Yet, she’s trying so hard to hold the distance.
I push the bike harder on the straight and think about the fact that Adelaide is ours.
She just doesn’t know it yet.
But she’s going to stay.
16
ACE
Five days of us barely leaving this house and my self-control is held together with approximately nothing.
Adelaide is across the kitchen island from me, slicing smoked salmon, wearing those denim cutoffs that end way too high and a bikini top that’s got me staring at her chest way too frequently. All while I’m cutting mango with the attention of a man who needs his hands occupied or he’s going to do something that ends the careful détente we’ve all been maintaining.
It’s not going great. Nope.
North is in the surf, while Luca is running an errand.
“Question,” she says, not glancing up from the salmon.
“Shoot.”
“What did you want to be when you grew up?”
I glance at her. She has her hair twisted up off her neck, and there’s a piece of it escaping, which I track down to her collarbone and back up. “I’m doing it.”
“Surfing is your childhood dream?”
“Is that so hard to believe?”
“Most people dream about something they don’t have yet.” She picks up another piece of salmon, examines it. “You dreamed about waves.”
“I used to watch all those surfing tournaments as a kid, amazed by how enormous the waves became. At the time, they were scary as fuck, but to overcome that fear and become one with the wave has always been a dream of mine.” I fan the mango slices out on the charcuterie board.
She considers that, her knife moving in clean, even strokes. “Nothing else pulling at you?”
I’m quiet for a second. “I’ve also wanted to have my own food truck.”
She sets the knife down and smiles at me. “Tell me everything. That sounds amazing and something I can understand.”
“It’s not?—”
“Ace.” She leans on the island, and those eyes are fully on me. “Tell me because I watch all kinds of cooking shows and wish I could be one of those people who can whip up magic in the kitchen.”
I set down my knife and lean back against the sink. “Small operation. Breakfast and lunch only, the menu changes daily based on the market, maybe four or five items, everything made from scratch the same day.” I keep my voice even, though I see the excitement in her expression. “No freezer food. Loco moco with Wagyu beef and a proper demi-glace. Tuna poke on house-made rice crackers. Soft scrambled eggs with whatever’s good that day.” I pause. “That kind of thing.”
She’s staring at me.
“What?” I say.
“You’ve thought about this in detail.”
“I’ve been thinking about it for years.”
“Why haven’t you done it?”
The question is so direct that it takes me a second to answer. Most people ask why youwantto do a thing. She asks why youhaven’t started. “Timing,” I admit. “And the guys. We had other things happening before this.”
