"You're learning."
"Don't tell anybody."
They sat on the guardrail while heat shimmered above the road.
"I used to think strength meant not needing adjustments," Emily said.
Cole glanced at her.
"In machines?"
"In everything."
She looked at her bike.
"Now I think anything that lasts is adjusted constantly. Engines. Bodies. Relationships. You listen to what changes and you respond."
Cole nodded.
"That's annoyingly wise."
"Occupational hazard."
Three weeks before the annual ride, Cole brought his Harley into Emily's bay and handed her the keys.
She looked at them.
"What's this?"
"Full inspection."
"Reese can inspect it."
"I want you to."
The meaning landed slowly.
A year earlier, he had nearly fired her for touching the motorcycle without permission.
Now he was giving her the keys before the most important ride of the year.
"You sure?"
Cole smiled faintly. "You worried I'll get angry if you find something?"
"A little."
"Good. Keeps the relationship balanced."
She took the keys.
The inspection found nothing dramatic.
That was its own reward.
Emily checked the timing system, charging system, tires, brakes, fluids, fasteners, cables, and every wear point she considered relevant. She listened to the engine hot and cold. She road-tested it herself.
When she returned, Cole was waiting.
"Well?"
Emily switched off the engine.
"She's ready."
He rested a hand on the tank.
"You sure?"
Emily looked at him.
"Do you want the professional answer or the emotional one?"
"Professional."
"Yes."
"Emotional?"
"I would ride it."
Cole nodded slowly.
That was the answer he needed.