Bikers and Pearls by Vicki Wilkerson

brought my flash drive from home. It’s
     all loaded.” He looked around to get a chair for her, grabbed one from the table behind
     them, and placed it at a slight distance from his own seat at the computer.
    “Okay,” he said, clicking on the icons on the screen. “This is what I was thinking.”
    What he was really thinking was how beautiful she was and how sweet the fragrance
     was that drifted from the air around her. He hadn’t seen her in lipstick and heels.
     Heels and jeans. Jeans and—well, everything about her looked flirty and hot. He hadn’t
     thought it possible that those words could ever be used to describe her—Miss Risk
     Assessment Manager.
    He’d better keep his mind on the task at hand and not her brown eyes and swinging
     hair. “How ’bout this for an initial advertisement?” He showed her the graphics he
     had worked on earlier in the day.
    She leaned in toward the screen, and her hair swung forward. She glanced at him.
    “Wow,” she said as she slowly placed her notebook on the floor, keeping her gaze on
     the screen. “That’s excellent. Look at the detail. You’re very talented.”
    “Thanks,” he said. “I have a couple more I wanted you to look at.” He pulled up the
     others and leaned back to give her room.
    She moved her seat closer to the screen and closer to him. “These are great. They
     look like they were done by a professional graphic artist.”
    He smiled. If things hadn’t worked out so that he could buy the Hickory Street Garage,
     he may have become a graphic artist. It was the first time he felt anything positive
     coming his way from her. At first, he thought she’d never be able to see past his
     bomber jacket. And he hadn’t really cared—until now. At this moment, it seemed very
     important that she admired his work.
    She turned her head toward the screen again and he watched as her sandy hair brushed
     over her small shoulders.
    “Let’s see your ideas,” he said.
    Not bothering to turn around, she said, “I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I love
     what you’ve done. You’re very talented on the computer…and with graphic design, you
     know.” She smiled. “So, how’d you get so good?”
    “Years ago, I took some classes,” he said.
    “I don’t have an artistic bone in my body.” She closed her eyes and smiled.
    “Didn’t think I did, either. My little brother, Adam, had inherited the art-and-music
     gene. I was only competent with numbers and machines—until the classes.”
    “Well, I did get the music thing, though,” she said. “I’m actually helping my neighbor
     give Ben lessons.” Her eyes lit up. Then an expression of sadness covered her face.
     “That is—until he got sick,” she said. “It’s very important to me to help raise money
     for Ben and his family.”
    “Me, too. He reminds me of Adam.” Something lodged in his chest and he glanced away.
     “Adam’s gone now. Died when we were kids.”
    April placed her hand on his arm. He drew in a difficult breath and observed her fingers.
     It had been so long since he’d felt that kind of touch from anyone.
    “I’m sorry,” she said as she looked though a liquid veil over her eyes.
    He couldn’t believe he’d just revealed the truth of Adam to her. Few people knew about
     how the tragic events around Adam had colored so much of his life.
    He touched her hand and smiled. The easiness of being with her and talking to her
     surprised him.
    She gazed at their stacked hands for a moment, and then turned her face toward his. Oh, man . What was going on?
    She must have sensed it, too, because she turned to the screen and unlocked their
     stare.
    They had work to get done. He leaned in toward the screen as well, his arm brushing
     against hers. She didn’t pull back. “What if we changed this?” he asked, typing and
     moving things around on the monitor almost at the speed of light.
    “That’s even better,” she said and smiled. Their arms remained pressed