“You never know, Chef. You might like it.” He paused to let his words sink in, but his delighted giggle soon peppered into my ears. Still, he slowed down.
I loosened my grip on him and shifted to hold the seat behind me. “Perv.”
As we rode on, I got more comfortable. Harlan didn’t want to die, and he’d probably be putting himself in some sort of peril if he tried to hurt me on it. Even though it was frigid, I was surprised by how much I was enjoying myself, and about the weird affection I felt for the man sitting in front of me. Of course, I’d had inappropriate thoughts about him, but it was some unrealistic version of him based on the few nice things he’dever said to me. That look we shared in the street after we almost died haunted me in a way I’d never admit out loud.
For so much of the time I’d known him, I felt disdain for Harlan. But here, with the wind rushing over us and his waist under my arms, I couldn’t think of a single reason why I didn’t like him.
Maybe it was seeing him break a little, reminding me that he is a whole human and not just the guy who lives to pester me.
Maybe it’s hard to dislike someone when you have to cling to them to stay alive. Maybe the cold air physically put all of our hostility on ice.
The thing that kept coming back to me was his soft, “Doing alright back there?” and his hand on my leg.
But perhaps it was more that it had been too long since someone checked in on how I was feeling, and it felt nice to have someone actually care.
TEN
HARLAN
FEBRUARY
“Amarillo Steakhouse?You’re sure this is the place you meant?”
“I’m sure!” Emma chirped. Her hands glided across my ribs, and I had to stiffen to keep from shivering at her soft touch.
That was weird.
Her hands came to rest on my shoulders as she swung her leg over the bike. She winced and stumbled, and my hands shot to her waist to steady her. “Careful.”
I noticed how small her waist looked under my hands. I hadn’t touched her since . . . well, since the accident. And that second where I accidentally pinned her to the counter in that storage room at work.
Emma chuckled. “I’m a little wobbly. Had more fun than I thought I would.”
She pulled her helmet off and immediately pawed at her hair, leaning to check it in the side mirror.
“Here,” I offered. I tugged her elbow until she stood straight in front of me, and her palms landed on my chest. I didn’texpect her to be so close to me, facing me head-on with her gaze tracking from her hands on my chest up to my face. I lifted my hand and ran my fingers through her short, blonde locks, flashing back to how silky it felt the day of the accident. I continued smoothing down her chic little bob, finishing by tucking a lock behind her ear. “There.”
“Better?” she asked, and her voice was all breathy. Sometimes it was almost like she got flustered by me, and I was shocked by how much I didn’t hate it.
I didn’t hate it at all.
“You look ready to dazzle everyone in this suburban chain establishment. I can’t believe you’re making me go here. They probably spray paint the grill marks on the steaks.”
She rolled her eyes and sighed, turning toward the door.
“Four steaks? You hungry, Chef?”
Emma had just ordered for us. “Nervous about the tab, rich boy?”
“What? No. That’s just so much food.”
She shrugged. “Okay. Take leftovers then. Steak and eggs tomorrow for you.”
I grimaced. “We brought the bike.”
“Oh. Oh, right.” She leaned to take the straw from her surely sugar-sweet lemonade between her lips. “Hmm.”
“We’ll make it fit.” I clamped my jaw thinking of another context for that sentence. Emma must have had the same thought because she pressed her lips into a line and wouldn’t make eye contact. I didn’t quite know her well enough to laugh about it. We’d already had several inappropriate jokes for a man and woman hanging out alone and trying to be professional.