“It’s a hard name to remember,” he replied, nudging the bowl of fruit closer.
She snorted. “Don’t even try it, buddy. You are one of the smartest men I’ve ever met. I’m sure that you can remember one man’s name. Especially when you don’t interact with anyone but me all day long.”
“That’s not true.” He stabbed a grape with his fork.
“Who else do you talk with during the day?” She challenged.
“My housekeeper talks to me.”
“Really?” She asked. “What’s her name?”
“Amy,” he replied quickly.
Kinsley’s eyes narrowed. “And what did you say to Amy this morning?”
He shrugged, pulling Kinsley’s gaze to his shoulders. She’d been doing a pretty good job of ignoring those amazing shoulders up until that moment.
“She asked what I wanted for dinner,” he replied.
“And?”
Lincoln looked up. “What else does she need to say?”
Kinsley laughed. “How about just talking to her, asking her about her day. Does she have children?”
“She’s in her sixties.”
Kinsley laughed, shaking her head with exasperation. “Then ask about her grandchildren, Linc! Be nice!” She pointed her fork at him, but the emphasis was dimmed due to the strawberry impaled on the tines. “I know you can do it. It took you long enough to be nice to me, but eventually, you came out of your grouch-mode.”
He didn’t respond, but Kinsley knew that he was amused by her assessment of his character.
“Fine, we’ll be there at six o’clock tomorrow night. Now, I’m almost finished with that box of receipts that you gave me on my first day. So, I’m going to…”
He interrupted her before she could ask for another assignment. “I need you on the track this afternoon. So, the receipts are going to have to wait.”
“The track?” she echoed, looking at him with wide, worried eyes.
He chuckled softly at her anxiety. “I made more modifications to the balancing component that I’ve been working on. I want to test it out and see if my changes make a difference.”
She took a long, slow breath. “So…you’re going to drive your motorcycle around that track like you did the other time?”
He took her hand, stroking her cold, trembling fingers. “I know what I’m doing, Kinsley. I promise, I’ll be fine.”
She closed her eyes, her lips pressed together for a long moment. Then she opened her eyes and nodded. “Right. You know what you’re doing.” She started packing up the food from their lunch. “I’ll just…put this away in the fridge and get the headsets.”
Lincoln watched Kinsley walk away, wondering how he could prove to her that he knew what he was doing. It only looked like he was taking risks when he drove around the track on his motorcycle. Still, it was…oddly sweet…that she worried about him.
In the storage room, he pulled the box that contained the headphones down. But as soon as he peeked in the box, he burst out laughing. The box wasn’t a jumbled mess of wires and tangled headphone connectors anymore. Nope! Not with Kinsley around! She’d not just organized the box, but labeled each headphone with numbers and taped a computer printout of the inventory list to the box. He couldn’t imagine when she’d managed this organizational feat, but he was impressed.
Tucking the box under his arm, he carried it outside, strapped the box onto the back of his bike, then drove down to the track and waited for Kinsley. Sure enough, she pulled up in her little Prius, determined not to ride on the back of his motorcycle. Soon, he thought as he shoved the helmet down over his head. Very soon, he was going to negotiate with her to ride on the back. Then she’d understand that he was fully in control of the motorcycle. Plus, he’d also developed several additions to the engine that helped improve the safety of the bike.
Granted, the main issue with motorcycles wasn’t the expertise of the person driving the motorcycle. The real danger was with other drivers, people in the cars or trucks, mostly because they were looking out for cars, not motorcycles.
Lincoln handed her a neatly wrapped headset. “I see you attacked the box,” he observed without any sarcasm. Especially when he picked up another headset without having to untangle the wires. “Good job.”
“Thanks,” she replied with a grin. “Okay, what’s on the agenda for today?”
Lincoln hefted the balance mechanism and attached it to the motorcycle, connecting all of the wires so that he could record the data. “Today will be just like last time. We’re doing the same drill again.”
“But…?”
He didn’t look up from attaching the thingamabob as he explained, “I didn’t get the results I expected last time. I think I got it right this time. If I’ve fixed the issues, then I’ll need to test this out on other motorcycles, so be prepared to buy me several different types of bikes.”
She’d just finished adjusting the headset when his words registered. “I’m sorry, but did you just say you need me to buy other motorcycles?”
“Sure,” he replied, standing up and slapping his hands together. “I need to make sure this thing works with the computers on different bikes. It won’t do much good if it only fixes the balance problems on a Ducati.”
“Oh, well obviously! Why not buy several new bikes!” she muttered sarcastically under her breath. More loudly, she asked, “Do you know how to drive other types of bikes?”
“Sure. Once you know how to ride one, they’re all pretty similar. Some have some different quirks. Like the Suzuki or the Yamaha.”
Huh! She was actually fascinated, despite her concerns over the safety of a motorcycle. “What’s different about those?”
He tested another wire, nodding when it was secure. “Some people call those crotch rockets. They’re fast and furious and have a different feel.”
She stood there, watching him, not sure she
