“I don’t date children,” Mark shoots back gruffly before he turns his dark stare back to me. “Five minutes, Kenna.”
I look back at Lori, still staring my way, and then at Ace’s dark, brooding, too serious face. “Are you sure?”
Lori nods too eagerly. “Go. I’ll cover for you for five minutes. On the sixth minute, I take my smoke break, so go.”
Knowing when I’m beat, I roll my eyes and remove my apron. “Meet me out back,” I say to Mark reluctantly.
He nods. “I’ll also have one of those mushroom and onion pizzas with the funky cheese.”
Lori gasps. “That funky cheese is called brie, thank you very much, and it’ll be done in about eight minutes. Now, go. Both of you.”
I don’t have time to smooth my hair from the heat of the wood fire pizza oven or wipe away the sweat I’m sure makes my skin shine like a light. There’s nothing to be done about it, so I let out a sigh and push through the kitchen door, my steps slow and wooden as I head out the back exit, where Mark is somehow already waiting.
And scowling. “You’re avoiding me.”
“I’m not,” I insist and roll my eyes. “Are you avoiding me?”
“No. Been busy.”
“So have I, Mark. You’re here now, and you want to talk. About what exactly?”
“I found info on Grace’s boyfriend. His name is Nico Seppi. Ring any bells?”
“Seppi, hmm…” I shake my head. “I don’t know who he is. Just that his name was in Grace’s diary. I checked my social media and our yearbooks for a Nico, but I didn’t have his last name. I can check again.”
“Don’t bother,” Mark says. “High school was a long time ago. And I hear he’s from New Hampshire. Lives up in LA now with his mom. Are you free after work?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Meet me at The Breakfast Place? I’m buying.”
“Well, if you’re buying, then I’m going to get one of those omelets as big as my head.”
A reluctant laugh escapes, and it feels like a win, a really major win.
“Smartass. So, what time do you get off?”
“Seven.”
“I’ll be at The Breakfast Place at seven sharp. See you then, Kenna.”
“I didn’t agree to meet you. I just said my shift ends at seven.”
One brow arches, and it earns me another smile.
“Even if you don’t agree, I’ll find you.”
Why in the hell does that sound so sexy instead of creepy? Because this guy is destroying my ability to think.
“I’ll be there by seven-fifteen, and you’re buying.”
“I said I would,” he grunts back.
“I know, but I’m just saying it again, to clarify.” I sound like a bitch, and I can’t seem to help myself.
“All right. Seven-fifteen.”
He strolls off like a damn cowboy into the sunset, and I stare after him until he rounds the edge of the building and disappears.
I take a minute to get my breathing under control before I go out and deal with customers.
“What are you doing here?”
Mark grins and just then, I think of him as Ace. “My pizza. I placed an order, and I’m waiting for it.”
Lori breaks in with a pizza box in her hand and a credit card receipt or him to sign. “Here you go, gorgeous. Enjoy.”
Mark scribbles his initials, and she waves him off. When Ace is gone, she gasps.
“Holy hell, babe, is that hunk of man yours?”
“No,” I sigh, and I can hear the disappointment in my voice. “He’s not mine at all.”
But with every moment that passes, I wish he was.
Chapter Twenty
Ace
I arrive at The Breakfast Place at seven on the dot even though McKenna isn’t due to arrive for another fifteen minutes.
I order an iced tea with plenty of ice to cool my body, overheated at the thought of being close to her again. It doesn’t matter that we have to talk about Nico and her best friend’s brutal murder. What matters is that she’s to be two feet away from me, smiling and looking good.
I use the tea as a barrier to keep my mind off the woman and on the conversation we’ll have about the man, Nico. Kenna is getting to me too much. She’s hard-headed and sassy, two things I don’t even think I like in a chick.
It’s not just her raw sex appeal that she’s completely unaware of, it’s how she’s prissy and sheltered she looks. But also brave as hell, willing to take me on even with an actual gun to her head. Her determination to solve her friend’s murder. It’s got me all twisted up inside, and the tea is doing fucking shit to help.
At seven-twenty, the glass door opens, and in strolls McKenna as if she owns the place. Not in a snooty way, just that she is comfortable in her own skin, at least until our gazes lock.
She’s lost the apron, changed out of her work uniform, replacing them with an orange dress that stops mid-thigh and sexy sandals that show off hot pink toenails and miles and miles of legs.