Spitfire in Love (Chasing Red 3)

“I’m getting tutored every Wednesday,” I answered, closing the door and facing her. “Right now, I’m having trouble reading”—the door was fogged up with condensation; I wrote on it with my finger—“this. Can you read that for me?” I asked.

I spelled HIT-AND-RUN.

She pursed her lips, rubbed away what I wrote with her fist, and jotted 9 AM.

“Can you read this? You’re early. The card I gave you yesterday clearly stated the shop’s not open till nine on Saturdays.”

I could have waited at a coffee shop, walked around the block, but I didn’t because…

I wanted to see you.

“Where’s your motorcycle?”

I shrugged. Her jaw hung open.

“You…you didn’t bring it?” She backed away a few feet. “I mean, did you change your mind about bringing it here?”

“What made you think I’d made up my mind?”

“Last night! You agreed—”

“Did I?”

She sputtered. I wanted to smile but figured that wasn’t a smart thing to do, so I sucked my bottom lip into my mouth.

“Listen,” she started. “I don’t know what else you want, but I’m giving you a deal here. A really good deal. And if you need me to repeat it again until your brain can absorb it, I will.”

“Why are you covering your mouth?”

“I forgot to brush my teeth!” she yelled. “Okay? You happy now?”

She looked like she was going to stomp her foot. “I can’t talk to you like this. I need my powers. I’m going home to brush my teeth. Stay here. Don’t steal anything. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

She locked the front door and proceeded to the back of the shop. There was an impression of clean floors, tools, a couple of cars suspended from the ceiling, the smell of motor oil, solvent—good, strong smells of a hardworking garage.

“I like your hair,” I said as I followed her outside. And meant it.

She threw me a withering look. “Don’t make fun of it. It’s my antenna for my brain. Keeps me reasonable, you know? That’s why I haven’t murdered you yet. Get it? Why are you following me?”

She sure talked a lot, but I really liked the sound of her voice. “Need coffee.”

She laughed.

It was so unexpected I stumbled. I wished she’d do it again.

“Don’t we all?” There was sympathy in her voice. “Go back to the shop and I’ll bring you some.”

She stopped at the door of her house, pulled out her key.

“Kara,” I said softly.

She froze. Slowly turned around to face me, her hand still on the doorknob. Maybe that made her feel safe. Having an anchor.

There was something between us. I knew she felt it.

“Invite me inside,” I said.

I saw her throat working.