Shawn hadn’t been this dirty in a long, long time. He actually liked it. Liked the way he felt like he’d accomplished something that day. Yes, he’d had to pull apart the motorcycle until dozens of parts were strewn over the dropcloth he’d laid on the ground.
But the bike started. It needed more than just a tune-up to be rideable in the motorcycle parade, as the locals who participated in that—and the hundreds who came to the island in the days leading up to the Fourth of July—had pristine bikes they spent a year getting ready.
Shawn had nine more days. Thankfully, his father had raised him with a Mr. Fix-It attitude, and Shawn knew he could get the bike looking amazing in time. He couldn’t help thinking about the woman he wanted leaning into him as they cruised down the narrow streets of
