Dirtiest Little Secret

“It’s…European,” she clarified. “And it’s proper. The only people I’ve ever known to eat that way are foreign, well-traveled or well-heeled.”

Isaac put his utensils down and sat back, picking up his wine in a practiced, sophisticated way that didn’t fit a country mechanic.

His expression turned stoic. “I’ve traveled some.”

She waited. And waited. And finally laughed out, “Did you want to expand on that?”

He cleared his throat. “I was an engineer before I started the shop. Traveled to job sites to keep projects on track, that kind of thing.”

“An engineer.” She drew out the word seeing him in a whole different light. “That explains a lot.”

“Like what?”

“How you’ve made Revival successful enough to support you. Why your garage is cleaner and better organized than a chef’s kitchen. Why I could tell you were different from the moment you stepped into Grind.”

And maybe, in some unconscious way, why she was so drawn to him. Why she felt like they fit. Like they’d known each other longer than they had.

She plucked a slice of sausage from the plate and nibbled, treading lightly on a subject he didn’t seem all that enthusiastic to talk about. “How long did you work as an engineer?”

“Six years after college,” he said without meeting her eyes.

“Where did you go to college?”

He took another drink of wine. “MIT.”

Ava’s brows shot up. “Huh. I have to admit, I didn’t see that comin’.”

That struck Isaac funny. He grinned, then started laughing.

Ava laughed with him, enjoying bites of the little smorgasbord before them. “You know I’ve got to hear the story of how you went from MIT to motorcycle mechanic.”

Isaac made a slow dent in the food, but he seemed to have lost the zest for eating that he’d come with. His reluctance to tell that tale felt like an elephant at the table.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I didn’t mean to bring up an off-color topic. You don’t have to—”

“It’s okay.” He shook his head and looked into his wine. “It’s just…that story ends with my brother dead. I don’t know if you really want to hear it.”

It took Ava a second to process—or maybe believe—the word “dead.” She sobered instantly. “You’re…not kidding.”

“I wish I were.”

Her gut clenched. Ava angled toward him and swung one leg over his, cuddling closer. “Is that the tragedy that made you stronger?”

He covered her thigh with his free hand and huffed a humorless laugh. “No. It broke me—at least initially. In some ways, I’m still broken. In some, I’ll probably never fully recover. Time helps, but it doesn’t cure.”

She couldn’t even imagine. “How long ago did it happen?”

“Little over a year.” He sipped his drink and slipped into the past, his gaze distant. Then he surprised her by going on. “He was two years younger than me. More of a free spirit. Not as directed and ambitious. At nineteen, when he still hadn’t settled into a career path, he enlisted in the army. He did well. Advanced quickly. But over time, after seein

g too much bullshit overseas, losing too many buddies, he cracked. Came back to the States. My parents would have given their own lives to cure his pain. They got him the best therapists, put him in support groups. He and I spent weekends on the road on our bikes—it was a passion we shared since we were kids.” His lips turned in a little smile. “And one my mother loathed with a passion.”

“I bet,” she murmured.

Isaac thought a moment before continuing. “At the time, my work was crazy. I had a handful of big jobs either hitting walls or falling behind. I was under a lot of pressure and stress. He called me three times before eight a.m. that day. I picked up the first two calls. His brain was frayed. He was spiraling. I did what I could to ease his mind, promised him we’d take a ride through the country as soon as I got out of the office.” His eyes misted over. “I didn’t take his third call. I was headed into a business meeting with our biggest client and needed my head in the game—”

He stopped abruptly, and the agony that crossed his features ripped at Ava’s heart. He cleared his throat. Blinked a few times. Stared down into his wine. “He killed himself before noon.”

A sound of anguish ebbed from Ava’s throat, and she dropped her head to his shoulder, wishing she’d kept her mouth shut. “I’m so sorry.”