped through the pages where I'd jotted down suggestions. { Midnight picnic on the water tower. Road trip to nowhere }
"Raf, these are great," she said, looking up with that smile that always made me feel ten feet tall. "Can we really do all these?"
"Why not? Summer's just starting." I shrugged, playing it cool despite the warmth spreading through my chest at her enthusiasm. "Got nothing better to do."
What I didn't tell her was that I'd spent hours researching activities that wouldn't strain her breathing too much, things that would give her the thrill she seemed to be seeking without endangering her health.
Midnight picnics were safer than cliff jumping. Road trips could include frequent rest stops.
"We should add these to the official list," Sam said, carefully tearing out the pages.
I caught her wrist gently. "Keep the whole thing. There's, uh, other stuff in there you might like."
Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "Poetry stuff?!""
I nodded, suddenly regretting the impulse.
The notebook contained more than just bucket list ideas, it held fragments of poems I'd written over the years, most of them about her, though I'd been careful not to make that too obvious.
"Thanks for sharing this with me," she said softly, clutching the notebook like it was something precious. "I know how private you are about your writing."
"Yeah well" I looked away, uncomfortable with the sincerity in her eyes. "Just don't tell anyone. Got a reputation to protect."