Николас Спаркс - The Choice

“Now just put your hands on top of mine,” he instructed. “And do the same with your feet. I just want you to feel what’s happening. It’s kind of a rhythm thing, but once you get the hang of it, you’ll never forget.”

“Is this how you learned?”

“No. My friend stood off to the side, yelling instructions. My first time out, I squeezed the clutch instead of the brake and ended up crashing into a tree. Which is why I want to be right here your first time out.” He lifted the kickstand, engaged the clutch, and started the engine; as soon as it began to idle, she felt the same fluttery nerves she’d felt the moment before the parasail lifted her from the boat. She put her hands on his, relishing the feel of him against her.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Keep your hands light, okay?”

Travis turned the throttle and slowly eased out the clutch; in the instant the motorcycle began to move, he lifted his foot from the ground. Gabby allowed her foot to settle lightly on his.

They went slowly at first, Travis accelerating gradually, then easing off, accelerating again, and finally shifting to another gear before slowing again and coming to a stop. Then they started over again, Travis carefully explaining what he was doing—using the brake or getting ready to shift and reminding her never to squeeze the front brake in panic or she’d go flying over the handlebars. Little by little, as the process continued, Gabby got the hang of it. The choreographed movement of his hands and feet struck her as something akin to playing the piano, and after a few minutes, she could almost anticipate what he was going to do. Even so, he continued to guide her until the movements felt almost second nature.

With that, he had them switch places; her hands and feet were now on the controls, with his atop hers, and they repeated the process from the beginning. It wasn’t as easy as he’d made it seem. At times the motorcycle jerked or she squeezed the hand brake too hard, but he was patient and encouraging. He never raised his voice, and she found herself recalling the way he’d been with the toddlers at the beach the day before. There was, she admitted, more to Travis than she had initially realized.

Over the next fifteen minutes, as she continued to practice driving, his touch became even lighter, until finally he let go entirely. Though she wasn’t entirely comfortable, she began to accelerate faster and more smoothly, and braking came just as naturally. For the first time, she felt the power and freedom the motorcycle offered.

“You’re doing fantastic,” Travis said.

“This is great!” she cried, feeling almost giddy.

“Are you ready to try riding solo?”

“You’re kidding.”

“Not at all.”

She debated only an instant. “Yeah,” she said enthusiastically. “I think I am.”

She brought the bike to a stop, and Travis hopped off. After watching him step back, she took a deep breath, ignored the pounding in her chest, and got the motorcycle going. A moment later, she was zipping along. On her own, she stopped and started a dozen times, gradually reducing the distances. Surprising Travis, she turned the bike around in a slow, wide arc and came racing back toward him. For a moment, he thought she was out of control, but she brought the bike to an elegant stop only steps from him. Unable to stop grinning, she ran her words together with kinetic energy.

“I can’t believe I just did that!”

“You did great!”

“Did you see me turn around? I know I was going too slow, but I made it.”

“I saw that.”

“This is great! I can see why you love riding. It’s a blast.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Can I try it again?”

He motioned to the road. “Feel free.”

She rode back and forth along the road for a long while, Travis watching her confidence grow with every stop and start. Her turns were executed with greater ease as well—she even began driving in a circle—and by the time she stopped in front of him, her face was flushed. When she took off her helmet, Travis was sure he’d never seen anyone more alive and beautiful.

“I’m done,” she announced. “You can drive now.”

“You sure?”

“I learned a long time ago to quit while I’m ahead. I’d hate to crash and ruin this feeling.”

Gabby scooted back and Travis got on the bike, only to feel her wrap her arms around him. As he wound his way back to the highway, Travis felt charged, as if his senses had been put on overdrive, and he was acutely aware of the curves of her body against his. They made their way up the highway, turned, and cut through Morehead City, passing by the Atlantic Beach bridge and completing the loop on their way back to Beaufort.

Minutes later, they were passing through the historic district, cruising past restaurants and the marina on their way down Front Street. Travis finally slowed the motorcycle, pulling onto a large grassy lot near the end of the block. The empty lot bordered a weathered Georgian that was at least a hundred years old on one side and an equally aged Victorian on the other. He turned off the engine and removed his helmet.

“Here we are,” he said, ushering her off the bike. “This is what I wanted to show you.”

There was something in his voice that kept her from making light of what seemed to be nothing more than a vacant lot, and for a moment, she simply watched Travis as he walked a few steps in silence. He was staring across the road, toward Shackleford Banks, his hands in his pockets. Removing her helmet and running a hand through her matted hair, Gabby walked toward him. Reaching his side, she sensed he would tell her what this was all about when he was ready.

“In my opinion, this place has one of the most beautiful views anywhere along the coast,” he finally said. “It’s not like an ocean view, where all you see is waves and water stretching to the horizon. That’s great, but after a while it gets boring, because the view is always pretty much the same. But here, there’s always something to see. There are always sailboats and yachts streaming toward the marina; if you come out here at night, you can see the crowds along the waterfront and listen to the music. I’ve seen porpoises and rays passing through the channel, and I especially love to see the wild horses over on the island. I don’t care how many times I’ve seen them, I’m always amazed.”

“You come out here a lot?”

“Twice a week, maybe. This is where I come to think.”

“I’m sure the neighbors are thrilled about that.”

“It’s not like they can do anything about it. I own it.”

“Really?”

“Why do you sound so surprised when you say that?”

“I’m not sure. I guess it just sounds so . . . domestic.”

“I do own a house already. . . .”

“And I hear your neighbor is terrific.”

“Yeah, yeah . . .”

“I just meant that buying a lot makes it sound like you’re the kind of guy who has long-term plans.”

“And you don’t see me like that?”

“Well . . .”

“If you’re trying to flatter me, you’re not doing a very good job.”

She laughed. “How about this, then: You continually surprise me.”

“In a good way?”

“Every time.”

“Like when you brought Molly to the clinic and realized I was a veterinarian?”

“I’d rather not talk about that.”

He laughed. “Then let’s eat.”

She followed him back to the motorcycle, where he unpacked the basket and a blanket. After leading her up a small incline toward the rear of the property, he spread the blanket and motioned for her to sit. Once they were both comfortable, he started removing Tupperware containers.

“Tupperware?”