Page 65 of Voyeur Café
“What’s your guess at my top speed, then? Since 200 is out of the question.”
In a move that’s rare for Allie, she takes a breath and considers my question for quite a while before answering.Finally, she says, “135.”
I don’t bother stifling my laugh. “I’ve done that in a car. Motorcycles are light. They have a higher horsepower to weight ratio than anything else you can drive. There’s nothing to stop you from getting over 200.”
“Except maybe sanity. Or a will to live.” Allie lengthens the last word in each sentence. “Self-preservation...”
“You worried about me, sweetheart?”
“No.” She answers too quickly for me to believe her, “But I am worried about your concept of a restaurant. Aren’t we supposed to be having dinner? As amazing as these bad boys are,” she gestures up toward the turbine’s blades again, “they can’t feed us.”
“I told you there’d be dinner. Never said anything about a restaurant.” I get out of the truck and walk around the hood to open her door, but she’s already getting out by the time I make it around.
“You could let me open your door.”
“Oh, didn’t realize that’s what you were doing,” she says, accepting my hand as I help her down. Immediately, she has her phone out, and she’s snapping pictures of the turbines and the increasingly vibrant sunset.
Leaving her to enjoy, I lay out pillows and blankets in the truck bed, pull a full spread of meats, cheeses, fruits, and crackers from my cooler, and put on a band I know she likes on a Bluetooth speaker. Then I sit on the tailgate and lean forward to enjoy my favorite view— Allie Walker. She snakes through the field of precisely lined wind machines, their shadows growing longer with each minute as the sun settles closer to the horizon.
When I moved to Palm Springs, romance was the last thing on my mind. I’ve been saving and prepping for fifteenyears, getting ready for my shop and my bar, so as soon as that inheritance kicked in I’d be ready.
Station 19 is an ideal situation, one I never expected to find. I chose it because I wouldn’t have to sacrifice my passion for bikes in order to fulfill my dream of opening a bar and becoming the kind of man Grandad wanted me to be.
But Allie is a wrench in that plan in the worst and best way. Her joy is more important to me with every moment she’s in my life. How can I take anything away from this woman? What kind of man would I be if I took away the thing she wants most? Grandad wouldn’t have been proud of that, and neither would I.
We’re the only ones around for miles, and Allie’s wandered far enough into the desert that I could cover her from view with the tip of my thumb. Turning around, she calls something out to me and jogs in my direction. Her loud, bubbly laugh carries all the way to me.
Allie reaches the truck, still laughing, and braces her hands on her knees to catch her breath. “Sorry about that. Didn’t realize I’d gotten so far away.”
“Don’t be sorry. You’re adorable,” I say, getting down off the truck bed to greet her and tugging on the bill of her baseball cap.She looks so fucking cute today.
She blushes at my words, and instead of turning away, beams a smile at me. “Is there food?”
“Sure is.” Wrapping my hands around her soft waist, I lift her onto the tailgate before getting back up to join her.
She squeals in surprise at my touch before scanning the meal I’ve laid out. “Did you make me a truck-bed-charcuterie dinner?”
My intention was to cook Allie a proper meal for dinner tonight, but my little sister talked me out of it. Skye’sI miss my stupid big brothercall came through while I was in the producesection atRalph’son my way home from Devon’s party. She told me taking Allie back to my place was very presumptuous, even if my intention was only to cook for her, and insisted I do something ‘casual and cute’ instead. She then spent ten minutes on a video call directing me to which cheeses, jams, and tiny pickles I needed.
“Skye said it counts as a proper meal.”
Allie’s ear-to-ear smile tells me it’s a good thing I listened to my sister. She kicks off her shoes and says, “She was totally right.” Getting on all fours, she makes her way deeper into the bed of the truck toward the blankets and food, and I swear she points her ass directly at my face to fuck with me.
We each get comfortable in makeshift cushioned seats, using the truck bed’s walls and the back of the cab for support. I resist the urge to draw her into my lap and feed her every bite myself, so we end up sitting across from each other, snack-meal spread out between us.
Allie comments on howyummyortastyeach bite is, never eating the same combination twice. Every few minutes, she declares a new favorite and makes one for me to try. The appeal of this slow, interactive way to share a meal becomes clearer each time she holds out a new tiny sandwich offering.
“Why did you invite me today?” Allie asks as she hands me a gorgonzola, salami, and spicy mustard on a poppy-seed cracker combo.
For months, Allie and I’ve been living parallel lives through our shared glass wall. Even when we don’t talk, she’s a constant presence in my day, making drinks for regulars before they even walk in her door, while I’m on my side of our building turning wrenches and polishing chrome.
I’ve memorized her wardrobe to the point that I know every time she wears something new, which is often. She noticeswhen I get a haircut. I know when she has a new favorite album, because she plays it on repeat over the speakers atTurbinefor days on end.
We’ve spent so much of our time together while we’re both working that I meant what I said last night when I asked her to play hooky. I needed to get her out of Station 19. All day there’s been an undercurrent of energy like we’re getting away with something. Like we’ve put away all our responsibilities, so we can play.
“I wanted more of you.” It sounds greedy, but that’s where I’m at with Allie, greedy for more.
“You always say things that make me blush.”