Luke smiled, fisted his free hand instead of reaching for mine, and said, “Come on. I’ll introduce you.”
The last two months had been unreal in several ways. Meeting Luke, first and foremost, but also the fancy-pants events Savannah dragged me to were something I’d never foreseen in my future. Family time during my break had been nonnegotiable and a good reminder of my roots, but now I wanted a reminder of my reach, my branches straining for Luke, the sun.
We walked side by side. Luke set the distance, and I didn’t push it, no matter how my reflexes kept trying to. Since deciding we had something worth exploring, we’d talked or texted nearly every night. Being in person with him like this was both normal and not at the same time. And becoming harder than I imagined to keep platonic in the eyes of everyone around us.
Luckily, car shows were something more of a man’s pastime. I didn’t make the rules, okay, but there were many more men walking around, talking and cutting up in groups, so we blended in with the macho oozing in the atmosphere. So maybe not all that strange of an idea for a daytime date.
Crepes turned out to be sweet breakfast tortillas. Luke insisted they were more like pancakes, but they had so many options for fillings and toppings, tortillas made more sense. Luke had his stuffed with ham and egg, while I had mine with thin-sliced strawberries, whipped crème, and drizzled with chocolate sauce and sugar. Yum.
We sat at a little table to eat and finish our coffee.
“Like it?” he asked.
I nodded with a mouth full. “Have you been to one of these before?” I asked.
“Many, actually.” Luke blotted at his mouth in a boring way when I wanted to lick off the shiny remnants of his food instead. “Cars are something of a passion of mine.”
The Bentley, the Mercedes, the Range Rover … “Define passion.”
“How about I show you?”
And show me he did.
Once we finished eating, Luke took me up and down the lines of cars, stopping at each and giving me history lessons about design choices, engine specifications, and modifications common at these shows. He knew factory colors, which ones were well maintained, and those that were only well maintained on a surface level.
The morning chill had warmed a bit, making the late-December Saturday downright pleasant. The attendees became boisterous, and the good vibes were infectious. Much better than those snooty-britches charity events.
At one particular Mustang he’d gone on and on about, as if it were a beloved family member, I turned to face him and crossed my arms over my chest.
He trailed off once he saw me staring at him rather than the car. “What?”
“This is more than a passion for you.”
His sunglasses hid his eyes, but his mouth did that sexy lopsided twitch. “The Dorset Family Trust might have a small collection.”
“Hmm, might?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah.”
“Who owns this one?” I nodded to the car but kept my eyes on him.
“Uh.”
“You know,” I said and stepped closer to the old muscle car, running a finger up the edge of the open hood. All these cars had their hoods up, showing off the engines. “I don’t know a lot of particulars about cars, not like you do, but I happen to knowthiscar.”
“You do? Uh, this one?” Luke stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked with me as I slowly rounded the car.
“Mhmm. You see, my cousin Red—well, his real name is Russet, but everyone calls him Red—he had a car like this once.”
“This one? You’re sure?”
I bent at the waist and scanned the black leather interior. The insides had been restored to the original style, as were many of these classic cars. “Yep.” I straightened and caught Luke staring at my ass. “Pay attention.”
He slowly lifted his chin and grinned. “I am.”
I snorted and stepped toward the back fender. “Anyway, Red, he likes cars. Huge gearhead. When our great-granny passed, him and his parents were the first over at her place to see what they could steal before her kids got a chance to settle it all.”
“What? That’s fucked-up.”
