“No, it’s fine.” Slamming the door shut on my wayward train of thought, I cross my arms across my chest to hide my bra-less nipples—in hindsight, I should have put one on before coming out here, but it completely slipped my mind—and paste on a smile. “I don’t mind at all.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.” I cross the room, coming to a stop on the opposite side of the kitchen island. “You’re welcome to make anything you want.”
“Did I wake you up?” he asks. Concern creases his forehead. “I was trying to be quiet.”
“I’ve been up,” I reply. “I was just listening to—” My mouth clamps shut. Heat rises in my cheeks again.
“Listening to what?”
I hesitate, caught between the truth and something that sounds much nicer. More reassuring. Something that won’t make Ace think that his worries about me are valid.
“Never mind,” Ace adds quickly. “It’s none of my business.”
Guilt pricks at me.
Rationally, I know I don’t owe Ace an explanation. But it was a lot easier to pretend everything was fine when we were just texting. Now that he’s here, I feel worse about lying.
“I was listening to my meditation app,” I admit. “I try to get twenty minutes in every morning.”
“Does it help?”
“Not much, but if nothing else, it’s relaxing.”
Ace nods. “Some of my friends swear by those apps. Me, when I’m stressed, I like to keep busy.”
“Yeah.” I lean against the counter. “That helps, too. Especially working on my projects. Then my mind and my hands are busy. That’s the best.”
“Exactly.” He grabs an egg from the carton and gives me a questioning look. “Over easy or scrambled?”
Normally, on the weekend, I down at least two cups of coffee before I even think about breakfast. But with Ace here, offering to cook, I don’t have the heart to tell him I’d rather wait. “Scrambled is good.”
Ace expertly cracks the egg against the side of the mixing bowl and empties the contents into it. Then he takes another egg and does the same. Once he’s emptied half the carton, he picks up a fork and starts mixing. “That’s how I feel about restoring cars. Keeping my mind and hands busy, I mean.”
“Are you still working on the Mustang?” I ask. A few months ago, he sent me a photo of the latest car he was restoring, a 1976 Cobra he’d inherited from his dad.
He smiles, his eyes brightening and crinkling up at the corners. “Yeah. I’m almost done, though. Mainly just working on the interior cosmetics—restoring the seat covers, the dash, that sort of thing. I’m thinking another month or so, depending on how work goes. Since I just did a job in Vegas, I’m not scheduled for another one until mid-February. But with our pro-bono cases, you never know when something will come up.”
Since I helped the guys last year while they were protecting Bea, I have a pretty good idea of how Blade and Arrow does business. They take paid jobs—security consults and protection for special events, for example—and use part of the profits to fund their pro-bono cases. Their pro-bono clients are usually people who find themselves in trouble but either there’s not enough evidence to get the police involved, or they don’t have the money to hire private protection.
I also know that the Shadow team—Ace’s team—is a little different from the two other Blade and Arrow branches. The Alpha and Bravo teams actively advertise their services, while the Shadow team stays under the radar, only accepting referrals or, like in the case of Eden, Bea, and Noelle, helping people they already know.
Ace grabs the pepper and adds a healthy shake to the eggs. Then he angles his chin at the package of shredded cheese lying on the counter. “Cheese?”
“A little,” I reply. While I watch him stir in the shredded cheddar, I add, “I don’t remember you cooking like this when you stayed here before.”
He turns on the stovetop and sets a pan on top of the burner. “That’s because Bea and Indy took over the kitchen. Indy kept trying to impress Bea with his terrible cooking skills, and poor Bea just wanted to make something edible. I thought it was better to stay out of it.”
I laugh at the memory of Indy attempting to make chocolate chip pancakes. Aside from ruining two of my pans, he set the smoke alarm off and ended up with a pile of pancakes that were so hard they could have been used as deadly weapons.
Ace looks at me with a knowing grin. “The pancakes?”
I nod. “The pancakes. I didn’t know anyone could mess them up that badly.”
“Only Indy,” he agrees with a chuckle. “Fortunately, Bea’s a good cook. So they don’t have to worry about going hungry.”
Pulling a stool out, I slide onto it while watching Ace pour the egg mixture into the heated pan. “Looks like you know what you’re doing, though.”
