“Who’s Joni?”
“Ah, you didn’t meet her the night of the party then. Joni is Zip’s Old Lady. Zip is Vice President of the Blue Angels.”
“Got it.” I nodded.
We drove for a few minutes and then Slash’s phone chimed. He pulled it out to check it when we were stopped at a light signal. “The prospects got your car.”
“Great. Thanks. I know you think the car is a piece of shit, and itisa piece of shit, but it’s all I’ve got. It still runs and I consider that a win. Besides, I have other more pressing concerns at the moment.”
I looked out the window.
“There’s never enough time. There’s never enough money. There’s never… enough.”
Without saying a word, Slash reached over and grasped my hand. And when he laced his fingers through mine, I suddenly didn’t feel like all my mistakes were staring me in the face. I suddenly didn’t feel like I was a failure.
I suddenly didn’t feel alone.
Chapter12
“I never would’ve peggedthis as your kind of place,” I said after the waitress left with our menus and orders.
“It’s not,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee. “Joni recommended it. She said whenever she has a pregnancy craving, she comes here. Zip will sometimes make a midnight run.”
“It’s open that late?” I asked in surprise.
“Until two. Apparently it turns into a techno dance club at eleven.”
“Yikes.” I glanced around at the decor. It looked like a Parisian restaurant with small round tables and wooden-backed chairs that belonged on a sidewalk café. It was quaint and cute, and the aromas wafting from the tiny kitchen made my mouth water. I could hear the faint calls of orders in rapid French, and my smile dimmed.
“What is it?” Slash asked.
“What?”
“Your smile. It disappeared,” he pointed out.
“Do you always pay such close attention to everything?”
“Not everything,” he said gruffly. “Just shit that’s important.”
I reached for my water and took a long drink. “I was supposed to go to France for the job of a lifetime. Then I got the call about my father.”
“What happened?” he asked quietly.
“He was at a pub watching a game. He was yelling at the TV and then he fell to the ground. He was gone by the time the ambulance even showed up. Heart attack,” I explained.
“Damn.”
“Yeah. I was twenty-five. So instead of taking the job in France, I came home and sorted shit out. Before I knew it, two years had passed and I had a bakery.”
“You’re twenty-seven?”
I nodded.
He scratched his whiskered chin. “You look younger.”
I raised my brows.
“I thought most women wanted to hear that.”