Part of her wanted to psychoanalyze the way she’d clutched on to Aiden, had shut her eyes, had so willingly waited for his lips on hers. Or maybe she just wanted to imagine they hadn’t been interrupted. That he had kissed her. That she’d kissed him back, right there in a cramped warehouse bathroom, her hands on his bare skin, the feel of his hot mouth turning her inside out…
But that wouldn’t be smart.
Giving her hectic thoughts one final shove out of her head, she walked down the hall in search of Aiden to remind him he was buying.
And he’d better not cheap out.
* * *
Sadie pushed her partially eaten salad aside, and Aiden plucked a piece of chicken off the top and ate it. As he chewed, he considered that he hadn’t asked and Sadie hadn’t argued. She’d been pretty agreeable all around, considering he’d conned her into going to lunch in the first place.
“Think you’re pretty clever, don’t you?” she’d asked him as they found an unoccupied table in the gourmet deli. She’d tried to sound scathed, but he’d seen the flicker of appreciation in her eye. He’d played her own game against her and Sadie, on some level, liked it.
“You’ve kept me in suspense long enough.” Sadie took a long swallow of her iced tea. “When are you going to tell me this big secret involving Axle Zoller?” she asked, wiggling her fingers for effect.
Aiden hadn’t brought it up over the last few days because, until today, his thoughts had ebbed and flowed like the tide. One minute, he was ready to go all in, the next he couldn’t imagine Axle’s shops working out any better than his previous endeavor into real estate development. He and failure were on a first-name basis.
He had the fleeting idea to keep his head down and work for someone else for the rest of his life. It was a lot less risky than taking on the largest motorcycle shops in the Midwest. Then he’d think back to the six agonizing months he’d worked side by side with Dad at the factory after Mom passed, and changed his tune. That place ate souls for dinner, and the drudgery had nearly killed him. Dad didn’t mind it. Hell if Aiden understood how.
“You have to promise not to tell anyone,” Aiden said, hoping sharing with Sadie wouldn’t return to bite him in the ass. This was a delicate balance he was trying to strike, here. “I mean it.”
“Yes! Yes, already, spill it.” Sadie frowned and a frustrated, adorable wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows.
He nearly smiled.
“When I stayed with my mom in Oregon last year, I wasn’t exactly honest with my dad about how much her treatment cost.”
Empathy colored Sadie’s eyes at the mention of his mother, but she didn’t interrupt.
“I made an arrangement with a guy at the center to send the bills, and direct all billing questions, to me. When Dad’s money ran out earlier than we anticipated, I made up the difference.”
He took a drink of his soda. Contributing his money had been a no-brainer. Mom had been at the facility two months by then, was looking better than ever, and, Aiden thought, had a good shot at a full recovery.
Didn’t work out that way.
“I put my house on the market,” he continued. “But that was more a long-term plan than anything, so I arranged to sell my vintage motorcycle collection to Axle.” Aiden inhaled and blew out a breath. Axle had kept his secret. Aiden had Fed-Exed his garage key to Axle and told him to take all of them but Sheila. The money from the bikes went to his mother’s stay, and when she took a turn for the worse, the remainder went to making her as comfortable as possible when he brought her home to die.
“At least Mom got to spend her final days at home…with us.” He paused to clear his throat, clenching the napkin in his fist to keep his emotions at bay. Losing her had nearly killed him.
Sadie’s hand covered his, reminding him she was here. Another show of support. He swore he felt the echoing heat on his ribs where she’d touched him earlier. He started again, only to trail off. “After she…”
Sadie nodded, giving him permission not to say the words, giving him an out. He took it. Even though he felt a little like his father doing it. “After…I went to work with Dad. I didn’t know what to do with myself and I couldn’t leave him alone. He was so…okay with everything. Never saw him cry or mourn.
“In the god-awful monotony of factory work”—he slid her a dry glance—“I had a lot of time to think about what I really wanted, what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. And one day, it hit me. What made me happiest? The answer was easy: my motorcycles.”