Page 12 of Break My Heart

When I finally admit I work in racing, she nods thoughtfully. “Like NASCAR?”

“Not quite.”

“Okay, Mr. British Accent. Helpful.”

I smile despite myself. “Formula One.”

She stares blankly. I actually laugh. “You genuinely don’t know who I am.”

“No?” Then she squints at me more suspiciously. “Should I?”

That should offend me. Instead, it’s the most relaxed I’ve felt in years. And I find it funny when I return from the loo and see her trying to put away her mobile inconspicuously before asking, “Just out of curiosity, are you related to Mike Hawthorn?”

“You mean the first British world champion?”

“Yes.”

My lips curve upward even as I shake my head. “Sorry, no.”

The next memory hits before I can stop it.

Chinatown.

Cold air curls between buildings while Christin walks beside me holding soup dumplings in one hand and criticizing my inability to navigate crowded sidewalks. “You move like people are supposed to part for you.”

“They usually do.”

“That’s deeply irritating.”

“You still came out with me.”

“That’s because you bought me dumplings.”

I look over at her. “So, you can be bribed with food?”

“By you specifically? Yes.”

God, her smile lit the dim streets and dark corners of my heart. Another memory follows too quickly.

Torrential rain makes the sidewalks slick. We duck into a tiny bookstore to escape the weather. I am shaking off our umbrella while Christin wanders between the aisles perusing the shelves.

I find her down the romance aisle and pretend not to stare.

“What?” She finally asks without looking up.

“You’re interesting.”

That earns me a snort. “That’s either a compliment or the beginning of a murder documentary.”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

She laughs softly then looks at me over the edge of a book that has a wolf on the cover. “You know, most men I’ve encountered are intimidated by a woman spending time in the romance aisle of a bookstore.”

“I’m trying something new.”

“And how’s that going?”

I step closer slowly. “I’m not intimidated.”