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She waited, silently hoping he would elaborate, but he didn’t.
Jace leaned against the wall, raking a hand over his face. “Shit...I said I don’t know, okay? Some sort of half-breed? I don’t even know what your kind would call it.”
“But you’re a wolf shifter? You’re certain?”
“If you mean, can I shift into a wolf like you can? I don’t know. Never bothered to try.”
She blinked at him. He had to be nearly thirty-five, but he’d never...
“You’re kidding.”
Jace shot her a hardened glance. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”
“You’ve spent your whole life knowing what you are and never shifted?” Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to believe it.
“If by knowing what I am, you mean having my father walk out on me and leaving me with this curse, then yeah, I am.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her whisper carrying through the empty studio. “I’m sorry he left you like that.”
Jace chuckled then. An unamused laugh. “I don’t need your pity, Princess.”
“No, but you do have my empathy. My understanding.” She took another sip from her water in search of some reprieve for how she’d burned for him. “Take it as you will.”
Silence fell between them again, pressing and heavy.
Hitching a thumb over her shoulder, she indicated the stairs up to the studio apartment beyond. “Look, if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to crash here too. I already put in a call to my pack, and it’s likely a good idea if I lie low. At least for a little while.”
Jace shrugged. “It’s your place.”
“Right.” She nodded.
The air between them seemed to hesitate, cut through them.
For a moment, she thought that might be the end, that they’d make their excuses and then finally part ways, until suddenly she heard herself say, “Hey...are you...hungry? There’s this little greasy spoon diner around the corner that’s perfect for when you have a hangover.”
Jace chuckled. An actual laugh. “Hangovers require you tostopdrinking.” He gave the flask a little shake.
Five minutes later they were seated across from one another in a cracked vinyl booth, the cherry red color faded from one too many bright days. The smell of maple syrup mixed with bacon, hashbrowns and grease filled the air, and Frankie’s stomach growled.
She could feel her wolf practically salivate.
She and Jace stared across the booth at one another, both of them clearly uneasy, but the quiet persisted, considering they were the only two people in the restaurant at this hour. Save for the sound of the coffee dripping into the hot plate percolator and the waitress they could hear in the back talking to a single line cook. Frankie adjusted herself in her seat. The mist of fry grease that clung to everything in the place made her shoes stick to the checkerboard tiling which lined the floor.
Jace was the first one to crack. “So you come here often?” he asked.
Frankie smirked. “That’s the best pickup line you got?”
Jace leaned back in the booth, spreading both arms over the seat with a shrug. “I’ve used worse.”
She smiled. “I’ve come here at least once every winter since I was a little girl.”
The waitress showed up a moment later, interrupting them. They both ordered and handed over the sticky plastic menus, though the aging brunette didn’t bother to scratch out their choices on her notepad. She hollered their order back to the kitchen before leaving them alone again. They waited for their food in a tense, companionable sort of silence.
Finally, Jace said, “What are we doing here?”
Before Frankie could answer, the waitress returned, their dishes stacked in a line down the length of her arm. She set down Frankie’s buttered toast and sunny-side eggs, and Jace’s enormous plate of country fried steak with biscuits and gravy, before leaving them to it.
Jace didn’t say anything else before he quickly tucked in.
