Petra gazed in disbelief at Danny's face, barely visible beneath the tinted visor of his helmet. The rumbling engine of the motorcycle he cradled between his knees couldn't drown out the excitement in his voice as he gazed up at her with a Cheshire cat smile. Petra shook her head in amazement. It'll certainly spice up yours, she thought ruefully, imagining him cruising down Michigan Avenue on Saturday nights, meeting friends at Diego's Roadhouse or the Blue Martini, while she sat home curled up with the cat and her knitting.
With a flick of his wrist, Danny gunned the engine and whirled off down the driveway. Petra watched him tooling happily down the blacktop lane, heading toward the highway from the converted barn they had renovated during their 15 years of marriage. She had to admit, since she and Danny had finally finished the work on the barn, it seemed as if life was a little dull. They worked so well together, everything from sketching plans to painting to laying ceramic tile in the master bathroom. There was a constant sense of excitement in the air, finishing one project and going on to the next.
Petra wandered through the house admiring again the fruits of their partnership. The dark oak floors, sanded to a satiny finish, the high cross beams arcing overhead, her shiny kitchen, illuminated by a skylight over the worktop. Danny had paid particular attention to that, and to the bay window in the front room, knowing how she adored sunlight.
Sighing, Petra peered out that bay window, trying not to admit that she was already missing him, wishing he were home with her instead of roaring around alone on a motorcycle. She had been so sure they wouldn't be one of those couples that grew apart after years of marriage. Yet, perhaps it took more than a common interest in renovation to make a marriage exciting. Maybe something fresh was needed to add a dash of spice to their relationship, Petra thought. But couldn't it have been something a little more inviting - like ballroom dancing or even birdwatching?
With a sigh, Petra turned toward the kitchen to start dinner. If he wants spice, then spice he'll get, she thought, remembering some chorizio in the freezer that would make a nice hot pasta sauce. She stopped short at the kitchen door, catching her reflection in a deep purple metallic helmet propped against on the black granite counter top. She pulled the pink sticky note off the visor.
Almost gingerly, Petra lifted the helmet from the counter. Reflected in the smoky visor, she took stock of her heart shaped face, her high forehead camouflaged with wispy bangs, her dark hair tucked neatly behind her ears. "Not really the face you'd imagine for a motorcycle mama, is it? But then again," she thought, tugging the helmet securely over her head, "variety is the spice of life!"
Hearing the distant rumble of the Harley engine, already recognizable even to her untrained ear, Petra strode purposefully toward the porch, ready to join her partner in a brand new project.