“I’m no expert. But my dad liked to cook. Grilling, especially. It turned into something we’d do together—grilling steaks, making wings in the deep fryer, cooking burgers—and it just stuck with me.”
His expression shadows, and his gaze goes distant. But a blink later, his smile is back again, albeit tighter than before. “Anyway. I was thinking we could have breakfast, watch an episode ofBattleBotswhile we digest, and then I thought I might go for a run, if you’d like to join me.”
“You want to watch another episode ofBattleBots? And go for a run?”
Ace gives the eggs a quick stir. “You still like running, right? I just thought since it’s actually nice out today”—he angles his chin at the window, where the sun is making a rare and welcome appearance—“it might be nice to get outside. But I won’t be insulted if you don’t want to come with me.”
“It’s not that.” Dragging a stool over, I hop up on it. “I guess… I thought you were leaving.”
The second the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. “Crap. That’s not what I meant. I just?—”
Ace sets the spatula on a folded paper towel—he cooksandcleans after himself,I can practically hear Annaliese crowing—and looks at me solemnly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. First, just showing up last night, and now making plans for the day without even asking… I’m coming across like a real asshole. As soon as I’m done cooking, I’ll clean up and leave.”
“You’re not an asshole.” Though he’s trying to hide it, I can’t miss the hurt in his eyes. So I reach across the counter and put my hand over his. “And I don’t want you to leave.”
“You don’t have to say that, Yara. I get it. It’s the weekend. I’m sure you have plans, and here I am, getting in the way.”
“You’re not an asshole,” I repeat. “A little pushy, yes. But not an asshole.”
“You think I’m pushy?”
A laugh bubbles up. “Ace. Are you kidding?”
A sheepish expression crosses his face. “Fine. Maybe I’m a little pushy. But”—he stirs the eggs again—“I’m not going topush myself on you this weekend.” A beat passes before he amends, “Well. Not again, at least.”
“You wouldn’t be. Pushing yourself on me. I guess… I just assumed you’d have other things to do. Now that you know I’m fine, I mean. Since that’s why you came early. You could go out in Seattle, maybe visit with your friend, Leif…”
Trailing off, I belatedly wonder why I’m trying to convince Ace to leave. Why, when I slept better last night than I have in weeks? Why, when having him here makes me feel more right than I have in ages?
Because he makes you want things you have no business wanting,that obnoxious, knowing voice in my head whispers.Because you know if he stays, it’s only a matter of time before you tell him just how bad things have gotten since Tacoma, and then he’ll know you’re a basket case instead of just suspecting.
Ace stares at me for a long moment. “I’ll head out right after breakfast. It’s not a problem. I’ll find a hotel, then maybe head to Mount Rainier for a hike or something.”
Disappointment crashes into me. Which is stupid, because he offered to stay and here I am, basically pushing him to leave.
Why?I ask myself again. Do I really want to spend another weekend on my own? Puttering around my empty house, which will feel even emptier once Ace is gone?
“No,” I blurt, louder than intended. Flushing, I continue in a more even tone, “You’re already here. It would be silly to leave. And I don’t have plans, aside from working in the garage all weekend.”
The eggs start to sizzle, drawing our attention to them. Ace mutters a low curse. He gives them another quick stir, then takes the pan off the burner and sets it to the side.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“I’m sure.” And now that I’ve said it, I am. “And maybe you could help me? In the workshop? Since I hurt my hand, there are some things I won’t be able to do as well.”
Surprise jolts his features. “You want me to help with your project?”
“If you want.”
A slow smile lifts Ace’s lips. “I’d be happy to help, Tink. But do you trust me with your high-tech inventions?”
“Well,” I reply. “You do restore vintage cars, so I know you’re good with tools.Andyou can disable bombs. So I’d say that makes you more than qualified to be my assistant.”
As I allow myself to think about the reality of an entire weekend with Ace, warmth expands inside me. It would be nice to have company in my workshop instead of spending hours in there alone. We could cook dinner together. Maybe watch one of those movies with lots of cars, like Ace always talks about. And tomorrow, we could see if there’s a car museum that’s open. I bet Ace would like that.
Ace turns his hand over, reminding me I’m still touching it. His fingers briefly curl around mine. “I’d be honored to be your assistant, Yara.” His expression brightens. “Does that mean I finally get to find out what this mystery project is?”
I’m so distracted by the feel of his big hand engulfing mine, it takes a few seconds for his question to register. “Mystery—oh, yes. I guess it’ll be hard to keep it a secret when you’re helping me with it.” With a smile, I add, “But you’re sworn to secrecy. I mean it. You can’t tell anyone.”